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#napowrimo napowrimo2024
nwpoetariel · 20 days
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Revisiting
Revisiting Now thoughts of you are rare,a distraction not afforded me.Life has gotten too perilouswhen you are near,too much a luxury.Is this how love begins to end?I am too busy keeping all the lights on,it demands too much attention;they fade as I stop thinking of you.Thoughts of you began to beforgot, how my heart rapidly beat.Beloved, is this how?  It ends.And the fire is going,…
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🦋 Happy #NaPoWriMo Adventurers! 🦋 This year, we've put together a special prompt list for our community + any curious passersby. Prompts were made by me, Maria @shylovrs so feel free to tag the guild + moi! Use the #AdventurersWrite or #ShyPrompts to share your work!
And if you'd like to join a community of dedicated writers and creatives this April, the guild's doors are open! Check the link in bio or click here to gain access to our discord!
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theglycoprotein · 2 months
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CHESS
Language is so full of nuance.
It is the Spider Man meme - each phrase
points to another
points to another:
A triad of meaning.
Here's an example:
when I say I miss you,
I mean the sky wouldn't have looked grey but blue
when I stared up into it earlier on
the way I gaze into you;
it means the rain would have been a warm kiss
instead of a cold poke, breath like smoke
on the wind except it's now April
and I thought things were supposed
to be getting warmer.
It means that I could be sitting in the dark
and there would be so much light
I still wouldn't be able to see.
And I know physics says the world spins
about a thousand miles an hour,
but when I'm with you it goes so much faster
and yet doesn't seem to move a muscle.
A held breath; the black queen dancing with the white king
as she moves into a check;
A suspended piano chord echoing to fill the empty space,
but embraces our bodies
as we do each other.
See, when I tell you you're an idiot,
I mean I love you.
When I tell you you're ridiculous,
I mean I love you.
When I tell you I love you,
I mean the world could be moving
a million miles a day
and the stars haven't got a hope in all that is holy
to sweep me off my feet,
to coax a smile from my cheeks,
to rob my gaze from your eyes.
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jasminesuntrell · 1 month
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No More Fucking Butterflies (19/30)
I have decided the next man I meet who makes me nervous is getting blocked, walked away from- I'll run if I have to. No conversation, no glances, no more whirlwind romances, I'm not giving chances. I'm through.
Who the hell decided butterflies in the tummy was something to romanticize in the first place? For me, I think it's my body trying to tell me to get as far as I can from this demonic creature who will only cause me harm but I kept thinking it's a good thing if his presence can make me stumble over words.
Hell no.
Neutrality is the way to go. The man you're mostly unaware of until he gives you good reasons to be. The one who doesn’t prey on the unbalanced chemical reaction that happens when you lay eyes on him.
And maybe the love story won't be the stuff of an indie romance film but it will be stable and real. It won't give you more material from which to heal. It will provide you with bliss more enduring than the intoxications of fleeting butterflies.
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NaPoWriMo (2024) Day 26: Tough talk
Prompt 26 asks us to introduce some alliteration, assonance and consonance to our poems so here I have a bare minimum. Enjoy. Tough talk kid, you'll never get these years backThe ones you wasted back on bed crying, The trips that stood cancelled In favour of the painThat would have ridIf you did the deed, If you lived more alive than dead.Real reason of your little deaths Are because you ran Sat…
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writeallywrite · 2 months
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To be selfish like the brain, the heart and the pen #napowrimo2024
Photo by Jess Bailey Designs on Pexels.com NAPOWRIMO 2024 Day 5 To be selfish,Like how the brain does,Is to write perfectly,Speckless from errors,Perfect forms and execution.Flawless, To be selfish,Like how the heart does,Is to write freely,Passionate and intense,Let them feel how it felt,Thrilling, To be selfish,Like how the hand does,Is to write thoroughly,To tell everything,Let everyone…
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starfly-inq · 2 months
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A bird, A boy
Two wings, four eyes
More feathers
Breakfast bird,
Hopping in the hollyhocks
waiting for the rain
If boys had wings, they could disappear
And become rainclouds
Dripping waxworks
Of sorrowful sky
To fall down
down
down below
on everything
That will ever be loved
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nickchristian86 · 2 months
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Fragments | "Hello"
I’m beginning to question if I canActually find a degree of real joyFrom anything anymore or if I am willfully suppressing venturingtowards the semblance of happiness that hasbeen allotted to my life. There’s an outline of how I thought this poem could go but whichever way the wind takes me I think Iwill be inclined to go in this month-longexperiment that will hopefully morphinto a sizable blank…
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nwpoetariel · 20 days
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Revisiting
Revisiting Now thoughts of you are rare,a distraction not afforded me.Life has gotten too perilouswhen you are near,too much a luxury.Is this how love begins to end?I am too busy keeping all the lights on,it demands too much attention;they fade as I stop thinking of you.Thoughts of you began to beforgot, how my heart rapidly beat.Beloved, is this how?  It ends.And the fire is going,…
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theglycoprotein · 1 month
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ANTHROPOLOGY
The water ripples
as if it is touched by rain,
though the sky is empty.
And she wears a smile
on just kissed pink lips -
a quiet thing.
Her heart is heavy at their departing,
with longing, with want, not need -
there is
a difference.
The sun stretches, yawns,
its mouth open wide enough to devour the world,
its arms spilling light like a gift
or an afterthought: a girl
so keen to be loved she would empty herself
of all that she is for it.
The waves throw up spray; a tempest,
a protest,
trying so hard to be a mirror the girl can use
in order to see herself clearly... but
she excavates herself looking for something
that was always there.
Brushes away, tenderly, at bones,
labels them the discovery of the century;
the epitome of a lifetime's worth of work,
but will not,
cannot,
name them her own.
For this is to admit to brokenness,
rather than to realise you can be whole alone.
Crows dance upon the crests of waves,
wet beaks and talons glint, shining like jet
in the winter morning.
Their wings delicate in their movements,
powerful in their purpose.
She names herself "full" as she stands there
hollow and gaping.
Watching the sun rise and wishing
it could swallow her whole.
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Please give a warm welcome home to the Adventurer’s Writing Guild! The Guild is a writing community exclusively open in April & August! Public invites close in 2 weeks; check the bio to enter. #AdventurersWrite
What is the Guild?
Well in 2020, @nashiraa and @shylovrs started a writing Discord server called “let’s ⁠escapril” in dedication to the April challenge by Savannah Brown. We’ve grown a loving, warm community in the years since…but we've since decided to write our own narrative and created the AWG to welcome every writer from every creed! After all, it’s dangerous to write alone. ⚔🛡
You can join us by checking out our pinned post or by clicking our discord invite link!
*Creatives who make/share NSFW content are welcome. However, we do not permit/share NSFW content on the server or our social media.
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jasminesuntrell · 28 days
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Mycophobia Pt. III (22/30)
In March I told a man I was terrified of mushrooms and because I've come to realize people really love mushrooms, I hastily explained that the fear is rooted in my obsession and severe trauma surrounding death and that, I view mushrooms as the product of death. He probed more and eventually I let it slip that I feel that I am essentially a mushroom and really I'm terrified of myself- a creature who thrives in darkness and only exists because of death.
And he said but mushrooms live. Mushrooms are alive. And some other scientific shit about the complexities of their makeup or ecosystem. Don't ask me, 2002 was the last time I took Biology.
But it fucked me up because I've been so focused on the death and the rot and the murk that preceded me and succeeded me I had not realized being a mushroom doesn't make me the symbol of death, rather the proof of life after it.
I am not saying I'm no longer scared of mushrooms or that I'm now fully comfortable with myself. Just that there is something to be said for the ability to grow in absence of light. To be able to nourish yourself off decomposition.
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jasminesuntrell · 2 months
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Musical Chairs (3/30)
We keep running round and round the chair and every time I think I'm about to win you snatch it from under me or pull me off of it. Instead of taking the chair for yourself and reveling in my defeat, you start the music up again and we start making circles, again. Because, in truth, you want me to win. You want me to be the one thing you couldn't see coming. The one chasing you and not the thrill.
The one sitting with you on the chair as the song ends.
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jasminesuntrell · 21 days
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Misremembered or Forgotten (29/30)
I used to have an unreal memory. An almost disturbing ability to recall just about anything. But depression and trauma and SSRIs did a number on me and, now, I forget what I'm saying while speaking.
I read some poetry from my twenties, tonight. They were full of stories and people I have long forgotten. Some, I couldn't even conjure up with my own words as the prompt. People and experiences it seems once meant a great deal to me are now faceless strangers I saw in passing.
But the part about this that stung was not the memories I lost or the superhuman ability that's gone. It's the part where I misremembered me. I was hopeful and youthful, in spite of my pain and not the life-long malcontent I've always claimed.
And for as much as I questioned if I'd ever been in love before 2022, I see from my poems, I loved deeply. I just do it, now, from full capacity. I do it, now, passionately.
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jasminesuntrell · 22 days
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Un-infatuated (28/30)
The embodiment of what you thought you desire stands before you. She gifts you a heart eager to love you in all the ways you crave. You realize not all dreams are meant to come true and leave.
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jasminesuntrell · 23 days
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I Get it, Taylor (27/30)
Time is not the ultimate measure of intensity and sometimes it goes that a two-month on/off situationship might be more intense than the "safe" relationship you stayed in for 4 years. Failed attempts at practicality rarely inspire an abundance of words. Most often, they are the thing done in reaction to the thing we can't stop writing about.
I get it, Taylor. I, too, have had forevers that lasted just a fortnight. I've had them in one night. I've written odes to undergrown men who truly didn't deserve. Some of them, I vaguely remember. But it makes no difference. Whatever words I typed or scribbled, in those moments, I meant them.
That's why I don't judge Taylor Swift for always having songs about men and leaning in to melodramatics. Not when I know the hell of dealing with men. Might as well get some art from the shit. And that is why I'm going to keep on penning poems about niggas, indiscriminately.
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