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missorgana · 3 years

Note

hanleia + "you can coax the cold right out of me" 👀💖

sari my love 🥺 i love bite so much (and hanleia, wbk) thank you ahhh! the ficlet is under the cut; i took this line very literally as you can tell, as i was reminded of han and leia’s scene in cloud city in the empire strikes back. hope you enjoy it babe! 💖

send me a song prompt !

High above the clouds and inside the stale white walls of Cloud City, Leia is pacing, uneasy, unable to rest.

She is aware. Particularly because Han is staring at her. He stares too much, she thinks.

But being under his gaze at this moment gives her the little sense of calm she still has, it seems.

He’s worried about her. It’s radiating off his body and his facial expression and the look in his eyes, which has none of the cockiness he usually exhibits around everyone but her.

It’s only been mere hours since they kissed. He kissed her first. She pulled him back. Nothing else seemed to make sense, except him.

Especially here, where Leia simply doesn’t trust anyone, despite Han greeting Lando with a hug and playful quips about his- their ship. She doesn’t know why. This place just seems too perfect for her, too peaceful for what they’re in the middle of.

She’s worried about what's about to come. Or maybe nothing is coming. Maybe this is a safe haven. She finds herself doubting her own mind.

Leia’s still pacing when the man on the sofa decides to speak up, “What are you worrying about, princess?”

He still calls her princess. She wants to look at him with fondness, or cock her head to tease him back. She does both.

Han’s nickname lacks the malice it had when they first met, naturally, there is none left. Only his eyes never leaving hers and her eyes never leaving his, eagerly following, circulating around each other.

“I don’t trust this place,” she tells the man, pausing and crossing her arms.

He laughs, pulling his head back. His calmness with the situation would annoy her if she didn’t so much need the reassurance, and his laugh rings in her ears like it could wrap around her like his arms could, and never leave.

The man’s smile is crooked, too high off of seeing his old friend to smirk, she guesses, and he stands up and moves over to her. She expects him to tell her to calm down, except his fingers touch her shoulders with the greatest tenderness, and he places his lips on her forehead. Han lingers for a long time. Leia wants him to stay there.

“Relax,” he says, and she’s quite unable to be annoyed. What is he doing to her? “Ship’s almost finished. I talked to Lando.”

She huffs, “I don’t trust Lando.”

Somehow, when she sits down, unable to focus, unable to focus, he joins her and looks at her like she somehow holds the answers to everything in the universe. She can’t explain how, but she can read him like the back of her hand. Han’s smile turns less crooked as he takes her hand in his lap, a pondering expression transforming his face, softly, quietly. She turns her hand around, light circles traced in her palm.

“I don’t trust him either, but he is my friend,” he says. His eyes find her again, “Besides, we’ll soon be gone.”

Ah, yes. That’s what’s been occupying her mind, longer than this place. Han Solo. And the thought of how she wants to know everything there is to know about him, and how she wants him to know her.

The only question that overshadows the certainty she sees on his face is whether he’ll let her in.

“And then you’re as good as gone, aren’t you?” Leia asks him. He seems… shy. It’s surprising of the man, but it’s yet another thing to know, and she wants to take in everything while she’s here. Leia’s afraid they won’t have long.

Long til what, she’s uncertain. Until he leaves, the smuggler having little care in the world and probably running as fast as he can, another hideout from the debt he has yet to pay. Until business is finished, and their world’s are simply too overwhelmingly different.

They are, she thinks Han is just as aware. But Leia doesn’t care much right now. She has lost so much in such a short time, and now, if she looks the deepest within herself, realises she’s scared of losing him too.

In other circumstances, she doubts she and the irrational, loud, impulsive… and sensible, and tactical, and vulnerable man would have ever met. Leia hopes they would’ve found each other, anyway.

Han doesn’t answer her question, which wasn’t really a question and more of an assumption. He brings her hand to his lips instead. It’s the only way he knows how to bring comfort, when there’s no words left. Yet another memory of him for her to lock away. No one can take that away from her.

“Are you cold?” the man asks her, nearly a whisper.

She gives him a smile that she hopes to know is meant for him, and him alone. He’s gotten a knack for reading her too, doesn’t he?

Leia sighs. Han also likes to avoid talking about things. Fears. Changes. They’ll have to, eventually, but maybe she’ll let his touch forget about everything else, just for now.

“A little,” she says, and without another word, the smuggler shrugs his jacket off and wraps it around her. He looks at her, again, for a long time. The jacket rests on her shoulders, and it feels like a secret. Undoubtedly safe despite the galactic war raging outside and the doubt raging inside her brain.

She finds his hand, again, “Are you always this warm, scoundrel?”

Han smirks at the name, “Around you, I am.”

He says it with a light voice and a light heart, looking away from her for a second, before his eyes coming right back. It’s strangely endearing.

Leia wonders what he sees when he looks at her. When she looks at him, she sees someone she already finds herself missing. It’s terrifying.

“Such a romantic,” she teases. The way he never lets go of her hand makes it all worth it.

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imperial-poetry-prompts · 4 years

Text

September Prompts 2020

#imperialseptember

The Fall of man.

The rise of Autumn

Wait!

Valid Rage

Tomb of a storm

Quaint arrogance

Overgrown

Potent principles

Purple fingers

The reacquainting with shadows

#imperialprompts #imperialseptember #twcpoetry #writeundertheinfluence #writerscreed #poetryportal #poeticstories #poetselixir #poetwhispers #brokensoulsreborn #savage-words #smittenbypoetry #eloquencenet #poetry #poetry prompt #writing prompt #just write

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imperiallefty · 4 years

Quote

Heavy is the head that dawns a false crown. Emptied-eyed and hearted and souled. We come together to mourn this royal waste of time and space. Wither and perish. Let thin heavy head wilt and tilt and snap and fall.

“Betrayal”

#writerscreedchallenge #twcpoetry #writeundertheinfluence #poeticstories #smittenbypoetry #brokensoulsreborn #savage-words #eloquencenet #poetry #poetselixir #black poets on tumblr #black poets society #poets on tumblr #r.p.

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vagabondprophet · 4 years

Text

Paracusia

Sometimes it feels as though

The only perfect circle

Is the one I walk

As I skirt the center

You’ve always meant to lead me to.

Vagrants in the turnstiles of my heart

Gain admission one by one,

I checked every single bag

But the zealots carry boot knives.

Theirs is a slow mischief

Could almost be mistaken

As the erosion of time

For tombstones of the living.

Now I don’t know who’s been shrieking

As I’ve cut out all their tongues

Either this is paracusia

Or I sing every damn part

In this echo chamber choir.

I’ve been little more

Than curator

In this museum of mayhem,

The chronicles of my ventricles

Have told a tale of woe.

I know all have wandered from the garden

But tell me please

Am I especially wayward?

How is it that you call me yours

When all the spit I have conjured

I have flung in your face?

What thing is this

How wondrous it is truly

That you bring light

To what is umbrous.

Even in my wickedness

Which of my branches

Have you not shaken

With the breeze that is your voice?

What of my brokenness

Will you not yet perfect?

I beg of you please

Remind me constantly

Of your constancy

And that my failure is forever

Swallowed by your perfection.

For if I’m honest I feel like a sea

Of half eaten fish

Everything is either appetite or injury

Snapping jaw or gaping wound.

- Vagabond Prophet

#writerscreed #poetryportal #poetselixir #smittenbypoetry #poeticstories #inkstays #eloquencenet #inspireamuse #24hoursopen #savage-words #twcpoetry #poetryclub13 #13cupsofteareblog #poeticwhispers #poetry #spilled ink #vagabondprophet

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donotgogentlyy · 4 years

Text

however many times you roll that dice,

i’ll still come up with snake eyes.

i see it staring back--

beady, relentlessly

taunting me, mocking how

i thought it would turn out different.

no, the card table isn’t slanted.

the die aren’t shaven or puckered

in some unfair way. it isn’t

just chance

that you keep screwing up, either.

you just keep rolling that die

the

same

damn

way

and never changing your behavior.

you have no effort. no drive.

no motivation to better yourself

for us.

i just keep getting snake eyes

and you don’t care.

-- playing games

#poetry #poems #writing #eloquencenet #spilled ink #poets #love poetry #breakup poetry

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hxneybunnie18 · 3 years

Text

𝒘𝒉𝒚 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝑰 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒓 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆?

𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒇𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒘��𝒓 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒘𝒆𝒂𝒑𝒐𝒏𝒔

𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒊𝒕 𝒃𝒂𝒅, 𝒍𝒆𝒕'𝒔 𝒃𝒆 𝒄𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒓 𝑰'𝒍𝒍 𝒕𝒓𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒏𝒐 𝒐𝒏𝒆

#serendipity #Discombobulate #eloquencenet #evanescent

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hohneyed · 4 years

Photo

— paper chains | (m.s.h)

@eloquencenet event: valentine’s day exchange for @penumbvra

#eloquencenet #poetry #poets on tumblr #inkstay #spilled ink #emsfam #sapphosquad #poetnet #.m #.pr

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inkstained · 3 years

Text

dont hold a knife to my throat if you don’t intend to kill me.

that was what i meant to say, that day, when you told me about your family & your fears & your dreams about the future & you pressed the wrong side of the blade against my neck.

blood on the grass, blood on your cheek. i won’t tell you that you’re pretty. i know the song that you’re singing. i’ll hurt you back, i know it.

blood on the grass, blood on your teeth. you’ll tear at my heart but you won’t swallow it. im sick of the song that youre singing. i’ll hurt you back, goddamnit.

i keep chasing the crows away but they keep coming back. i’m a twitching body, still, but not quite a dead one yet. (i told you not to hold a knife to my throat if you don’t intend to kill me.) someone’s pressing their hand to my leaking faucet of a neck and im gurgling blood like a baby, im gurgling your name like a fool. i wont leave you my bones to come back to.

- (j)

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josy57 · 3 years

Text

Dream 19/06/21

I dreamt it was Christmas Eve And you sent me a text Saying one day we'd be married And this is the time we would remember As our beginning

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missorgana · 3 years

Text

call me what you want

pairing: bucky barnes/sam wilson

fandom: marvel cinematic universe

rating: general

word count: 2741

warning: alcohol, swearing

summary: Bucky thinks he quite likes Sam calling him nicknames, but he likes his smile more. (more tfatws canon compliant fluff.. just because!)

(look at me, once again ignoring exams to write stupid fluff instead. anyways! don’t have much to say but hope u enjoy!! <333 missing them already)

read on ao3

Bucky doesn’t realise just how long he’s been looking at Sam until the man glances over and calls him Buck.

When he thinks about it, his eyes never leave him. Not after those staring contests of theirs, which he’ll admit to himself and no one else that he’s the most responsible for. Not when Sam turns his back to him, focus returning to the mission and Joaquín and Redwing.

He’d roll his eyes at the nickname, but that would mean looking away from Sam, and losing eye contact with Sam.

“Don’t call me that,” he says instead, hopefully conveying his disagreement with a tight-lipped look. He considers smiling. Seems inappropriate.

The other man does smile, “Why not? It’s what Steve called you.”

Sam’s smile looks right. Feels right. Bucky’s had people smile at him before, sure, plenty, but it hasn’t ever felt exactly like this. He’s not sure what it means, though, so he pushes it the furthest way back into his consciousness.

“He knew me longer,” Bucky explains, pretending like it matters, “And Steve had a plan.”

The shorter man seems like he’s holding in a laugh, a smug one. That suggests he knows the obvious lie when he hears it.

Bucky can see the gap between his teeth.

If he turns his own lips into a smile when Sam turns away again, the man currently preparing to jump out the chute doesn’t need to know. If he spots it and gives him a funny look, he doesn’t need to know the reason behind the smile. Bucky knows.

Because Sam’s always calling him a cyborg, Bucky fumbles for some sort of retaliation. His name’s too short to make fun of, he contemplates. Damn him.

“I can see the gears turning,” the shorter man laughs, hard and out of breath. Bucky still can’t stop looking at him, for some reason. He bends over a bit when he laughs, picking up a faster pace than himself. Bucky makes sure to catch up.

His comeback ends up being, “Sure you can, birdman.”

He can tell the other man feigns offence, raised brows and nose scrunching at the edges. Sam smiles so easily. Bucky wonders what that’s like.

“Oh, I see how it is,” the man next to him speaks up, eyes dancing easily over the open, practically deserted field they’re surrounded by. There’s a car buzzing faintly a fair amount of miles away, Sam wouldn’t notice but he does, super soldier senses and all, “For the record, that movie’s not too bad.”

Bucky kicks a rock and some dirt to the side. The rock’s weird looking, all sharp edges, almost like spikes. Yet it’s so small. He decides to look at Sam instead, “What movie?”

A honk lets them know they’re not alone. He thinks this might be what disappointment feels like, because the other man stops himself after “I-” and shakes his head instead, causing Bucky’s brows to furrow and right hand to twitch and something sinking inside his stomach, “Nevermind.”

He has to remember to google that later.

Bucky doesn’t really care that Karli told Sam to come alone, because Sam also knows that he’ll be coming with him, no matter the protest.

He’s got a hunch Sam also knows that he was lying, again, reattaching his vibranium arm and gaining the senses back and pretending not to be all that shocked.

“You okay?” the man asks and he answers, “I’m fine.”

Of course. It’s fine. Kind of annoying, how Sam looks at him with a worried glance, trying to hide it but failing miserably. Bucky doesn’t look away when their eyes meet. The shorter man blinks, slowly, like a question.

And he always gestures for Sam to go first.

So he does, too, on the Wilsons’ boat, when he’s tightened near every damn screw and lifted every imaginable thing like it’s nothing, and yet the other man still refuses to ask for help. He accepts it when Bucky decides to put a cool hand on his hip, though.

Sam stills. He himself doesn’t move till the man in front of him does. Seconds seem like years.

“Alright, show-off, don’t overwork yourself,” he tells Bucky, laughing without much of the familiar smugness. The dimples in his cheeks are deeper now, wide eyes. Bucky expects Sam to be looking at his left arm, but his gaze is resting somewhere under his chin. His throat, above his chest.

He thinks he’s getting the hang of this nickname thing, “Sure thing, Sammy.”

And the other man throws a towel at him in response. “Sammy? What are you, five?”

Sam’s sweatshirt has a small hole in it. Near his hip, a tiny thread poking out. The fabric slides up when he raises his arm, revealing a sliver of his stomach. He imagines his skin to be soft, like his arm. It seems the man notices his fixated stare on the spot, looking for whatever the subject of his attention, wiping his forehead in the hem.

Bucky shrugs, “Give or take a hundred years.”

He understands why Sam’s chuckle doesn’t reach his brown eyes at that. What he doesn’t understand is his pupils, significantly dilated. Stupid serum advancement, stupid awareness.

A spot of sunlight touches the other man’s face, and he squints, covering himself with a hand, moving out of Bucky’s sight.

This is how he realises he’s still holding a grip on the now tightened pipe, harder than he thought. He’ll make sure to fix the bending he caused before Sam notices.

Sam is a good dancer. Not that Bucky’s an expert on it or anything, far from it, but he’s not tripping over his own feet or cursing or slinging his sister around like a ragdoll.

His nephews are jumping around them, too, a couple of their neighbours in a slow dance, another reaching out and offering Bucky a beer, which he accepts. The serum doesn’t allow him to be affected much, unless he deliberately seeks being unsensibly drunk, but he likes the bitter taste, regardless.

Sarah straightens her brother’s arm and rolls her eyes in the direction of himself.

Sam turns his head about a millisecond later, winking before spinning her around. It’s smooth as hell, despite not breaking eye contact with Bucky.

"Come on, Buckaroo!" the shorter man raises his voice, nickname just plain awful, "Get up here."

Bucky decides to shake his head as a reply, he's always preferred observing, really. Besides, he thinks he might be too quick on his feet. Too spinny, urging to not stand still.

Sam doesn't drag him up. He didn't expect him to, but it still surprised him, for some reason. The shorter man looks severely gentle with his hands on the small of Sarah's back, not surprising.

He gets a shake of the man's head and a shimmy of his shoulders. "Man, you're no fun."

Bucky huffs, “Whatever you say, darling.” Sam blinks in disbelief at the name. Sarah snaps him out to carry on with the dance. He likes having the man’s attention, he thinks.

He considers hiding his smile behind the rim of the glass. But really, there’s no need to, and he doesn’t feel like it.

The other man always grins as opposed to simply smiling. It grows just an inch when he notices Bucky smiling back, and there’s these tiny, sensitive hairs standing up on the back of his neck, he feels it immediately. Blood rushing to his face. Maybe it’s just the alcohol.

Just about every window in their house is open, his t-shirt sticks ever so slightly to his lower back with sweat, and a moth is fluttering around the lamp in the corner. It’s comical, tiny wings and body staying so close to that light, not really doing anything.

Eventually it’ll die, he guesses. Well, it has to, of course. But when the living room thins out and the light dies and everything turns quiet, it’ll simply wander around, lost, until that warm glow returns.

That stupid bug bathes in the light like it’s the only thing in life that matters. Bucky feels a sudden urge to look at Sam again, and the other man isn’t looking at him anymore, but it doesn't matter, his presence is enough.

Actually, he thinks he might fear looking away from Sam. Scared he’ll miss something, anything. A look or a smile or a joke or a movement. Some warmth radiating off of him, because the man has so much that he doesn’t even mind giving away a little to his surroundings.

Bucky’s quite like the moth, in that sense.

Now, Bucky didn’t plan on kissing Sam today.

He’d been planning on it, or he wanted to ask , but most times it was like the certain moment faded too quickly and he felt guilty for not doing anything about it.

When he woke up to AJ and Cass playing with the shield and the man cooking breakfast in a tank top, Bucky wondered if he should do it, then. It felt weird to try with both his nephews and sister in the kitchen though. He also sort of wished he had gone for it on the lower deck of the boat. Maybe Sam would think it was inappropriate when they were working.

When they circulated around each other the last few days, training, talking, Bucky gaining a deeper understanding for the other man and finding a way to convey an apology that sounds right, it feels like they’re more of a team.

Connected. Stronger, maybe. Sam doesn’t need his super soldier strength at all, though, but it being wanted anyway, that makes him want to smile more. As much as the shorter man, maybe, if he’s capable.

Bucky decides the next time, the next moment, it’ll come, like all the other moments he’s been discovering and making him sort of breathless. In a good way.

“Thanks for the help,” Sam tells him, instead of a goodbye, “It meant a lot.”

Usually, these sentimental moments they keep having will be ended by the other man lightening the mood, so to speak. Not breaking it, just making it airy and familiar. His stupid jokes that aren’t even stupid, or annoying, anymore, they just remind Bucky of something like safety. He hasn’t asked, and Sam hasn’t said, but he feels like he’ll be there if he falls down. He’d do the same for him.

The man doesn’t joke around, now, despite himself attempting to muster the same smugness, “Of course.” He feels like it sounds more sarcastic than he intended.

He quite likes that boat. Likes the people on it more. One particular person.

Bucky really thinks that’s the end of their conversation, their own way of saying see you around , but instead a voice catches him when he turns around, “I’m just telling the truth, baby.”

Naturally, he turns back, but now Sam’s got his back turned.

Funny, how they keep going back and forth like that. Watching, even when the other isn’t looking. He knows he’s been doing that a lot, there’s no denying it.

A feeling in his hand, the way it twitches, makes Bucky feel like this might be a new moment.

“Wilson!”

He doesn’t really wait for a reaction before following. Like the moth. Meant to follow. When Sam stops, he stops. Then, reaches over the shield in the man’s grasp and lets his fingers touch the nape of Sam’s neck.

Bucky half-expects him to push him away, but the shorter man kisses him back immediately, and that makes him want to smile. So he does.

It’s short, close-mouthed, the softest experience he’s ever had. Soft lips, stubble meeting, even if the shield pokes his stomach, doesn’t matter.

When Bucky draws back, Sam’s grinning like an idiot.

He also lifts an expectant eyebrow, like he’s waiting for him to explain himself. Maybe say some romantic bullshit, but he’s scared the words will fail him. Too focused on the other man’s Adam's apple when he swallows, too busy counting his eyelashes, so he doesn’t forget.

Bucky doesn’t want to forget anything about Sam, ever, for the life of him.

He adjusts the bag on his shoulder, before giving the man one last smile. Sam looks weirdly proud of him. “It’s for luck.”

Bucky guesses a kiss is the sort of thing you talk about, but the mission at hand doesn’t allow much talking. He manages to hear Sam’s speech, grab every word and hide it within him and completely pretend he didn’t. The other man knows his bullshitting, again.

“Great job, Cap,” he tries to smile, showing his teeth, like Sam. The man next to him eyes him curiously, for the first time since Bucky met him, looking endearingly shy.

He still laughs, sounding almost like a song Bucky’s trying to remember, “It’s Cap now?”

“Obviously.”

And given Sharon’s wound, he can’t stick around, but the text he receives about a party at the Wilsons, a cookout, that doesn’t surprise him, actually. Doesn’t surprise him that he’d go to Louisiana in a heartbeat and pick up the cake Sarah asked for, even if it slides around in the carseat and doesn’t look all that appetizing when he arrives.

The Wilson siblings roll their eyes at him. They both smile. Sam looks like the sun.

Bucky’s so busy being overrun with kids staring at his left arm that he doesn’t notice Sam slipping out of the group. If it makes him panic just a little not knowing where he was, well, that’s nobody’s business but his own.

The shorter man hasn’t gone far though. He’s looking out at the water, the sunset.

It’s pretty. Looks prettier when Sam stands there.

He knows, he knows he’s not damn good with communication. The other man told him so himself. But he can’t stop trying, even if it feels like he’ll swallow his tongue.

Sam doesn’t acknowledge him when he comes up behind him, not at first, but Bucky thinks about his easy smile and red shirt and the lines in his palm and the ghost of his lips on his when he says the first feeling that comes to mind.

“I hate everyone else in the world, but you.”

It makes the other man chuckle and turn his face towards him. When he smiles hard, really, really hard, his warm eyes crinkle at the corners.

There’s a small birthmark on Sam’s throat, he notices. And one on his earlobe.

“Really?” he asks, as if it’s up for discussion.

“Yeah.”

Then that smugness returns like a charm with the comment, “So you like me more than Steve?”

And he would be annoyed, but his own smile is kind of preventing that feeling to surface. “I hate Steve,” he answers, with a certainty that surprises them both. Sam’s tugging at the hem of his shirt.

Then, “You liked Natasha, though,” and Bucky wants to roll his eyes so goddamn badly, which is clearly what the other man was looking for. He thinks he finds him adorable. The pink hue of the sky touches his being so perfectly. Hazy eyes, teeth nearly gleaming in the light.

“No, I mean what I said,” and Bucky knows what’s coming, of course he does, “But you can’t not like Rhodey, I mean...”

Sam is so fucking ridiculous. He doesn’t ever want him to stop making him smile like this.

“Sam, please, I’m trying to-” but Bucky doesn’t quite get to finish that sentence. Not because the other man interrupts him, at least not with his lips, which he wouldn’t complain about, or his words, but because both of Sam’s hands come up to cradle his face in the most tender fashion. He thinks he might be going crazy.

So he just looks at the man for a minute. Contemplating how loud his beauty is, how much love is in his eyes and how it’s somehow directed at himself. It feels overwhelmingly peaceful.

And Bucky feels Sam’s breath on his cheeks before they connect their lips again. Long overdue. His tongue tastes like coffee and butterscotch.

When they pull apart, the shorter man bumps their noses together. Bucky quite gladly could stay like this forever.

Then Sam asks, an unspoken conclusion, but voices the question regardless, because, well. He’s pretty sure they both need it, “You plan on sticking around?”

This smiling thing is kind of straining Bucky’s jaw. He’ll get used to it.

“Don’t even need to ask, sweetheart.”

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lasbrumas-archived · 4 years

Photo

s.c. || to professor k || transcription below

there is something to be said about suffering as spectacle

how you turned ribs caved in from hunger

into blossoms, blood red and delicate on the tongue

the sweet scent of rot seeping up through roots

rain fell from you and fed the hungry tendrils

‘til they turned to words on the page

exorcised and made beautiful for consumption

never mind the hungry mouths in your memories

hands reaching through metal bars for freedom

you had words to feed you then

and they feed you still

but now the exchange is more mutual

#merulia #useraya #escapril #poets on tumblr #spilled ink #escapril2020 #eloquencenet #wearywnet #writers on tumblr #sasha writes

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imperial-poetry-prompts · 4 years

Text

Black Roses Matter

Be with us Learn beside us Assist us in changing the wrold Create policies that are fair for all Keep your promise to keep this conversation going Remember that we’ve have always mattered Open your minds and hearts Silence is killing us Every voice matters Silence is killing us

#imperialprompts #imperialjune #twcpoetry #poeticstories #poetselixir #smittenbypoetry #brokensoulsreborn #inspiremuse #eloquencenet #black poets on tumblr #poets on tumblr #poetry prompt #poetry

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