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amateur-scribbler · 2 days

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feeling called out today

credit: _ADWills

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amateur-scribbler · 2 days

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amateur-scribbler · 2 days

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Looking for some spicy trauma poetry mutuals - pls come find me I’m looking for that sweet sweet artistic torture of advice on my words

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amateur-scribbler · 2 days

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Fat.

It’s a word that’s sitting in my stomach with weights tied to its feet. It’s floating down past the food I binged on and then it’s watching the purge; making the toxic cycle complete.

It’s eating up space in my mind, this obsessive outlook about the size of my thighs.

I think I’d be happier, more loveable, and more confident if I was skinnier. I lie to everyone and myself about wanting to lose weight to be healthy when it’s all about the exteriors.

I know it’s not true, just my brain trying to make me want it more, by using a twisted methodology it has always used before. My beautiful brain tries so hard to be helpful but, the whispered insults about my body to spur on change are only making me miserable.

I remind myself that the clawing voices in my mind won’t go away because I’m thinner, and I won’t magically love what’s in the mirror even if I weighed nothing more than a feather.

But, I like the grass.

No, not the bits of green in the salad, but the blades that reside on the other side of the mirror, where I assume the stars all shine clearer and of course my body is the type of unachievable perfection I’ve forever been dreaming of.

body dysmorphia is my best friend - t.k.o.

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amateur-scribbler · 2 days

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"Because it is dangerous to ignore the existence of the irrational. The more cultivated a person is, the more intelligent, the more repressed, then the more he needs some method of channeling the primitive impulses he's worked so hard to subdue."

-Donna Tartt, The Secret History

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amateur-scribbler · 2 days

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-Rumi

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amateur-scribbler · 8 days

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It’s trickling in now, like a stream touching stones. As it twists and turns creating a path that all humans through time have known.

I’m learning, maybe it took a little time, but just like that stream the learning will only grow with every single one of my age lines.

It’s sinking in with a soul crushing truth, that you’ll always be a scar in my heart and I’ll always mean something to you.

I don’t know what memories of me will make you feel, maybe you don’t know either but, we were born to cross paths yet burn with the destruction of a deadly fever.

With time it’ll hurt less, with time I’ll even forget. Our memories of each other that once burned a brand on my very being, will become blurry, murky in the human brains wondrous way of slowly but surely freeing me.

I am learning.

It’s slow and cruel, the way I must tread every path covered in broken glass only to learn that the cherry red gashes on my feet were always optional.

If only I had chose to listen to the warnings, that yes I may grow but I’ll lose so much to the shards sinking teeth into my skin; this blood would be un-washable.

I am beginning to understand I need it, the sharp growing pains keeping me awake when I crave sleep more than I can ever truly admit it.

I’ll keep growing, and my skin will shift around the scars you left but, I’ll keep them there to steer me along. They are my lighthouse making sure I never become shipwrecked by another seeking to reopen the wounds you etched into my very bones.

you were my favourite fever dream - t.k.o

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amateur-scribbler · 11 days

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I am an artist, or I guess something of the such, I write and paint and read and devour art with a longing lust.

But lately I am messy, maybe I always have been; I can’t count how many times I’ve been caught with flecks of paint buried under my nails or charcoal smudged on my skin.

Even when messy, I know what I want to do. I want the mess I create to be something beautiful; art asks for us to take tragedy and transform it into something the masses can relate to.

So, I’m smashing perfect tiles to create some new mosaic but, it all is just starting to look eerily similar to the normal messes I make.

The shards of ceramic are askew and won’t sit how they should, so now I’ve got this frown on my face tugging down taking with it everything that makes art feel good.

But, I see it in the shards and shapes, right there is a trail of every single idiotic mess I have made.

It’s all the drunk kisses that leave my lips bruised, or the weeping tears to be a version of myself whose ribs protrude. It’s ugly and never looks how it should; it’s throwing daggers with my tongue at those I love to see if they come back, even if they’re staggering from their wounds.

I am an artist. I create all the time but, it’s not always pretty pastels or delicate lil words spoken with a small smile. It’s messy and cruel, which are two traits that stick to me like tar.

Because I am an artist, and I have mastered the art of fucking up as well as the stars have mastered dancing in the dark.

the artist - t.k.o

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amateur-scribbler · 15 days

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I took up smoking because it was mine. Just this months version of a dangerous self destructive delight.

Then it trickled in, the feeling of addiction; now I can’t imagine not having the smoke feel my lungs and pull me ever closer to the sick demise I’ve always craved my life to end in.

But it’s mine, this twisted tiny breath of life; it’s a way I can break myself without hurting those around me, just an inner waging war fuelled by my very own strife.

bathe me in nicotine - t.k.o

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amateur-scribbler · 15 days

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Hurting my own feelings by realising wanting to share my writing online means having to actually interact with people online. As an OG tumblr lurker this has been a jarring realisation; send thoughts and prayers.

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amateur-scribbler · 15 days

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I want you to hate me. Because I truly love proving myself right.

I love satisfying the sick whispers of self loathing and controlling the narrative of how this love will end, in time.

Because I know how to hurt you and sometimes I do it without even trying I’ve got this bitter guilt and this ever-quick poisonous bite.

I am not loveable or cute or the girl everyone wants to fawn over I am the girl people compare to hurricanes because it’s a promise that I will destroy everything in sight.

It’s an imposter, a facade, some type of trick of the light this version of me you love has never aligned with the one that whispers harsh truths to me late at night.

No, I’m not her, and I don’t deserve any of your love, because given the chance I’m still that sharp tongued snake always ready to poison the ones who take a selfless step in the murky waters to try to hold my head above.

So I’ll push you so far away, to the point that you stop understanding why you ever even contemplated fighting to stay.

Because honestly I truly love being right.

Letting you think I’m a monster means you’re finally meeting the dark voice who’s been whispering words of hatred to me every night.

The self fulfilling prophecy - t.k.o

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amateur-scribbler · 10 months

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"You can't be a lurker on tumblr." Yes, you absolutely can. I've been quietly reblogging things since 2014 and I haven't interacted with anyone in years.

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amateur-scribbler · 1 year

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Insane that being in your 20s counts as adulthood. Being in your 20s just feels like the sequel to being a teenager

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amateur-scribbler · 1 year

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You would kill a man for this bedroom

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amateur-scribbler · 1 year

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if we all work together we can make that italian bitch cry

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amateur-scribbler · 1 year

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I want to know how I didn’t see it coming.

I, somebody who is so painstakingly self-aware, quick witted, and cunning.

How didn’t I see that I was on a rollercoaster ride, predestined to fall after every single high?

I wanted to plead I was too short to ride; too small, too tall, too tired, too old, too young, too careful, too destructive, too angry, too kind.

I tried them all from too much to too little but, alas the measure keeps on changing; forever noncommittal.

The goal post moves to aim for new highs for my mind is a master at striving for perfectionist lies.

I look around at the mess I’m creating, watching dishes pile up in a sink that holds so much dramatic symbolic meaning.

It’s a mess in my head, in my home, and my life, and I can feel my breath catching as I listen to Hallelujah for the dozenth time.

I call my Mum to ask what on earth I am doing; she says;

I don’t know possum but I love you and, we can start with the dishes in the morning.

Dishes - t.k.o

#poets on tumblr #poetry #writing #new poets society #poetsandwriters #excerpt from a story i'll never write #poem #poem of the day #poetic #female writers #depressing shit #depressing thoughts #depression #tw depressing thoughts #bipolor #manic depressive #mentalwellness #mental health #nah serious tho why do i keep writing sad shit

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amateur-scribbler · 1 year

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