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hersurvival · 2 days

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Two winter blossoms that signify eternal rest:

Violet and Narcissus

But how is it fair that the way I bow my head

Is interpreted as humility, of being modest

When your head also hangs low?

But you've been grown to accept

You are unlucky, a sign of misfortune

They place me on graves of the innocent,

While you are a portent of death

Nicknamed "heart's-ease,"

A vital part of old love potions, perfumes,

For a flirtatious scent

You have always been a lure, a trap, an end,

Rumored that your gentle fragrance

Is laced with a narcotic effect,

Fatality being imminent

"Where the oxlips and the nodding violets grow.."

"..And the daffodils fill their cups with tears"

We find ourselves together

As your Valentine, I write to you in ink

Created from my petals, my flesh,

To tell you that you are good,

That you are more deserving than this

@nosebleedclub April 20th - Birthday Flowers

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coffeexxcigarettes · 3 days

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Purge

-

I wake up,

Filled with the rage

That could only belong to

My father's daughter.

Overflowing from my lips,

Curling the edges of my existence.

Flowers wilt at my arrival,

And birds silence themselves.

They silence themselves.

I dig through my shelves;

Dig through cupboards desperately,

Trying to find the antidote.

A solution to the blood

With which I was created.

My touch burns things

I know I love outside of anger.

This isn't me,

I plead with the universe.

Grabbing a notebook in panic.

I begin scribbling nonsense,

Letting the words sear into the pages.

The birds begin chirping again,

Quietly.

The flowers quiver,

But bring their color back to me.

A temporary solution

To a lifelong ailment,

My grandmother had taught me.

When the darkness overtakes her light,

I reach for that little notebook.

Full of burns,

Bleeding with sins,

A hand to hold the damned.

My little book of miracles.

x

..

..@nosebleedclub April 21st- Book of Miracles

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fuckingwhateverdude · 3 months

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@nosebleedclub / jan. #24

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nosebleedclub · 24 days

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Poetry Month Prompts

1. as good as you'll get 2. girl names 3. lacrosse 4. swan 5. house with a name 6. one year after the accident 7. profiteroles 8. potholes 9. vivisection 10. adult revenge 11. "safe" place 12. road sign 13. glam 14. oyster mushroom 15. mother's footsteps 16. what life was like 17. almond milk 18. lagomorph 19. physical therapy 20. birthday flowers 21. book of miracles 22. ferment 23. brick 24. routine 25. days spent waiting 26. infirmary 27. hallucinogen 28. supper club 29. deviant 30. age

#poetry month #prompts #monthly prompts #monthly prompt challenge #april prompts #nosebleedclub

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dg-fragments · 9 months

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I write to you, of you, not because our souls are intertwined, neither because you're mine or I'm yours, but because I do not know of any other audience, for these thoughts, in the form of mere words, for this fragmented existence, which reveals through the cracks of past experiences, to lose itself in the captivating beauty, that is yourself.

- DG

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theheartofthekoko · 7 months

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@nosebleedclub 's September Prompts // Day 14 // Final Rites

#words #koko poems #nosebleedclub #poetry

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existential-celestial · 11 months

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do you know what makes me a little sad? finding out that a fellow writer's tumblr doesn't exist anymore.

but i take comfort in the words that they have gifted us, and in my imaginings i see them still writing: a verse on a diner napkin, a jumble of lines on a crumpled receipt, a whisper of words to a stray animal in their neighbourhood.

may your creation echo, little worker. may it shimmer against the sun.

#fragments #writing #nosebleedclub #twcpoetry #abstractcommunity #creative process #on writing #*#prayers

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soulfulreverie · 8 months

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bittersweet is the place where we rest our sore feet after dancing all night with a bottle of serotonin, oxytocin, endorphins, dopamine risky and raw on your cousin’s kitchen floor, a place where your hands find its way to the arch of my back, with you whispering, “I can’t breathe”, only for me to catch you smiling. bittersweet is how you tell me you admire everything about me in between inhales and exhales, sounding like a drunk person eager to have the next sip. bittersweet is when that bottle is empty and all that’s left of the bottles are wines and whiskeys and more nightcaps to sip out, what we both do not want to take away– like the night and the memories combined and the love that grew bitter and sour like the colors of wine. bittersweet is when you love me and i love you and we still couldn’t be together.

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six-white-venus · 3 months

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there’s a scar that extends over my body- long, lithe, endless.

it starts its journey from the back of my neck, right where my hairline ends and branches into two lines; one creeps up my face and cracks my skull in two and one slithers down my collarbone. my head still hurts, sometimes. i shake a bottle with no label and pills fall into my hand: white, pink, grey, blue. i swallow them dry.

the one down my collarbone has tapering ends- a ghostly white weed that has taken root in my chest, one that can never be plucked out. i smooth my hand over it and linger over a particularly nasty bump right where my heart beats. the clumsy stitches holding my wound together left a phantom pain behind. time has healed the wound to a mere scar but the pain, ever the loving old friend, drops by to say hi now and then.

i don’t like bitter things. it doesn’t sit well with the metal on my tongue and yet, that’s all i taste in the delicacies i’m being served by my beloved. maybe it’s yet another thing i’ve started to make up. or maybe, it’s the sight of the bleeding wound of yours that’s poisoning everything that touches my tongue.

the wound, it’s fresh and a horror to look at. you are white as a sheet, shaking, shaking and oh, i remember that. i remember that. i remember the only colour i used to see back then: an endless, cruel, grey.

i can see colours now. food on my tongue tastes like something. but i look at your blood and feel something akin to longing, to hunger. jealousy feels sour at first- like a candy made wrong- and then simmers down to a slow, unbearable bitterness. i assess the sight, committing every fold of the disfigured skin to memory, and ask, “how does it feel?”

“painful.”

the sudden image of my viscera spilling out of my gaping stomach fills my head. i blink and press my palm on my torso. it’s intact. i raise a glass of water to my lips and wash away the bitterness.

sometimes, when i’m laughing and giddy with happiness, it hits me. i am suddenly five and in a crowd full of strangers who are pushing and pulling and happy and feel that awful, disgusting desperation well up in me as i beg, “i wanna go home.” but i am not five and there is no crowd and i am wearing pajamas in my house and you are here and lord, i still want to go home.

“let me tend to it.”

you smile and extend your hurt with trusting eyes. shame tastes like stale milk and yet, i drink the barrel dry.

this scar of mine, it travels down my thighs and winds itself around my ankles, shackling them. i touch the raised skin, contemplative. it feels like seconds and ages ago at the same time, that fateful day i picked my skin apart, pushed my bones back all wrong and stitched it back together. i don’t bleed, not anymore. wrong has become my right and there’s nothing wrong with that.

this body of mine, it has never known what it meant to rest, what it meant to not bleed. i stand in front of the mirror and stare. the scar is long, lithe, endless. i can never finish mapping all the crevices of my body it hides in. home, for so long, was walls painted grey and endless nights and the embrace of my empty bed. it was brittle bones and trembling fingers and the anvil on my chest. and i think that’s what you call home too, now.

after stuffing my organs back in my body and stitching myself up for years filled solely with nights, holding myself together feels more natural than breathing. i see blues and purples and pinks now. my ribs are cracked open and filled with a garden of dandelions. i sleep and i wake up and my smile doesn’t waver. it’s new. it’s terrifying.

maybe, i’ve never known what a home is. today, my bones are strong and my heart is light and i find that it’s okay, it’s wonderful, it’s stellar to be alright. “i wanna go home” i think and with a start realise i can build one now. i think i would paint its walls a hundred different colours. it will be horrible. it will be mine.

“that looks painful,” i say, and mean it, “let me take care of it.”

you do. i wash your wounds with cold water and dry them with care. i press my lips over the patched-up skin and tell you it’ll heal, that it always does. you don’t believe me but that’s okay. i wouldn’t have, either. for now, i’ll cut some apple slices and try not to nick myself. the only way i know how to peel an apple is the way my father did: careful and slow, in an awfully clumsy way that ended up scraping more flesh than peel off the fruit.

we eat apples and you count my scars. they look like lightning, you say, and ask me how the thunder sounded. loud, i say and you hold my face like you could have shielded me from it. you didn’t, but it’s okay. we’re here now.

wounds scar. they heal. we will paint our walls yellow first- yellow like the sun, my garden of dandelions, your smile. in the warmth of our home with our bodies pressed together, the thunder won’t be so loud.

(for @nosebleedclub's january #18 prompt)

#my writing #prose poetry #love #words #prose #healing #pain #writeblr #writing prompt #nosebleedclub

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hersurvival · 11 days

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The closet is over flowing with lace and tulle, satin and velour,

Dozens of dresses for ocassions I will never experience.

Early on this winter, November,

I begged you to accompany me to the theater, The Nutcracker.

Did you know I was in ballet? I keep my old slippers hidden in a drawer.

"Please, I really want to go, we can dress up!"

You, country boy, born and raised in the same house before I came along -

You didn't understand what that meant.

"Is that what people do? I'm not dressing like a rat."

It's okay, I'll help you get dressed, just look decent.

We had tickets, front row mezzanine seats, the best, and I told you not to forget.

But the day before the show, you took a call from work, agreeing to be there in the morning.

Heartbroken.

A closet overflowing with dresses for occasions I will never get to experience.

Because you met me two blocks away with ten minutes to spare,

Dirty jeans and boots, beanie discolored from rust.

I wore a pink top, eyes full of tears at the lost chance to dress up.

And you slept through the entire second half.

@nosebleedclub April 13th - Glam

#nosebleedclub #glam #writing #poets on tumblr #poem #poetry #spilled ink #spilled thoughts #spilled poem #spilled writing #original writing #writing prompt

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jonaswpoetry · 1 month

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Alias

Assuredly, each transgression

affixed to this creature’s title

is too much for being borne

—

further than tomorrow’s silent

midnight — may another alias

be graciously (or with agony’s

—

unrest) placed upon me — like

a blinding sheet’s blessing, or

the cleansing kiss that bleach

—

might grant, thus leaving standing

some entirely recreated thing, with

newfound potential beauty? Such

—

pathetic dreams effect nothing.

@nosebleedclub February Prompts 13: nickname

#nosebleedclub #nickname #poetry #writing #spilled ink #poetsontumblr #my poetry #prompt #i had the wrong month's prompts open and didn't realise until this was written and ready to post #dangit

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fuckingwhateverdude · 8 months

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@nosebleedclub / sept. #9

#bestie is back !!!! this prompt took me ages for no reason !!!!#my writing #my writing tag #nosebleedclub #nosebleed club #poetry #original poem #spilled ink #extended metaphor #religious imagery #ex catholic #religious themes

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nosebleedclub · 3 months

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February Prompts

burning skin

leap of faith

goose

the promise

upriver

the last you saw of [him/her/them]

pinky

apollo

i'll never leave you

maraschino cherries

neck bruise

kitty

nickname

celestial kiss

memory of the cliffs

fragility

paperback

ophanim

unclouded vision

ongoing drama

survivors of _______

hospital bed

equation

snow moon

temple

samurai

middle age

fragrant perfume

blank stare

#nosebleedclub #prompts #february prompt challenge #monthly prompt challenge

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poppiesandpromises · 4 months

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I'm alive like lichen

That is to say sometimes

I go dormant during

Desert conditions, I am

Almost always draining

Something dry, partial

Parasite, allow me to

Let you feed on my

Fruiting body, this

Weakened sun still

Saps my soul but

I can be your light

Nosebleedclub 17Dec2023

#poem #poetry #nosebleedclub #original poetry #poets on tumblr #spilled ink #original poem

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drearydaffodil · 3 months

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15

Broken glass and bloody roses, I've worn

Sharp and savvy both beauty and disgrace

My halo has cracked and my wings are torn

These years weighing so heavy on my face

A chasm, a canyon, another fall

I pirouette toward another bright fire

A siren singing, I follow its call

This might be heaven or might be my pyre

A broken clock glaring angry at me

This time wasted has not made me wise

I still keep looking but I cannot see

If it is rebirth or just my demise?

I plant these flowers, they never last

We both just wilt on a bed of the past

#poetry #poem #nosebleedclub

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coffeexxcigarettes · 1 month

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Obvious

-

It would take them

A breath to see what we have.

Hard to hide the mud

On my palms and knees

From crawling towards you.

Can't deny the marks down my body,

From the thorns I tangled myself in

To be able to find you.

Impossible to pretend my eyes aren't laced

With fire

At the very thought of being able to

Hold you.

I'll never stop pushing to reach you.

If I could speak your name,

They'd be as enthralled as me.

In silence,

I'll fight towards you.

Let their whispers continue,

Until the day I stand at your door,

Scarred and filthy,

And you love me anyway.

You'll love me anyway.

I love you anyway.

x

@nosebleedclub - March 11th; rumored lover

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