#i just wrote a poem on this feeling

[sgkjd]

i actually maybe don't like "blogging" at all. maybe it was just the best option i had at a certain time in my life. maybe i even feel repulsed by it now. maybe i just feel sick of the blogging i personally tried to do. maybe i have thoughts on creating a completely new account on here and experimenting with how expressing myself in the blogging format works best for me. (maybe i never really considered that i can blog in ways that'd be more enjoyable for me). maybe i want to only have one blog instead of 363828 sideblogs for different interests, maybe i finally know how to fit my multitudes inside one body and one mind.

#i just wrote a poem on this feeling #i said i needed to reach out down life's throat and rip out the heart and then hold it in the palm of my hand #and feel the heartbeat pulsating directly on my skin #<- to summarize #maybe i dislike how this blog was initially a 'vent blog' when i created it and i kinda want to leave this dead snake skin behind #and not carry it around anymore #ooohh lately everything feels so scary but oh so exciting at he same time #; words generated by me #spilled thoughts

[crybaby-bkg]

asking nerd Bakugou to give you a ‘pearl necklace’ and he starts grumbling about you tryna drain him dry but instead of pulling out his cock, he pulls out his phone to actually search for a pearl necklace </3

and to both his surprise and embarrassment, his phone is quickly tossed away in favor of you showing him what you’re actually asking for. he’s not mad though—not when you end up looking so pretty covered in white, grinning, and asking for another necklace <3

#I wanted to write this full out but my head actually feels like it’s gonna explode #I’ve been feeling a little more inspired lately tho which is great!! #I’ve been reading and watching (more watching) a lot of creative works/media #and I always forget how much it helps inspire creativity #I wrote a poem last night for the first time in a month I think #and now I wanna continue writing my original story and my tengen fic #I just hope the academic week doesn’t drain me too much this week #bc I would love to write more ;-; I miss it!! #bakugou treats! 🍬 #—new treat in the streets! 🍫 #my tags r still gone tho I hate this shit

[cuubism]

i said i might write something based on Sonnet XVII by Pablo Neruda and well. yeah.

--

“Have you been thinking much of this time?” Dream asks.

They are at the beginning. The ancient, smoky main room of the White Horse, all the way back then, when that sweet, starlit entity had loomed over Hob with challenge and strangeness and then swept away again, leaving the start of a story in his wake. Only this time, Dream is sitting with him, and the rest of the room is faded out, as it had when Hob had first seen him, this collected truth of the universe.

(Dream does not believe in objective truth—of course he doesn’t, he is made of dreams—though he would not articulate it that way if asked. Hob, meanwhile, knows at least one truth, and it’s what he feels when he looks at Dream.)

“Don’t you think of it?” he asks, wrapping an arm around Dream’s waist, fingers over his hipbone. It is a dream, but that distinction does not matter to Hob much anymore.

“I suppose. I think of much.”

“‘Course you do.” He strokes his hand up and down Dream’s side, and Dream hums. “I wondered about following you. Think if I did you’d have been gone into smoke already.”

“Yes. I did not care to stay long.”

“Nor I,” Hob admits.

“Truly?” says Dream, with surprise.

“Was thinking about you too much,” Hob says. “How could I go back to just chatting with my mates when I had seen you?”

“Why did you stay, then?”

“You have to take time with your mates while you have it,” Hob says. “Didn’t need six hundred years of life to know that one. Just a couple dozen deaths. Had the rest of eternity to mull over you, after all.”

“And did you?” Dream asks.

“Oh, yes.” He pulls Dream close. Slides over until he’s half in his lap, straddling his thigh, perfectly placed to kiss him. Hands on his shoulders, his neck, the sharp cut of his jaw. Once, Hob had held him from afar, like a wish. Now, Hob holds him close, as dream, as friend, as lover, in his human way, with sweat and time and hands.

“I mulled over you like fine wine,” Hob says, twisting his fingers in Dream’s hair, and Dream smiles. Hob kisses him again. Sips of his mouth like mulled wine, indeed. But his love for Dream is nothing so fleeting as spice on his tongue.

Or as fleeting as Dream sometimes thinks it will be. Dream is a living love poem to creation. But he does not know how to be loved in the way Hob wants to love him. In the way Hob does love him. Hob thinks that Dream knows how to be loved as a dream is loved, as a hope is loved, as an ideal is loved: held in glass, or in the sky, distant, perfect, disappointing up close. Parts of him are held as bubbles in different souls, but never in entirety.

He knows how to be loved as a nightmare is loved, bloody fear and history, raw closeness, curling in the humors of the body. He has been loved as a story is loved, which is to say, as creation is loved, as transmission is loved, as distance, as connection, as hearts on radio waves, as endings are loved, the pathways of him, container and fill.

Dream does not know how to be loved as a person is loved.

Hob loves him still when he grows teeth, and when a sweet taste comes to his mouth. Hob loves him as potential, as uncertainty. Story unset in stone. In softening belly and uneven step. Hob will show him how to be loved as a person is loved, because Dream is a person, especially when he insists he is not, and Hob loves him as one, has loved him as one, and Dream, who is used to being loved as dreams, cannot comprehend this.

He asks, sometimes. Why? Not even in a hurt, self-hating way. In a genuinely curious way, for he is not used to it. Hob hasn’t had the answer to that. Just trust that I do.

This moment, kissing Dream in the smoke of memory, is an answer. This is the beginning, but a fragment of words comes back to him, read in the between-time, when they were apart.

“You wanted to know why I loved you.” His lips are to Dream’s skin as he speaks, moved to his throat, his chest, pulling open his high collar, as Dream shivers under him. In the Dreaming, things can be like other things in a way that makes no sense in the Waking; Dreaming-sense is like a collage, the distant truth of collected fragments. And so touching Dream’s skin is like stepping out into the earliest morning, before the human world’s woken up, and feeling what’s un-meant to be felt.

“I do not think love needs a why,” Dream says. “Yet I have wondered.”

He gets it, Hob thinks, except that he doesn’t let himself.

He traces the harsh line of Dream’s collarbone with his mouth. Dream is full of harsh lines and seems incapable of letting softness stick to his bones. “‘I love you because I know no other way than this.’”

“I am familiar with the poem,” Dream says, but his voice is caught on Hob's words, his long fingers disbelieving in Hob’s hair.

“Are you?”

“Between shadow and soul is where dreams reside,” says Dream.

“And what about Dream?” Hob says, looking up at him, stressing the singular.

Dream’s lips purse, and Hob goes back to kissing his chest, up his sternum, over his heart. “I know,” he says between kisses, “no other way. Than this.”

Dream tangles him up, long arms, legs curled together, shadow and star around him. Hob’s loved him so long that he doesn’t remember what it was like not to. He has been tangled up in Dream since the beginning. It is what he is.

“A dream resides where it is wanted,” says Dream, finally answering his question. His voice has roughened, his breath has quickened, affected by Hob’s touch, by the words of the poem. Each lick, and kiss, and bite coils the Dreaming closer around them. One day it might be harder to wake up than to fall asleep.

“It’s wanted,” Hob says, and claims his beautiful mouth, pressing him back against the wall. His hair in its uncontrollable frissons, his eyes in their changeable void, his needy starvation of a thousand unanswered love poems—this kiss is a response to those missives. Dream is in the shadowed parts of him, in his turning points, in the words he speaks. Hob sees his answer in the tears that bead along his eyes but refuse to fall, in his darkness and whimsical creations, and his surprised, gentle pleasure when he’s kissed.

Hob loves him so. There’s no moral or end to that story. Hob’s love for Dream is. Full stop. End of sentence.

#this is a little weird bc i was trying to capture how poems make me feel in the style of how i wrote it #hopefully some of you might like it because of or in spite of the weirdness XD #dreamling #hob gadling #dream of the endless #my writing #inspired by poetry #me writing this like i'm just gonna start putting verbs where theyre not meant to be used and making things negative in a way it's not mean #to be. let's see what happens XD

[whaliiwatching]

Hey, my cat is getting put to sleep tomorrow and your noirpunk fic has been helping me process this and is very comforting so thank you a million times for it, I hope you have a fantastic week

fuck, dude, i’m so sorry. i lost my cat a while ago too. it’s awful and i still miss her.

i’m glad my writing could help a little. couldn’t finish this today, but here’s a sketch based on a fic idea i’ve been cooking for a bit. i hope it makes you smile. take care of yourself <3

#inbox love #spider man: into the spiderverse #spider noir #we don’t deserve cats #i wrote five poems about my cat just to cope with her death. it doesn’t hurt less but it hurts less often #please take the time to just. process. feel your feelings. remember to eat #if you want happier things to read: #noir has a soft spot for black cats #he has an army of strays in harlem that he feeds #i mentioned in the fic that hobie’s docks have strays too. they love noir dearly #the 30s harlem and 70s london/old york communities both care for the cats like giant families #the cats are happy and loved and at rest #<3

[poetricismic]

She loved the night sky...for he was the moonlight...crescent or full, on every phase, he never miss to fulfill...

Poetricismic

#idk what i just wrote #poetry #words #love poems #love #relashionship #feelings #poetic #writers and poets #quotes #lines #original poem #writersblr #writers on tumblr #art #spilledink #spilled poetry #love quotes #creative writing #poets on tumblr

[six-white-venus]

What can you do when you hate every word that comes out of your mouth with a burning passion? When nothing you say ever feels right? When all of your words feel like lies, even though they’re not?

Because they’re not, right? …right?

#hello anon hope you like this one #now that i wrote it i'm not so sure if this was a prompt or you were asking for advice #i got the poem part of it covered #instead of advice i'll just tell you some simple stuff that works for me sometimes #talk to someone. it makes you feel awful at the beginning but d it. talk talk talk #if talking is too much reach out to any of your loved ones #and just be in their presence #if that's also not an option. take a nap. cry if you think it'd help #don't forget to eat and drink water #just in case it wasn't a prompt #i hope everything turns out well for you anon <3 #my writing #prose poetry #words #love #writeblr #prose #tw dissociation #overthinking

[a-had-matter]

When it comes down to to to it, the question is: what do I do? I don’t know, so I do nothing and if I never know, I’ll never go I’ll sit like a match unlit until the light hits me too I still know nothing so nothing’s what I’ll do

#original poem #poems on tumblr #just a poem #poem #poetry #poets on tumblr #writeblr #poets of tumblr #writers and poets #spilled thoughts #spilled words #spilled poetry #some shit I wrote when I was feeling down #so it turned out really well for me

[northern-passage]

i wrote a 500 word dynamic poem for neo-twiny jam :-)

i rewrote this in a few different ways with a handful of different drafts before settling on just doing a poem; this originally came from a full branching narrative i've had stewing for a while, and i might come back to it one day. but for now i enjoyed channeling that into this poem, which has also been very influenced by the fact that i've been writing hungry vampires for almost 2 months now.... it was also my first time messing with audio in twine, which ended up being way easier than i expected (i'm sure it helped that i only used one audio sample tho)

faith does contain sexual content, and while not super explicit, it is the main theme of the poem.

anyways hope you enjoy and check out the other entries here!

#if u read one day hike it's in the similar vein i guess. sad lesbians...lol #this is VERY embarrassing for me i do not write or share poetry very often so. HRNG #i tried to do more of a narrative style first with choices & an abrupt short voice #but i really didnt like it. felt even more embarrassing than this... #i dont think the way i write lends itself to that style & it felt very amateurish/childish #so i set it aside for a while and kept working on my other project in the meantime #so i think when i came back to it i was feeling partially inspired by what i had written for that which made me rewrite it again #sex and food and desire and hunger... you know how it is #not 100% about it all together but i like it more than the first 4 versions lmfao #i did try to do timed lines as well and it just.. didnt hit for me. i love/hate timed lines you have to really get them just right #or else they're just annoying iykwim #also i was surprised i actually hit 500 words i didnt think i was going to #also also this is a poem in that. i wrote it and am calling it a poem...mnfkjdg #anyways. ough #faith #other writing

[anunfortunatekinlist]

To write you heart.

There are notebooks full, full of notes doodles recipes, poems; illustrations of love, ink soaked pages full of admiration. Small ink platter where Remus had pressed too hard on the quill, small in smudges where he’d dragged the sleeve of his robe over a particularly detailed sketch of Sirius in his casual clothes, a small section in the back of the book, full of pressed daisies from the daisy chain Sirius and James had made in the spring.

The notebook was soaked to the brim with Remus’s admiration, love and unrequited devotion to Sirius, a part of his heat that he allowed to be shown through intricate strokes of his quill, the script of his heart melted into the page.

And it was missing, it was not in his book bag? where he always kept it, he couldn’t find it anywhere. His heart was beating out of his chest, it was dangerous in anyone else’s hands, all his devotion was spilled into the pages and it threatened to ooze into the gossip-filled halls of Hogwarts.

He retraced his steps, carefully looking over the library and the Great Hall, seeing if he could see it on a table, or in someone’s hands.

He searched for what felt like eons for the secret part of his heart, until he finally decided to retire to bed, hoping to find the notebook tomorrow in one of his classes.

As he opens the door to the dorm, to only see Sirius, and the notebook.

#this is just a silly thing i wrote on the way home from work #feel like it kind of encapsulates loser remus #writing soppy poems about his crush #marauders era #sirius black #remus john lupin #wolfstar #remus lupin #unrequited #maybe? #harry potter #marauders

[korperlos]

someone please flush my brain, change my battery, or whatever, i just want to be able to fully focus on things again and feel some energy in this strange body i inhabit, i want to be able to enjoy things

#in my teens i used to do so many creative things #i wrote stories and poems every day #did photography wherever i went #studied topics in great detail just for fun #read countless books #and today i struggle to write more than a sentence #doesn't matter if it's work or uni papers or anything else #can't focus on anything anymore #always feeling drained for idk fifteen years now #how am i supposed to bear that #when i know life can be so much more fulfilling #personal

[chaiichait]

-Moths Of Disease

I hate being sick

Because being sick means your head spins around while you stay still

Your mind is flying too fast

Like little moths searching to eat its fill

They scurry around the caves inside your nose

And sneak into your lungs

They lay there to multiply and run rampant, flicking their tongues

The moths spit up poison in return

Scorching your throat and burning your skin

While you cough and cough and cough

Pesky little insects, never quite knowing when to quit

Wasted fluids, liquids and spat spit

The little moths are greedy,

They never drink their fill

But the moths will never win

I must admit I can see a great battle

In my yellowed spit and flaring heat

Little white soldiers fight

Grabbing weapons and spite

I know they will become victorious

It only takes a little time

#different from my usual content but I just want to appreciate my little guys dying in there #leukocytes are the bomb #yall are great #(macrophages you guys are my favourite but #but glial cells are a close second) #i wrote this poem after I saw the yellowed remains of my white blood cells after i blew into a tissue #makes me appreciate these lil guys #poetry #free verse #i am often impatient when Im sick cause theres so much stuff i have or need to do and i end up being frustrated because i cant do them #but knowing that these lil guys are trying so hard to protect me makes me feel a little better #biology #cells #brain cells #white blood cell #never revealed my other interests online usually just never came up 😭

[amalgamationink]

NAPOWRIMO24 #12: the pyrite age of pyracy

#prompt: write a poem playing with the idea of a ''tall tale''. #idk what to tell you about this one. i went to the wiki page for tall tale + i saw blackbeard's name. #and i thought about how there's a lot less mystery to the surface of the ocean now that we know where all the boundaries are. #and climate change and blah blah blah. and how there's just not rly a 1:1 on cool sexy mystery in the present day like we associate w/ #the golden age of piracy. then i wrote this thing about 21st century blackbeard reacting to the kraken's death by climate change. #not sure how i feel about it but it's written in time and i wrote it so. started making it had a breakdown bone app the teeth #i am tagging this as blackbeard. i may have cause to regret this. if a certain fandom sees this -- hello. this is not abt that guy. #napowrimo #napowrimo 2024 #spilled ink #writeblr #poetry #poems on tumblr #poetry on tumblr #poets on tumblr #blackbeard #piracy #poem #pirate posting #img desc in alt text #damien.txt

[oedipushansen]

#i uh. wrote a poem. sorry if its bad 😭 im actually kind of proud of myself bc ive never written a full poem like this before #pls feel free to tell me ur thoughts #ALSO dont take the bible stuff too seriously i know joseph appears in some prayers its just i usually only hear marys name when ppl pray #around me #original poem #poetry #original poetry #mother son relationship #txt

[poetricismic]

I don't want to block you nor do I want to ghost you...But you disappeared for too long, I forgot that you existed.

Poetricismic

#idk what i just wrote #poetry #words #poetic #feelings #writers and poets #life quotes #lines #quotes #relationship #love poems #creative writing #writers on tumblr #writeblr #art #life #love quotes #healing #the parting of the ways

[the-writing-frog]

I Love You, I Think

I love you,

But not like that.

I want to be with you,

But not like that.

You make me feel so much,

It's hard to describe.

You make me feel

Safe. Wanted. Home. Loved.

I want to love you,

Give you this feeling too.

I want you to feel home,

Give you this feeling too.

I love you.

More than a friend,

Not like a lover,

I just love you.

I wish to be

The reason you smile.

I want to be

The reason you laugh.

I don't know how else

I'm supposed to say

I love you,

I'm home with you.

But I'll just keep saying,

"I love you,

I love you,

I love you."

#i wrote this about my best friend whos my whole fucking world i love her so much #i dont think she realizes how much i love her #and its also sort of a queer platonic thing sorta? #anywho #poetry #my poetry #poem #sort of #original poem #writing #writing things #love #queer #queer platonic crush #i guess thats what this is? #idk #i dont know how to label feelings i just feel em

[a-had-matter]

there's something a little off about me there's something a bit wrong with me I don't know what to do as you can see and don't know what to choose i'm falling i'm flailing cause i can't swim and i'm failing cause i don't win and i'm trying though honestly i'm not and i'm ok (yes i am)  (no youre not) and i know that him and me can never be cause i'm much too close to the edge of insane-insanity and i walk and walk and talk and talk and i act and lie like i'm fine that i'm fine cause i'm fine and nothing hurts and it's cold and i feel worse but i don't know what i should know and i can't do what i should be able to cause there's something a little off about me something a little wrong with me but i don't know what it could possibly be

#just a poem #poetry #original poem #poems on tumblr #poets on tumblr #poem #freestyle #spilled thoughts #poets of tumblr #spilled ink #spilled poem #spilled poetry #spilled writing #i wrote something #feelings