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#prose riot
memoirofme · 2 months
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May it taste like wild honey suckles
And feel as soft as petunia petals
This life that you are living.
I wish you light and laughter so real
That your smile reaches your ears
Let the years be kind to you
My Darling.
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mechnight · 4 months
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enough emotions to have me blogging again, apparently. one step at a time, through the good and the bad, weirdos as we are. learning to let myself feel everything i'm feeling.
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unsungchronicles · 2 years
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In seven years every cell in your body will have died off and re-generated. That means I only have two more years in this skin with your fingerprints on it. Only 600 more days until my body forgets what your touch feels like.
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eefrostpoetry · 8 months
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give me all of you or give me nothing
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lonesomebigmike · 5 months
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Patchwork Hearts
There is a piece of me on Simcoe
And a piece of me in town
A piece of me in the hospital boilerroom
Trying to work without burning down
A piece of me in the country
Reading under the trees
A piece of me on the internet
Seeding thunder in other's dreams
A piece of me in the rusted halls
That reek of iron and blood
The same piece that answers the call
Come the trouble or the flood
The delayed decay of mourning
Keeps hostages of a few
Of the pieces that belong to me
That should belong to you
Pieces bloom or die, but a sum sings to a man
Their stitches ripped, misfits get shipped
Or fed to the flash in the pan
Like the first bacon surrendered to cook the rest
The homework we do before the test
The peace ripped from my chest
Bred the warmth in my breast
That paved room for
"I have a few spots left"
For you its not empty space
Some grew back and some grew grace
Some grew new stitches in their place
I have the ones of yours
I feed and water them with the cat
I make them do their chores
I help them grow and make sure that
They go right next to mine
And sing in kind when overjoyed or bored
A patchwork heart is fine
Compared to a heart thats been ignored
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dwolfram · 4 months
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take the glass
leave the bottle
drink fast,
drive slow
knife on the wall
to find what's been lost
night has always been kind and
helping me to find my soul
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heavenlylibrary · 4 months
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I don’t like what the moon is supposed to do.
Confuse me, ovulate me,
spoon-feed me longing. A kind of ancient
date-rape drug. So I’ll howl at you, moon,
I’m angry. I’ll take back the night. Using me to
swoon at your questionable light,
you had me chasing you,
the world’s worst lover, over and over
hoping for a mirror, a whisper, insight.
But you disappear for nights on end
with all my erotic mysteries
and my entire unconscious mind.
How long do I try to get water from a stone?
It’s like having a bad boyfriend in a good band.
Better off alone. I’m going to write hard
and fast into you, moon, face-fucking.
Something you wouldn’t understand.
You with no swampy sexual
promise but what we glue onto you.
That’s not real. You have no begging
cunt. No panties ripped off and the crotch
sucked. No lacerating spasms
sending electrical sparks through the toes.
Stars have those.
What do you have? You’re a tool, moon.
Now, noon. There’s a hero.
The obvious sun, no bullshit, the enemy
of poets and lovers, sleepers and creatures.
But my lovers have never been able to read
my mind. I’ve had to learn to be direct.
It’s hard to learn that, hard to do.
The sun is worth ten of you.
You don’t hold a candle
to that complexity, that solid craze.
Like an animal carcass on the road at night,
picked at by crows,
taunting walkers and drivers. Your face
regularly sliced up by the moving
frames of car windows. Your light is drawn,
quartered, your dreams are stolen.
You change shape and turn away,
letting night solve all night’s problems alone.
- I’m Over the Moon by Brenda Shaughnessy
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modern-hepburn · 1 year
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Riot Whispers
One hundred artificial lovers quarrel in my head And in bitterness, I weep Until my eyes are bleeding red Because you've undermined my needs And now I’m overflown with dread And as I sink, I swallow ink And bring my needle to the thread They say that sadness is a sickness And if so, I’m surely dead I tried to kill your looming ghost But now it haunts my hollow head I see it linger in my dreams This figment tangled in my bed I go to chase it through the darkness Just to catch myself instead And I can hear those riot whispers How they beg, and beg, and beg A sovereign need, to watch me bleed To pull the trigger and play dead But as you plead, I supersede I have a mind, I have a creed And while I maybe will die wishing I will not indulge my greed And I will not indulge defiance I will not condone this violence In this twisted song of silence I find peace amongst the dead.
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ossian-bard · 2 years
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I crave you,
The tenderness of touch
As soft as a velvet hammer
Gripping my heart with a warm handshake.
Teeth gnash and clench
In passing thoughts
As I dream of reunification
With the half of me
That makes the heavens tremble.
Unraveling my wrinkled mind
With the hay wires of primacy
Pounding down the doors to logic
Flooding the bulwarks of brains
Layered in the labyrinthine
Surge of synapses exploding
At the strike of a match that is
Touch.
Giving me too much to feel.
So surreal,
Sweet touch
So warm like the
Hive mind swelling
In sweltering sensational
Caress, last kiss
Before slipping back into
Divine darkness.
I squeeze,
Grasp for undying grace
That follows you like a scent
To cradle that spark you emit
To foster the fire of warmth that soaks my bones
As cold as stone piles on top of mountains
As the invocation of ancient rites
Takes my flesh
And makes prayer flags
For god in the buffeting winds
That blew us together along the jet stream of fate.
And from there
I tear apart the butterfly
Wing by wing
To make her resemble me
The crawling
The low
Forgotten thing
Which bites and stings
Claws and scratches at a world
So unforgiving,
Looking to borrow their strength
To leave this cursed earth
And conquer skies like kings.
Yet for a numbness I’ve always known
Your touch,
Reminds me I’m real
And gives me too much to feel
So even after a lifelong pursuit
Of the perfection of semantical
Verisimilitude of vexingly vivification
I still can’t do anything but just simply say
I love you.
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vizthedatum · 10 months
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Pride is about existence and the right to persist in existence
As Pride celebrations kick off in my city, I am once again left to the devices of my own mind and body about what it all means.
Earlier, I talked about how I'm so ambivalent about going to the "corporate" Pride celebration in my city. It seems so performative... it seems like a spectacle in the name of acceptance and raising awareness. It feels like a slap in the face to know that U.S. Steel is one of the largest sponsors in a city where they have systematically busted unions and deprived people of their rights.
But isn't gender and our expression to love also performative? And there are so many folks who benefit from mingling with their community, sharing their creations, and simply having fun. It promotes visibility and the humanity of who we are.
Isn't the inclusion of people-centric ideals into the cogs of capitalism a good thing? So that despite how they try to control us, they must acknowledge that we exist? And that they will have to conform to our existence instead of the other way around?
I mean, it's also a spectacle for me to get my nails done - is that Pride?
--
What is Pride?
In my own opinion based on my life experience of being closeted, mocked, torn down, accepted, fluid, a "great ally" *girlish giggle*, abused, confused, traumatized, loved, and out:
It's about our right to exist whoever we are regardless of the regimes and constructs that exist in our society. It's about hating and revolting against cops and authorities who seek to tear us down while still acknowledging that there are very few tools in our society to use when we do need help... and being mad about it.
It's about seeing a person shake their head while I'm holding hands with my girlfriend and she's just mundanely talking to me about life stuff - and knowing that despite their disapproval, they know that we exist. They know we exist, and they don't like it, and it's not our problem, but we are also allowed to protect ourselves when they make it our problem.
Tangent: we have very few tools in our society to protect ourselves (I will be the first to admit that I'm ACAB but I still had a police escort come with me to rightfully enter my home where my queer, black spouse was barring me from entry and accusing me of abuse despite me putting them on a fucking pedestal for the entirety of our relationship (they turned on me because of not who I was (a person who will always love them and see the good in them - even though I am also angry about how they treated me (what an ableist asshole)) but because of who they were - they are so unhealed that they assumed that I would act like them)). Secondary tangent: Pride is about trying to do better in our society to come up with more tools that can not only make things equitable but provide justice for all populations. Tertiary tangent: Pride is not just for and about queer people. It's about everyone!
--
So what would serve me this Pride month?
I am going into hermit mode today until Sunday evening to intentionally take space for myself and to make my new home beautiful. It is a far better use of my time than to go to a Pride celebration. I do not judge anyone for going.
I am going to flaunt my existence as loudly as I can for not just this month, but as long as I live. I heal loudly now, and it's beautiful. It's beautiful even when I cry or rage or smile or anything.
I am assigning pronouns to my vulva - his pronouns are he/him/his. Please take note.
I am gonna practice chest-binding more and going out. I love my boobs more knowing that one day (hopefully) they will feed my child and that I will get a reduction or mastectomy in the future. I also love the attention they get, and I love to flaunt them. I enjoy the sensations of the environment and other people around them. All of it can be true. It is true to me, and that is what matters.
I am going to go into public spaces while holding my partner's or lover's hands.
I am going to celebrate friendship and community while being firm in my personal boundaries, even as they evolve. I will be kind to myself by resting in whatever form that may be, and I will understand and not take it personally if other people need space/rest too.
I want to practice NOT using JADE (justifying, arguing, defending, explaining) - My body still feels uncomfortable not doing this. Especially when people misunderstand me (they always will). "No." is always a complete sentence, and your reaction to my personal boundary is YOUR issue. I can still be compassionate and kind if the situation warrants it. I can still work for mutual understanding and repair if that relationship is important and valuable to all parties. I have learned this over and over from multiple sides (of course I've had ugly reactions to other people's boundaries - I'm human, and I've made mistakes).
--
Thank you for witnessing. I'm grateful to witness you.
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balladccr · 1 year
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@geleum​ || starter for ice ice baby!
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    “Are you finished?” The question was curt, blurted only in a few seconds’ silence following the Captain’s drawls: as if to doubly make sure nothing else was coming after. Then, in a murmured afternote, “To think—all this time—I had considered Tartaglia to be the chatty one...” A pause. Scaramouche met a solitary eye. “Truth be told, I’m not here on business. You don’t seem like the type to do his job, anyway.”
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memoirofme · 2 months
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We are all just trying our best;
Sleeping, but never knowing rest,
This is why we should be kind
To one another.
Everyone’s pain is undercover,
As we try to survive
And smile at the same time.
S.a
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Fix Me
"Fix that lid, you'll lose your pills."
But the pills won't fix the nights I feel sad and my heart feels like it's been stabbed
Because I only get to see my babies
once a week through a phone screen.
The pills won't fix how
When I look in His eyes in that print
just above the couch where I curl in the corner and
His eyes look stern and disappointed
But I know He loves me and I want so badly to be with Him every moment of my life
And every moment after I die.
The pills won't fix the mess I am leading up to my period and feeling like sometimes…
Sometimes I'm closeted
In my womanhood
In a body that others only meant to use
And abuse
And leave whether they meant to or not.
The pills only fix a function of my body that makes it so I don't die.
But in the year I lived with my someday ex husband and his sister who hated me
I went without them
And hoped it would kill me
Or that I'd get hit by a car.
The pills don't fix that
Or the inadequacy
Or the religious guilt.
They don't fix the sadness or the family I lost or
God please just be happy with me, be proud.
I need You because everyone else just takes.
They don't fix the feeling.
They don't fix how useless I begin to feel after my shift is done.
The pills don't fix how toxic I know I can be - or at least that's what I've been told.
So can you fix that? Since you know so much?
No.
I want to be fixed
But it's not until death.
And hopefully I'll make it someday.
And that print won't look stern and disappointed.
Because I love Him more than anything.
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whilehewasatsea · 1 year
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eefrostpoetry · 9 months
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i've written to many love letters to you and not enough to myself
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lonesomebigmike · 6 months
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Chrysalis
A goodbye kiss
Hangs dead on dead lips
Mourning tuesday
Monday morning
Lovers week
Leaving weak
Those desperate fingers
When Seperate lingers
Longer than our hands can clasp
Just a few more gasps of cool air
Find a new form hatched there
Just around a few seasons
Breathe deep those dead lungs
For the new reasons
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