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leg-life · 3 days

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#tears of themis #the legend of zelda #twink #dramatical murder #big cats #i will reach my ugw #prose poetry #dreamwastaken #浅川梨奈 #eerie #bill kaulitz #gaining #hikaru aoyama #gwen singer #monty python

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poemsonmars · 2 days

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i don't want to

want her anymore.

i am tired of

breaking my own heart.

i spend all of my days

wishing she was mine

and all of my nights

hoping she never finds out.

i guess this is my curse;

unrequited love,

unreciprocated desire.

it consumes me whole.

it always has.

i am nothing if not a fool.

-mars

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skeleton-12 · 2 days

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And if you were to point a dagger at my neck, I’d bend down and lick it until my blood starts to drip off the edge.

</3

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getcareless · 2 days

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Triolet Poem #62

Some will still bite the hand that feeds, yet they will still beg you for more. More flames are all a fire needs. Some will still bite the hand that feeds. Follow the light, see where it leads, we don't need reasons to lie for. Some will still bite the hand that feeds, yet they will still beg you for more.

"The Hand That Feeds", JEP

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hersurvival · 1 day

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My poor fading ember,

I ask the universe to look after you, for the Spring breeze to keep you burning until you are fed the nurturing you deserve and can burn bright once more.

You know that I would gently pick your coals from the ash, ignore the burning flesh of my palms as I raise them to my lips, and breathe my own life back into you. Down to my last, shallow breath if that is what it took.

What is love in darkness? What am I without you?

I would return you to the sun myself to refuel your essence, so long as you might become unwavering again.

Sincerely, desperately,

Your cold, shivering girl

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ikarust · 13 hours

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i talk about tearing flesh from an arm with my teeth and you stare at me in horror like you haven't tasted blood before. i talk about being crushed like a small animal on a fast lane and you ask me how it's humanly possible of me to cling to the stone of the sidewalk the way i do. my mother could skin her hands at the sink and it would still not rid her from the truth that is that she has fed me her body and that she is convict to the manslaughter of her child.

quick question: how does one write about their mother without mentioning their mother? mine is a fortune teller. she tells me in the dead of the night while i am on the kitchen floor with the boning knife in one hand and and a towel in the other that i will never be loved right. that i will never find real love. that i will always suffer if i look for it.

mother knows best.

she tells me she destroyed herself for me and that i am selfish and cruel for not destroying myself for her. she begs me to be beautiful. she begs me to be the daughter she wanted to have. my friend tells me on the swing on a beautiful springtime evening that i am selfish and cruel for devouring every little piece of every damn thing that has ever tasted like love to me. and when i go home in the evening, my mother looks at me like she did the night she told me she wishes she'd killed me when i was a child. i tell everyone i am starving. my mother tells me she told me so.

i stare at the red in the ball of spit i hawked onto the bathroom floor. i retouch the scars on my thighs. i hack away at my hair with the big crafting scissors. i pray to god that i will wake up tomorrow beautiful and loveable. i wake up the same way. my mother tells me to never come back when i step out to leave for work. i tell her i am trying my best but nothing is working. she tells me she told me so. she tells me she's glad to see me in pain because i deserve it.

maybe i do deserve it.

i visit a clothing store and step into the fitting room just to see the way i am reflected back and forth in the front-and-back mirrors. i look and i see a morbid, mangled ruin the greatest what-could-have-been of all time. and by that i mean, i see a million possibilities in one. all the girls i could have been. and at the very center, where the image gets so small it's blurry and barely visible maybe i am beautiful. maybe i am loveable. maybe i find real love and maybe i don't suffer for it.

maybe i am the daughter my mother wanted.

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wordsofaworld · 14 hours

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I did not make the wrong choice

When I chose to love you

It was written in the stars

It was meant to be

You and me

Like the sun and the moon

Eclipsing

But now we are kept apart by time

And missing you hurts

But it shows just how much I loved.

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cordelialives · 16 hours

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grief tickles the back of my mind the same way cigarette smoke tickles my lungs; it doesn't make me laugh, just reminds me that i'm alive when you're not. muddled memories; i remember only your name, hardly your face, and barely my nineteenth birthday. i have turned nineteen ever since. nineteen and nineteen and nineteen and always a child. my grief has done nothing but remind me how terrified i am of radios. high frequency. call the time of death.

leave me to rot with him.

#i still wake up in that basement #poetry #prose poetry #original poem

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txkingupspxce · 1 day

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and if the temptation of depression comes knocking i’ll still see it, feel it but i’ll laugh at the audacity because i control my emotions they do not control me i’m no longer a slave to misery that i don’t claim.

~i decide what consumes me

#prose poem #poetry #poets on tumblr #monique's poetry #monique’s poetry #poetic #poem #prose #writers and poets #poems and poetry #prose poetry #writeblr #writing #creative writing #words #writers on tumblr #writerscommunity #thoughts

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louudthoughts · 2 days

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i just want to curl up in your chest

and hug you and cry and laugh

because i feel every thing so deeply.

but my brain yells at my heart,

saying, "don't embarrass yourself."

its hard to express anything,

even worse when it's so strong

and it weighs on your chest.

i know you would understand

but i can't explain it.

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coffeexxcigarettes · 3 days

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Consolation

-

Take shears to me.

Hack away at my limbs and flesh.

Listen as the useless anatomy falls

Into the bloodied abyss below

With a weighted splash.

My body jolts

And curves

As you force me upright-

Shaping me into

The villain

I'd fought desperately to avoid.

Warmth and gore wash over me in sickening waves,

As I watch you;

Watch the fire in your eyes.

As least,

I brought your spark back.

At the very least,

You can't say I didn't do that.

x

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lucidloving · 7 months

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@roach-works // Melissa Broder, "Problem Area" // Mary Oliver, "The Return" // @annavonsyfert // Koyoharu Gotouge, Demon Slayer // Haruki Murakami, Dance Dance Dance // David Levithan, How They Met and Other Stories // Tennessee Williams, Notebooks

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reesestshirt · 4 months

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When I was in middle school, I tried to learn how to crochet. I knew how to knit already, so I figured ‘how hard could it be’ and used my Christmas money on a brand new set of aluminum hooks and a how-to book.

To say it was difficult was an understatement. I spent hours pouring over my book, begging to gain some inkling of understanding from what felt like incomprehensible runes. My reward? One lopsided trapezoid of lumpy fabric and a resolve to never pick up a crochet hook again.

And so life went on, I finished middle school and high school without giving crochet so much as a second glance. In college, I read about how crochet couldn’t be replicated by a machine, it was unique in a way that knitting and many other fiber arts weren’t.

For Christmas last year, my girlfriend gave me what I now consider to be my most prized possession: a crocheted plush of my favorite pokemon. I raved over her skills and, since she never learned how to knit, we decided to have a yarn date at some point and teach each other our respective skills.

We never did get around to that yarn date. She passed a few months after our declaration, leaving me to inherit what was left of her yarn.

Nearly a decade after my initial attempt, I got ready for the toughest battle of my life. My weapons? One skein of yarn, a YouTube video, and a crochet hook that I had somehow never gotten rid of.

I slowly made my way through the video, redoing my work a couple times until I was satisfied with my product: a small, slightly misshapen rectangle.

I looked at my pristinely-made pokemon plush with hope for the first time in months and thought to myself, ‘maybe crocheting isn’t the hardest thing in the world, maybe you were just 12.’

Maybe this isn’t the hardest thing in the world. Maybe I’m just 21.

#crochet #grief #prose poetry #love #memories #yarn #knitting #creative writing

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and-corn · 8 months

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hersurvival · 3 days

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My dearest flickering Flame,

I find myself alone, 4 a.m, writing you another apology. For I am never finished. And I have broken a promise.

You see, it is already Monday, it came so soon! And I had said I would have more for you. But you see, I have been caught up in you once again and the days they surpass me, time eludes me, escapes me - as I find a shelter within you, for the duration of the last week.

I will finish what I started for you and I hope as much as you do it may come along soon. There are other matters to attend to, though, that have left me unbelievably mad. And what can one do with mad?

I am not certain. I have spent my entire existence with a rage, born with it, and have yet to find any good for it.

All I do know, is it is not for you. I must rid myself of these feelings before I can return to my promises.

I understand I have already broken them. But the day is young, yet. The sun hasn't even begun to light the horizon. Perhaps I can clear my mind and be okay before the night time. We shall hope and see.

Sincerely, with guilt,

Your broken and violent girl

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missinyouiskillingme · 1 year

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I hope they ask about me & I hope you tell them you fucked up.

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