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glasswaters · 1 year

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pick yourself off the floor, child. you are not finished.

you still have things to give, in the hollow of your mouth and under that thin skin. there is still gold upon your head and pearls within your gums. your spine still bends just so.

your ribcage has long since started blooming and you've yet petals to harvest from your spine. your heart is beating, and your lungs lay, torn, alive in the pit of you.

can't you see them move? take that breath. open that maw, and drink air from my palms. your shoulders are not worn to dust, and your feet still hold your weight.

the pillars are crumbling, dear thing. the skies are ripping at the seams. another red giant. another sunset. another layer of skin.

you were made for this. don't be silly now. straighten your back and let me wipe all this mess from your dear face. look at me, soiling myself for you. was not this handkerchief once white? however will i get that stain out?

hold on, child. you are not finished. Even torn hands can carry heavy loads. Even phantom fingers can sew.

and you were chosen. don't lay down that honour.

#chosen one #poetry #writerblr #writers of tumblr #poets of tumblr #my work #spilled ink #spilled words #on being chosen #on sacrifice #gore #blood #idk if this is gaslighting but it sure is Something #a dialogue between a hero and their narrative #in which heroics are made of heroes #adventurerswrite

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wheatfieldspoet · 1 month

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as isaac, on the walk home

please, won’t you look at me, father? i can’t erase the memory of the surrender in your eyes if i keep staring at your back.

you held my hand as we climbed the mountain. i felt your pulse through my palm, your grip tight against the sweat. God has called us, you said with urgency, yet you took your time as we ascended.

i can’t remember what i feared more: the blade, the flame, or the aftermath.

who would have made the bigger sacrifice if there was no ram in the thicket— you? me?

or mother?

is there no test of faith more agonizing than to forgive?

but even in my final breath, i would have. i love you even though i may never understand it, if only you would tell me. i don’t ask for much—

father! please. soothe my shivering. i’m afraid the next time i see a knife i might think it’s love.

— Jade A.

escapril day 3: eye contact

@adventurerswritingguild day 3: hand / god / knife

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cjoatprehn · 1 month

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Happy Escapril! I hope everyone’s having a good day so far. I’m dropping my 3rd poem this month with @adventurerswritingguild third Escapril prompt combined with an AWG specific prompt from their lists! Day 3 is “Eye Contact” with “hand / god / knife.” I shocked myself once more with my writing. There was such emotion this nearly became a short story than just a poem. I channeled several songs and a Rick and Morty quote for inspiration.

Songs and Episode Playing:

Dynasty by MIIA

VILLIAN by Neoni

Freaks by Jordan Clarke

Randy McNally (No Love Like Christian Hate) by TX2

Heaven Was Full (I'm Headed Straight to Hell) by TX2

Step Over a Body by TX2

Rick and Morty S03E06: Rest and Ricklaxation

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Trigger Warnings

Religious Imagery

Death mention

Biblical Scripture

Familial Abuse

Christianity Indoctrination

Animal Death Euphemisms

Zombies mention

If There’s (a) God…

By CJOAT

Will update with spoken poetry video later today. 👍🏽

9:01 PM: Updated with a clearer stitched screenshot with Alt text. Dropping the spoken poetry video below:

[#escapril Spoken Poetry] If There’s (a) God… by CJOAT for @adventurerswritingguild’s Escapril

Please leave a like and/or comment on my videos—it helps knowing I’m not getting buried and some people enjoy them.

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For my work to cause such a viscerally deep reaction in a relatable or impactful way is my whole drive for creating. When I was younger, it was just to create things that mashed folks smile, like Vincent Van Gogh’s Starry Night did for me. Now, since I’m aware of many difficult and often traumatizing concepts that folks go through but it kept being swept under the rug or shunned for any reason—I want my work to provide the space for discussion of the uncomfortable.

“Art disturbs the comfortable, and comforts the disturbed.”

That’s my main goal with my work. A driving force to not only comfort but build for better in society.

This deviated from the point of this update as it’s now 9:15PM; but I’m happy to have vocalized it. Today was rather turbulent, so I wanted to get it out.

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adventurerswritingguild · 1 year

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Please give a warm welcome to the Adventurer’s Writing Guild, a writing community exclusively open in April & August! Public invites close in 2 weeks 🔮

🦋🔗Join us here! 🔗🦋

In 2020, @nashxra 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 there’s a fork in every road, adventurers. We’ve decided to rebrand to the AWG to welcome every writer from every creed ⚔🛡

Check out our About page for more info, but here's a quick breakdown of what we provide:

An Inclusive Discord Server: Discuss your writing ventures & share your work

Prompts & Challenges: Curated to inspire your writing adventures

Community-curated Playlists: Sate your daydreaming needs

Exclusive Workshops: Held in collaboration with @poetryorchard

Collaborative Annual Anthologies: Free & featuring work from members of the guild

Dedicated Co-writing Sessions: Work on projects with fellow adventurers

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penfull-of-venom · 1 month

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Poetry Writing Month Day 7 2024: "Domestication vs. rewilding"

Where is the line between an act of love, and an act of violence? Our understandings of love are so often tied to concepts of possession. To love something is to have some level of control over its very way of being. Over the course of a relationship, we are expected to acclimate. To become the familiar of those who are familiar with us.

You saw me like a feral cat, left too long away from civilising influences. The kind of creature that needs to be gentled into discipline and understanding of its new place. I was to be taken from my forests and my freedom, and brought into a sterile world of straight lines. A world with no room for error. No room for difference.

But you were wrong. I was not merely the cat, who never belonged in the first place. I was the tree you cut down to find it. I was the river that wound around its roots. I was the dew drops on the shrubbery and the great exhalation of life that filled the space. I was the world of my own self.

The only way for an ecosystem to truly grow is to tend it. But for that you must view it with respect. As an equal and a partner in the great dance of live. You could never have brought me fully into that sterile world. Straight lines could not describe or contain me. I have returned to the wild. I never really left.

And I continued to grow away from you. In symbiosis with others, I sprouted new growth. I sustained them, and they helped me mature in my own time and way. Mutualism provided the fertile soil needed for me to become myself. And you were left staring at a plaster wall, wondering where it went wrong.

#adventurerswrite #shyprompts #amwriting #poetry

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wheatfieldspoet · 1 month

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angels are real, mine lives in chicago

when people ask how i survived 3 years in a graveyard shift, i tell them it’s because i have friends on the other side.

i threw a line out the sea and ended up being found, your tug on the invisible string pulling everything into place.

more than half a day away, but time stands still for us enough to fit years of stories in the palms of our hands.

even if we’ve only shared smiles from afar, your wings cross oceans to carry your laugh to me.

when i make it to you, you’ll give me a place to rest, tangible to match the astral one you’ve already granted.

distance and time zones are nothing at all when i carry you in my pocket, guardian dear.

now, like sun and moon, we trade waking hours. still, i fall asleep holding your goodnight text-shaped hand.

— Jade A.

escapril day 2: change of state

napowrimo.net day 2: write a platonic love poem

for @darlingwendy

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wheatfieldspoet · 9 days

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if i had another life’s time

in another life, love is not hard for me to find and when i find it, it’s actually right the first time and there is no dysfunction in my brain to keep me from happiness i keep to the timelines society dictates for women i am more aware of biological clocks i catch a husband in time for all my grandparents to meet him and the four of them get to look at me in awe in my wedding dress and nine months later, pinch their great-grandchild’s little cheeks i had dreams other than my own family, but in this life i put it first and i have no regrets and i am happy with convention and i get to say goodbye when it’s their time to go in another life, i get to say goodbye— i imagine, i hope in that life i know when it’s time to say goodbye

— Jade A.

escapril day 29: how to live

@poetryorchard / TeawithHB "Barbie"Lost in Your 20s" Workshop prompt: One of the hardest parts of grief is grieving what will now never be. Take this opportunity to grieve for your past self, the dreams you had that you feel are lost, or perhaps the life you’d like to live

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wheatfieldspoet · 9 days

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i don’t know how to write your eulogy

for my Lolo

i’m sorry for thinking we had another tomorrow. i didn’t know that forehead kiss would be the last; didn’t think the cross i traced would be a goodbye.

i never said it— only ‘see you soon.’ we planned to eat at your favorite chinese spot; i was just waiting for you to say when, and i would have called in advance to make sure they stocked up on your machang rice.

we’ll never have coffee again but i’ll still make it how you taught me— a little sugar, just a dollop of milk, the stirrer angled on the saucer like a Q— and remember how your eyes sparkled in pride at how quickly your granddaughter learned.

i thought i’d have more time to send you my poems over text. i love you for countless reasons; one of them is the way you read my words to family around the world on a zoom call.

you were the one who put the pen in my hand, trusting me with the foreword for your book all those years ago. who knew how hard it would hurt to be left in your epilogue.

— Jade A.

escapril day 30: tomorrow

@adventurerswritingguild day 30: i’m sorry

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wheatfieldspoet · 1 month

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are we there yet?

how long does it take to go from a state of grief to a state of grace? there’s no map but i’ve crossed enough borders to reach somewhere else— wherever this is.

sometimes the sun shines bright enough for me to forget, but in the rearview i find the shadow still follows, its hand waving.

maybe one day, i’ll be brave enough to invite it in. after all, healing is a dirt road and grief is love’s hitchhiking passenger— i’ll save it a seat. we’ll get there together.

— Jade A.

escapril day 1: change of state

@adventurerswritingguild day 1: peace

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wheatfieldspoet · 19 days

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can’t believe i let you

touch me gentler in the mornings half-lidded and not-quite-there looking at me like a dream

hold me like i was something you wanted to keep, but not someone you were afraid to lose

apologize for not being what i want when i wanted you anyway— and you knew damn well

treat me like a quick fix, drink me up to enjoy your company until the high wore off

fixate too much on your own despair, and fantasies of your death someday, to appreciate the life in front of you

spoil what was supposed to be fun, leaving me sick and sour, almost stealing my sweetness

become a learned-the-hard-way reminder to take men at their word when they tell me i deserve better

— Jade A.

escapril day 19: a reminder:

@adventurerswritingguild day 19: sour & trying

@skylerwitherspoon day 19: Where is your rage directed at right now? Write a poem speaking directly to that.

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wheatfieldspoet · 1 month

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holding my heaven

my boy i look at you & want to cry you light my life with the sun & sky in your eyes

make me atlas when i hold you in my arms though i can’t carry you around except in my heart

cumulus fluff soft as cotton warm as a hearth you are sunshine even though you love puddles

— Jade A.

escapril day 12: oh, the light!

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cjoatprehn · 29 days

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Happy Escapril! I hope everyone’s had a good weekend so far. I’m a bit late…as I took a break yesterday. I’m dropping another poem this month with @adventurerswritingguild’s 8th Escapril prompt, “What’s the truth?, combined with the 7th Shy Prompt, “domestication vs rewilding!”

I am incredibly late on this combo prompt and have been trying to slow down so I don’t burn myself out again; however, I started to write a completely different poem but ended up writing the combo one I didn’t complete initially!

In the end, I hope you enjoy this unrestricted ride of my thoughts!

I will do a spoken poetry video at some point, and update this post with the link. Maybe a graphic for it.

Thank you for 100 followers, yall! I hope you’re enjoying the ride. 😁

11:46 AM Update

Good Morning! I wrote it late last night, and I admit I was muddled when I wrote it so it may not flow as well or portray things how I intended. There are a few references within this one. But it’s basically me writing a letter to break free to be unrestrainable due to my power and agency as many often are. Signified through wearing my natural hair out as my mane.

A reference to a quote in the Indiana Jones films; there’s one where he’s lecturing in a class and he says, “Archeology is the search for fact, not truth. If it’s truth you’re interested in, Dr. Tyree’s Philosophy class is right down the hall.” Flip that quote to the opposite perspective, Dr. Tyree saying, “If you’re seeking Fact, Mr. Jones’s class is up the hall.”

Idunn Apples I was referencing from God of War, without the specifics of the myth associated with them.

The duckling reference

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Hair references

The last is my connection to Dragons.

8:39 PM Spoken Poetry Update

[#escapril Spoken Poetry] “Freedom : Unrestrained” by CJOAT for AWG’s Escapril

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wheatfieldspoet · 29 days

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a martyr’s grudge

i have this dream about an alternate universe where we both get what we want, and i know it’s the bad ending because neither of us deserve it. i’ve seen what happens when selfish people get what they want and it’s never good. yes, we’re selfish, though don’t have to tell you that— you were self-aware enough to ask— maybe only retract when i said you weren’t. every apology you sent was warranted, but my forgiveness for your sins was given unsparingly. i’ve martyred myself plenty enough times for you and that’s what makes me selfish: thinking in my naiveté that the sinner could love a martyr, that the martyr could bleed love if it suffered at the hands of the sinner, that the sinner would have enough guilt that it would turn into love. really, we’re both sinners, but my blood on your hands makes me the better one out of us both. scars deserve sympathy, after all. and what good is all this suffering without the reward in the end? i’ll lick my wounds, get off my own martyrdom, love what you couldn’t, wouldn’t, didn’t.

— Jade A.

escapril day 14: a recurring dream

@adventurerswritingguild day 14: naiveté

@skylerwitherspoon day 14: Write a poem about a grudge you're holding.

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wheatfieldspoet · 27 days

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regret in retrospect

looks like i got the clarity i wanted, after the goodbye can’t believe a part of me wanted to wait for your love when now i can’t imagine a part of you was ever capable

so embarrassing, to have dreams of you & tell you of them as if my desire would make you want me more as if you deserved any part of my mind, body, soul

my heart was in my throat, i could barely keep it down in every way but literal, i bent over backwards for you convincing myself the sick in my stomach was butterflies

to your credit, you warned you might be wrong for me but that didn’t seem to stop you either, deliberately choosing words to pull me into your black hole gravity

thank god for my pride, strong enough to stop my fall we all make mistakes, but i’ll chalk mine up to experience good riddance, i’ll keep my regrets only in retrospect

— Jade A.

escapril day 16: so embarrassing…

@adventurerswritingguild day 16: in every way but literal

@skylerwitherspoon day 16: Write a poem inspired by the line “Every day we wake up and try to forget our dreams.”

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wheatfieldspoet · 1 month

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requiem to a monster

two things can be true: i can never unmake the monster i was forced to be— starved of choice, the sins and blood of my past have left their stains, immortal as my damned soul; abandoned by every savior, without a god who deemed my pain worthy of an intervention.

i thought that my only truth, incapable of change with no future of my own— until i found other ways to survive, and reasons to: i want to live, to love, to learn the meaning of the words; to ascend— my way, to be more than what broke me; to walk in the light, with those i trust beside me.

i will live for myself, with no master to tell me what i am. i have been redeemed without the divine by being given the gift of choice. and while my hunger still threatens so be sated, nothing has ever tasted as good as my freedom.

— Jade A.

escapril day 8: what's the truth?

@skylerwitherspoon day 8: Write a poem about redemption.

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wheatfieldspoet · 1 month

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love letter in my childhood shower

i loved you at thirteen so i think i’ll love you forever. though i’ll never look, i wonder where you are now; it feels like only yesterday i held you in my hands, my most formative songs inside my favorite color.

i’m sure my bathroom walls prefer your familiar sounds. i choose throwback music for my shower soundtrack and the muscle-memorized acoustics bounce around like me and my bands are the best they’ve ever heard.

the origin of the word nostalgia is homesickness, but i still feel it in the childhood home i’ve never left, in the mirror that’s seen me in all my shapes and colors, in the same shower i’ve stood and cried in since 2002.

these walls have been witness to my womanhood, which is my girlhood, only taller, fuller, and a little tired. i turn on the tap of my fountain of youth, and the rush sounds just like a cheering audience, waiting for me to sing.

escapril day 6: a childhood memory

@adventurerswritingguild day 6: etymology

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