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#poetic prose
andrewbroz · 12 hours ago
Falling is truly spontaneous in a way that other temporal arts, like music and dance, are not. You can practice falling in a controlled setting, but that isn’t where the art happens. A real fall comes out of nowhere. Sometimes you know it’s coming for several seconds. Sometimes a fall isn’t obvious until you’re halfway through.
Falling is the essence of flow. In the critical moment, a good faller can feel the gradient of outcomes, the shape of accident and of possibility. They do an instantaneous calculus, finding the right twist and angle for impact. This is not merely finding what feels most natural, or what seems like it will hurt the least, or what is the least scary. They find the combination that ensures they can get up again, and again, and again.
Falling is an art shared by skateboarders, gymnasts, climbers, and traceurs, and it’s essential to all of their sports. Not only because falls will happen, even to the best. Without falling progress would be impossibly slow. There would be no trial, error, or discovery. Without falling, none of these skills would exist at all.
Fear of falling is common, and that fear shapes people’s lives profoundly. There are people who go for years without falling even once. This extreme is obviously absurd at scale. If everyone were like this from birth, no one would ever learn to walk. Even if people in the absurd universe with no falling somehow did learn to walk, their lives would be unlivable. The culture around them would be incapable of invention. Learning itself would be too frightening to contemplate.
Perhaps there is a species, some kind of sentient plant or crystal maybe, that can learn without falling. Not humans. Humans are primates. Their minds live in the trees. They fall between possibilities, grabbing at branches, swinging from thought to thought. Falling teaches and motivates humans in ways that are deeper than they might recognize. Even the person with little physical mobility moves through life defined by gravity and uncertainty, motion and instability, to make sense of anything. It’s how people are.
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bukatra · 16 hours ago
How sad it is to wake up one day and realize that the person that you fell in love with was never real, merely a idealized vision of your own design of what they could one day become.
How heartbreaking to look at your lovers true self and find that you don't love the person they really are only the false image in your mind.
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trystmm · 19 hours ago
And if they leave they were never the ones for you because if they were, they wouldn't leave you at the first place. This has been really trending over instagram recently. And so I kept thinking about it all day. I have let so many people just go thinking that they will come back if its meant to be but whenever they did I couldn't just accept them. The betrayal, the lies, those eyes. The world is tough out there, trust me on that. Someone once told me that I shouldn't act like I have cancer because of my overthinking. Brutal I know. Some said I usually bring miseries on myself, some just said they got what they wanted so they gonna leave now and some just came to see I were at peace so why not just dismantle her castle. I remember taking that fine walk by the sea, twilight over my skin and the wet sand taking all my stress away. I stood for a moment and stared at the never ending sheet of waves. I prayed and asked god to be harsh on me if I am ever repeating the same mistake, I cried a little and thanked god for everything they have done to protect me. I am a clumsy human when it comes to choosing families out of blood relations. Just one kind smile is enough for you to have a piece of my heart. It may hurt me to the bones but I swear you will always see me rise. I love how I camouflage my stronger side, its better that way. People see your vulnerable and cant take it to stomach so they leave. And thats how I know who is gonna last . The pain doesnt change you, it changes your perspective. It illuminates the same hope because my intentions were pure, ever lasting and dang somewhat too intense for this world. Humans are weird, I am a void . I filled my hollowness sumptuously and so I fill those who need kindness and compassion. As I said its tough out there. I'll keep you close, even when you dont want. I am the pleasant void .
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daphreviewsbooks · a day ago
A List Of (Five) Good Poets Worth Reading
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There's so much terrible poetry out there. Sure, poetry is subjective, but objectively, there is a lot of terrible poetry. A lot. And so it can be hard to find genuinely good poets! especially trying to find some that aren't the same five straight cis white men! So, I have gathered a list of not straight cis white men! That are poets! (in no particular order) :D
Here they are ;) and feel free to message me some of y'alls favorite poets! I'd love to read them!
Angie Sijun Lou - "Angie Sijun Lou is a Chinese writer from Seattle. Her work has been published by Ninth Letter, The Rumpus, Hobart, Cosmonauts Avenue, Metatron, Peach Mag, Voicemail Poems, Yes Poetry, and others. She was nominated for the 2016 Bettering American Poetry anthology and the Pushcart Prize. This fall she will begin a PhD in Asian American Literature at UC Santa Cruz" (columbia journal).
Kay Ulanday Barrett - "Kay Ulanday Barrett is a published poet, performer, educator, food blogger, cultural worker, and transgender, gender non-conforming, and disability advocate based in New York and New Jersey, whose work has been showcased nationally and internationally" (wikipedia).
Sanober Khan - "Sanober Khan is a Mumbai-based poet and freelance writer. Her work has been published in various journals, including the Taj Mahal Review and the First Literary Review-East. In 2012, her first book "A touch, a tear, a tempest' was shortlisted for the Muse India National Literary Awards. She enjoys reading poetry from around the globe as much as she enjoys writing them" (goodreads).
Alok Vaid-Menon - "ALOK (they/them) is an internationally acclaimed gender non-conforming writer, performer, and public speaker. As a mixed-media artist ALOK’s work explores themes of trauma, belonging, and the human condition. They are the author of Femme in Public (2017) and Beyond the Gender Binary (2020). They are the creator of #DeGenderFashion: a movement to degender fashion and beauty industries and have been honored as one of NBC’s Pride 50, Out Magazine’s OUT 100, and Business Insider’s 25 Doers. They are currently an artist in residence at the Annette von Droste Foundation Center for Literature and a Contributing Editor to the White Review" (alokvmenon).
June Jordan - "One of the most widely-published and highly-acclaimed Jamaican American writers of her generation, poet, playwright and essayist June Jordan was known for her fierce commitment to human rights and political activism." ... "Jordan uses conversational, often vernacular English to address topics ranging from family, bisexuality, political oppression, racial identity and racial inequality, and memory" (poetry foundation)
- daph <3
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trystmm · a day ago
How beautifully Renee sings it for the whole world " The glow between us felt so right" , could I love you anymore?? Music is just like annexure to our stories. Some add flowers and laughters, and some add melancholy and lost hopes. Dark academia or classical tunes and lots of gothic imaginations. Or sometimes its just the real music. Traffic sounds, ocean waves crashing or just sirens faraway. It fills the void.
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trystmm · a day ago
Forevers are dirty.
And the most weird part is you dont realise that you are in the journey of forever until you reach the end. How do I know it ? I had my short forevers . It was infinite and unbelievable.Long forevers are still a mirage for me but I have seen people have it so I know it does exist for some of us. Should I hope ?
Or let it be.
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an-unlikely-poet · a day ago
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What questions were so important they couldn’t wait
Climbing the biggest mountains I could find, provided little solace in a place I once knew
Perhaps selfish thinking this trail was built just for me
Never big enough and my knees hurt anyway
Reason enough to slow down, but there seemed only one speed
One cannot out run them at such heights though
Only keep them at bay as the thin air and rocky ground keep the vampires waiting
And they will wait, they have nothing better to do
Up here, as high as one can go, liberty reigns
Though it could not be known at the time
Only now do I understand
One said I was blessed to covet such a place
Scoffing, I asked if they knew the price of paradise
Of course they did not, they only write the rules
20 years was a long time searching a treasure that did not exist
Only photographs remain, and retrospect of deep seeded memories
One could go back, but to what? It felt as though the welcome sign had been removed
So, onward silly man
Just as the Great Lake you once came from could not contain, neither could this
The world far to big to throw it all in for one more mountain
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solarister · 2 days ago
I often think of my cat as a person, but when I do remember that she is an animal I think of the fact that she responds to me when I call her name and understands when I peck a kiss on her forehead. When I sing to her it’s almost as if she knows and maybe, just maybe, in this nine inch furry animal, I get to see that love is real.
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vhaatever · 2 days ago
Who will hear?
There have been times,
When I have shared,
My random thoughts and fears.
Though, who will hear?
My thoughts and fears?
Or even a shed a tear?
And when I fall,
Will someone stand?
Tall and proud beside me.
Will they care?
Or lend a hand
Or laugh off my misery.
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trystmm · 2 days ago
And sometimes no matter how much you try,
Something's can never workout for you.
You see the finish line but your legs are frozen,
You try try try and keep trying until the race is no longer there and everybody who made it just looks at you the way you never want anybody to see you like.
So you take your step back,
Back to where you started..
And take that road not taken .
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vhaatever · 2 days ago
It's not a state of being. But an emotion
Not to be confused with rage. But with dejection.
Dejection from all you hold righteous
An emotion of caring about all the politeness
It grows as a pattern of caring too much.
A pattern of not being heard as such.
You wait to confront all that irks you.
You wait to put all the blame through.
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Here is what you can take with you when you cross the river:
A couple of coins to pay the ferry man. Find them in the bottom of a handbag, among the ticket stubs and timetables (detritus of a life well travelled, or maybe just spread too thin).
The key to your old house. It will rust where the salt spray hits it – this is an inevitability – and it will always jam the lock hereafter. Time and distance are both corrosive, and you should not expect things to remain unchanged.
WD 40, for the lock. This sits sticky in your dads old toolbox, next to his grandfathers hammer and the hooks for the pictures he always says he'll hang and never quite gets round to. It will stain your fingers and everything you touch, but this is the price for using your father's tools.
A crumpled newsletter about children's shoes. You will mean to bring a notebook, to write things down properly, but there is not one person who does not forget. When scrawling handwriting fills the margins and the backs and even the space between the words themselves, you will curse your inattention, and a vain part of you might even wish you had the back of an envelope and fit some nebulous ideal of A Writer, but here is a secret: you will never run out of space. The river encourages recycling.
The pen your best friend lent you for the duration of a maths test. It never quite feels as if it has enough ink, but she would laugh to see you shake it, full of annoyance and half-formed fractions, and the rich blue globs of ink remind you of the way she would stack her stationary – highlighter upon highlighter upon highlighter in a tower of Babel.
The last rock your brother ever gave you. Long since smoothed by grubby fingers, you will find yourself fumbling to hold onto it. If you drop it into the dancing shallows, you will probably soon forget, but you will never really forgive yourself. If you manage to hold onto it, it will gather dust on a bookcase or a windowsill somewhere, grey and dead, but each time you look at it you will see, in this order: his gap-tooth grin when he gave it to you; that frozen look of fear as he skinned his knee; the way he laughed in the garden that day.
All these things you can take with you, if you can carry them, some more commonly than others. There are currently no records of what you can take with you crossing back. No one yet has been successful.
There is one more thing you carry with you across the river. Your grandmother's compass, cheap and tin and battered. Your mother pressed it in your tiny hand one day, covering your palm entirely, and in your child's mind you had thought it could show you the way to other worlds.
You do not carry a longing for adventure with you. This develops during the crossing.
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pplaidshirt · 2 days ago
The wrath riots
Everyone was angry,
Everyone’s a little enraged
We had lost years simmering
In this collective outrage.
The individual voices had long since
Sunk down to hushed whisperings
Lost and forgotten,
To become one with the winds.
We had been far too calm
And far too composed
The time was too high
To keep up the peace and repose.
So, we stood, stood strong
With our heads held high
The war was too real,
To persist in a condensed quiet.
Under one belief, one motive,
The procession assembles
With one war-cry bringing us all together.
But with time, the agendas dissipate
Though the march keeps moving,
Moving forward.
As the slogans start to die out
A murmured dissent fills the air
Reckless rage ignites further anger
With confused speeches at every corner.
A mob forms as the crowd turn to chaos
What started as a resolution
Is now an open ended riot.
Everyone's a lot angrier
Everyone's outright enraged
The original notion's forgotten
Forgotten motto stands betrayed.
Smoked up and pelted, the steps stay unabated
But the uprising isn't anymore
For which it was originally created.
Our blind actions are fury personified
And we have tongues tipped as knives.
Slashing, lashing new wounds as we speak
We further bleed through the cuts we wreak.
We stomp our feet and shout our demands
But the crown doesn't heed to a  discordant stand.
Baseless anarchy justified with sheer hatred
So now they say, that our vision was never clear in its intent.
Aimless and erratic, the populace soon loses its path
What started as a revolution has ended in riot of wrath.
~ aranya
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trystmm · 4 days ago
You dont get to leave me stranded, its me who is gonna do that to you unfortunately.
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You hear her voice across the room, and there could be nothing more natural than turning to see her, but if you catch her eye you have to fight to hold her gaze, the real rabbit terror of your heart so loud you're sure she sees it pounding in your open mouth. Each time she says your name is electric bright, but hers stays twining desperate in your throat, the bitter white of a strangler fig camouflaged against your teeth. She takes your attention and makes it yours, stands larger than life wherever you look, but if you should try to talk to her your fear could swallow you whole the way you swallow your own tongue. She stains every word you say, and they cling lonely to your lips.
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thestuffiammadeof · 5 days ago
Perched on the edge of panic,
I look down at the coaster below me.
“We’re almost there,”
my aching feet whisper.
And then down we go,
and faster,
and sooner.
Not free falling,
for I am strapped in tight.
Held gently as I weep
and as I glide.
Eyes focused,
shoulders strong,
fingers drumming.
I have never been as cared for
nor open
nor near the divine.
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lbluel-04 · 5 days ago
Just remember not everyone has the same heart as you
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