Tumgik
#and i used to hate hate HATE my poems
ominousblob · 2 months
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media
//Ive always been a little jealous
230 notes · View notes
judas-redeemed · 8 months
Text
i want to learn to look at myself the way i've come to look at the world. i get my breath taken away at the ever-constant, ever-changing sky. feel tears well in my eyes at the distant sound of children's laughter. but i can barely muster a smile at my own reflection. i have learned to love this world. to take the awful and the awe-inspiring and hold it close to my heart. one day, i will find space there for me too. i will wipe my own tears. tuck myself into bed. believe the good things about myself. smile at my reflection and mean it. i will hold myself in my arms, like the crying child i tried so hard not to be, and wonder: how could i have ever wanted to leave you?
332 notes · View notes
depressedvibe · 1 year
Text
I'm fucking scared of losing myself.
565 notes · View notes
ct-multifandom · 8 months
Text
I don’t usually make posts like this, but I’ve been seeing a lot of anti-intellectual junk lately, and I really think we need to put the word “pretentious” up on a shelf until people learn what it actually means.
It doesn’t describe someone who likes artsy-fartsy deep meaning media. People who are pretentious are fake. They’re posers trying to be sophisticated and unique, not like other girls. They pretend to only like stuff they think will make them sound cool when they talk about it. They want to act like they know something you don’t, and they want attention for it.
By definition, if you genuinely enjoy something, you can’t be pretentious. If it resonates with you, and you analyze it, and you don’t care what people think, that’s the polar opposite, actually. If you love obscure experimental prog music, if you watch underground high concept indie films through English teacher eyes, if you spend hours in a modern art museum reading each piece as a vessel for storytelling, if your backpack’s full of poetry books that inspire you, if you play underrated games that were someone’s passion project, if you have an interest in studying the classics or the masters, you are not pretentious.
Of course, some people just don’t like some stuff, and that’s fine, but that’s not what this is about. Don’t let anti-intellectuals shame you for enjoying things just because your interests are inaccessible to them, because they refuse to be brave and put effort into critical thinking. You’re not stuck up for refusing to overlook the craft of artists.
#anti intellectualism#media#movies#books#music#critical thinking#my friend who primarily listens to one very popular band once said that people who listen to obscure music are annoying and pretentious#which rubbed me the wrong way because 1 she knows that I listen to obscure music and 2 it’s such a cowardly consumerist take. anyone can#make music and hey a lot of the people who do make GOOD music. and this goes for all *obscure* media#this post was mostly inspired by people talking about Barbie and those anti pick me girls like the pick nobody girls who insist thinking is#for boys and having fun with an empty brain is for girls. Greta gerwig is an artist. I haven’t seen the movie yet but I know it has a deeper#message than haha cute pink! I’ve seen the summaries about the true meaning. the pinkness and popularity doesn’t negate the narritive.#though in the notes I saw a lot of tumblristas comunistas shitting on the film for being one big ad that people *fell for* which tbh is#tbh almost as anti-intellectual. don’t get me wrong they milked this film to sell hella shit but I don’t believe kids who play with dolls#are the target audience as these people claim. Barbie is a culturally iconic symbol almost archetypical of societal expectations for women#you say barbie people think unblinking perfect plastic pink girly. reminds me of the poem The Last Mojave Indian Barbie. yeah yeah you all#hate brands but this one carries undeniable significance and makes for a powerful literary device. it’s been used many times before#sorry for writing a tag essay about a film I haven’t even seen but I’m tired of internet people focusing so much on proving others wrong#that they end up oversimplifying everything just as much as the other person. god I saw people doing this to Nimona saying transphobes were#looking too deep into her character and they’re reactionary clowns for making that jump. like for once the transphobes are right. she is#trans. it’s a queer story. and irl the first people who notice queerness are the bigots who can tell you’re different. sick owns telling#them the story’s not that deep is harmful and it’s like they’re ignoring the real message on purpose. okay enough rambling hehe! thanks#barbie#nimona
122 notes · View notes
ketxup-kid · 9 months
Text
I have ants all over my room. They always come in more numbers than the day before.
Sometimes I wake up with the ants crawling up my spine.
Sometimes the ants come to take away the bodies of their compatriots.
I respect them for it, I think. I just wish they would find a different battleground.
I am tired of this slaughter, and so i no longer kill the ants. And so they come in larger, greater numbers than before.
I am afraid of them, in a sense.
Not genuinely, more just a semblance of tired annoyance stemming from my mother.
I have mold growing in a teacup by my bed. I have no desire to wash it. No need to.
My mother is frantic now. So desperately tired. She slams her broom onto the ants. Tells me to do the same.
They are just as tired of dying as I am of killing them.
They work and toil to keep the colony alive.
My mother is like an ant in that sense.
And because she is my mother, I am like her, and so I am an ant.
But my mother has a murderous fury. And I have my father's willfull ignorance. I let rot thrive.
Maybe my mother will tire of my ignorance and she will come to kill the ants in my room. Maybe she will rid me of my teacup. Maybe she will kill every last one of the ants. And becasue she is an ant, and because that makes me an ant,
Maybe she will kill me too.
100 notes · View notes
elainewellspoetry · 1 month
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Playing The Part | 2.26.24 Note: This is the second poem I've written about this topic in 2 days and I'm realizing now that the reason it's been so hard to write in the past year is because I haven't been writing honestly. I was trying so fucking hard to write love poetry about a guy I wasn't into, and now I'm just speaking my feelings and it's so easy to write again.
24 notes · View notes
theirloveisgross · 1 year
Text
wine glass, empty cans air maxes and yellow sunglasses ashtray, cocaine, getting high on the amber wave kiss her and don't tells, silver tongues, toothache choke her with a seaview, puff pass and i choked when your smoke got in my eye bad logic and bad move those stupid jokes only we know, just act normal black-and-white film camera, nights like these we’ll remember you said love was a pretty lie, i will always love you we held darkness in withheld clouds, i know nobody understands me like you do you smile at me and say it's time to go, but i don't feel like going home i would ask, should we just keep driving? science and edibles, you said grass was a dirty drug tea with cyborgs, you like to preach with a vodka in your mug life hacks going viral in the bathroom, i love all the things you know we stand up tall and beat our chests, jump off the roof, i’m king on a 50-metre road riot america, we shout some things that we'll regret you know it’s times like these, passports in footwells, we’re so much happier hot wax, those songs we wrote, side boob, only we know you know when i’m with you, hashbrown, egg yolk, i’m so much happier swimming pool, going deep for the ones who do the same sit down with a master plan, maple syrup, coffee, pancakes for two settle in for another heavy one, moka pot, monday, it's all good waking up to start again, a small concern with how the engine sounds there's nowhere else that i would rather be hey you, should we just keep driving?you and me until the end.
Keep Silver Tongues Driving: mashed lyrics into not-poems, a series (1/?).
240 notes · View notes
gh03tb0y · 5 months
Text
pre(teen)
I’m sorry I hated you for so long. I’m 
sorry that I dug your grave with 
my bare hands and shoved rocks into your
mouth, shutting up your tongue. I’m sorry I loathed 
your innocence, your ignorance. What 
little we had. I never comforted you, wishing 
you’d disappear, that we died. I’m sorry 
no one ever held your hand and that I 
wasn’t able to. I’m sorry I blamed you
instead of him. You’re tired and beautiful 
and this time I’ll build a better headstone for
you. This time I’ll be everything we wanted.
I’ll leave flowers at your grave every Saturday and
we’ll sit in silence and I won’t tell 
you how I’m doing because you already 
know. I live in your skin and you 
live in mine. Rotting and stitched back 
up in the same breath.
22 notes · View notes
felizusnavidad · 3 months
Note
haiku about the end of the year
it’s this time of the year
when you say goodbye
to moments of doubt and anger and tears
don’t let fuckers win
screw them
let’s focus on goodness and light
they will never know these feelings
goodbye bad bad people
✨✨✨✨
once upon a time, in a faraway land in a small and shitty mall there was this "luxury" store and guess what was it called? ****Trend
there was a girl, poppy was her name she used to work in this place and oh, it was once her safe space but not anymore, what a shame
the job was shitty, that's not a lie her workmates were amazing though they made her laugh, laughed at her jokes (she even befriended the new guy)
and then one day no fun, no more she got the worst news ever "we are transferring you", the bad bitch witch tells her "to a different mall, a different store"
the store was far away from poppy's and her new team couldn't accept her there was one guy who fucking hated her she couldn't take it, she wrote her notice
i guess you can say she wrote her way out but she still had to stay for quite some time tried to be nice to them, was that a crime? "i will survive this, without a doubt"
crying sessions in the bathroom that was poppy's way to cope but then one day she just said "nope" new idea, sick leave, BOOM!
who's laughing now? i guess not them she's gonna have long christmas break she knows for sure that wasn't a mistake that's why now she is writing this poem
she also got a new job offer her teerico merch is on the way good things are coming, also, hey! she's taking the job, it starts next year!
she saw in the heights live in koszalin she met jakub gierszał with her bestie, bel she wrote her way out of this hell (maybe one day she will also meet lin?)
here's to new year, here's to the new chapter here's to uk trip and the eras tour in poland! here's to my friends, my moots from foreign land may poppy's life be full of laughter!
16 notes · View notes
castielafflicted · 6 months
Text
handing you all some more trauma poetry in the form of a religious metaphor. (none of this is about any flavor of suicidal ideation at all fyi. it's just a metaphor I have yet to understand)
the story of Cain and Abel always kinda fucked me up as a kid and here we are
Tumblr media
transcription under the cut
Cain. Abel. Rock.
I am Cain I am Abel I am the rock I am the me that is my brother I love the me that is my brother I long to be the me that is my brother
I am the rock that kills me I am the rock that kills me I am the rock that kills me I am the me that uses the rock to kill me I am the me that is killed by me I am the me that is used by me to kill me
The me that is jealous spills my blood The me that is betrayed crashes to the ground The me that is the rock is motionless at last I am the Cain that kills Abel I am the Abel killed by the rock I am the rock I hold in my hands
22 notes · View notes
goodriddancedeluxe · 3 months
Text
hmm
12 notes · View notes
runawaycarouselhorse · 4 months
Text
Three little dark brown spots set in a splash of milky light brown On the palm of my left hand, I showed to my mother, curious. She took one look and said: "Dirt."
I felt my heart crushed to powder.
My sister, filled with self-loathing About her appearance, envious Of how I never seemed to hate mine. "I love my big, poofy, wavy hair!" "You love frizz for some reason." She lamented her dark eyes, Told her I always liked mine, They reminded me of black tea— A deep, reddish-brown; tea-coloured. She looked closely at my eyes; "Dirt."
I felt my heart crushed to powder.
I never stopped loving my hair or my eyes! I just loved them less: sad, hateful things.
Returning after prayer in medical school, Lashes still too wet for my glasses, I stepped into my sunny lecture room, My late friend (one of only two) cried: "You have light brown eyes! Your glasses Hide them–destroy them." Like a poem!
Once, I sat on my bed, in the sunlight. Mama insisted on open windows, I like morning light, but not mid-day heat. So I always closed them at noon— I sat in the sun, mama stood in the door She hurriedly called my dad over to see. "Look, in the sun, her hair looks golden!"
16 notes · View notes
brookheimer · 10 months
Text
didn’t expect the anne carson post to get notes but now that it has i myself am the recipient of bad takes. horrible
#also 75% of the people reblogging it atp do not seem to understand my frustration w the comments#like i didn’t post this to be like look how ableist twt users are in denying the lived experience of depression for other ppl#i mean sure but that was not the point of the post#it’s about an inability to read poetry and a newfound insistence on everything including art having a Take i#it’s about a fundamental disconnect with literature and works in general that are not written for you specifically#relatability politics infiltrating literary discourse#like their criticism of the poem is the strangest i’ve ever seen bc it has nothing to do with the poem. people do not know how to read#anymore#they treat everything like it’s a tweet they either need to publicly agree with or publicly mock#but yeah like my point was not Look How Dismissive They Are Of Neurodivergent Experiences#it was Jesus Fucking Christ The Education System Is Failing Us And Critical Literacy Is At An All Time Low#i mean this isn’t supposed to be about depression. it’s about life and living it#and honestly people defending it from the depression/neurodivergenxe angle is just the flip side of the twitter hate — you like it because#you view it as representative of your specific lived experience and would likely not like it if it didn’t#it’s being wrapped up into identity politics#and that was sooooo not the point of the post like i am criticizing the relatability/identity politics mode of reading#it’s made us unable to look at things on their own terms let alone thru a legitimate critical lens!#i mean ofc you can like stuff bc it resonates w you i’m not criticizing That. but saying that that’s what gives a work of art value or#determines whether or not it’s ‘good’ is ridiculous and narcissistic and rooted in the tiktok brain fungus discouraging all nuance ever#sorry sorry i’ll shut up now
23 notes · View notes
depressedvibe · 1 year
Text
If I'm going to feel this way for the rest of my life I'd rather not live at all.
379 notes · View notes
Text
The HORROR of hearing your little five-year-old voice singing awkwardly along to a pristine backing track because your dad was just dying to shove you in front of a mic and produce a song as soon as you could enunciate words semi-intelligibly.
13 notes · View notes
bl00dylavender · 6 months
Text
sometimes.
most of the time i’m okay when i’m around you. most of the time i’m me and i’m myself. most of the time we are just two friends laughing together. but there are sometimes. sometimes my dysphoria takes over. and i become a different person. and it makes me hate you. it makes me hate your voice and your muscles and your jokes and your laugh and everything else in between. it makes me angry. it makes me feel robbed. because that should be me. that should be me. i should have the flat chest and the deep voice and the boyish charm and the strong muscles. i should be roughhousing with our other roommates. i should be making sex jokes at you all too. but instead it isn’t. and instead i’m me. sometimes i get enraged. and i want to scream and cry. i want to throw myself at the cold hard ground until i look bloodied and beat up and you can’t tell if it’s a boy or a girl you’re looking at. i want to rip the guitar out of your hands and smash it over your head. i want to punch you and scream and yell because you have everything i want. and it isn’t fair. and when these sometimes happen, i feel so guilty afterwards that i can barely look you in the eye. it isn’t your fault. it’s not your fault i was born wrong. but during these sometimes it sure does feel like it.
16 notes · View notes