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bloodstained-blonde · 5 months

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♡ wallet i stole from a thrift store today ♡

inside i found an old love poem

it reads

"Dear Martha

Peaches grow in Florida

also in California but

it took Kentucky to

grow one like you"

it is thee sweetest thing i have ever seen in my entire life i love it sm

#love poem #thrift find #wallet #thrift store #thrift shop #old poem

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peach-and-cherryblossom · 7 months

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If a writer falls in love with you,you can never die.

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canismajor0 · 5 months

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beautifullyscarred423 · 7 months

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Oh to be that rhythm you dance to.. you vibe to...

The music that moves you..the sounds you go to sleep to.

That specific beat that moves your soul..

You know the one that makes you shout.. Yooo!

And you close your eyes and smile..😌

Oh to be that rhythm you dance to.. 🕺🏽The one that takes you back to that good time..

you know the one that had you making beats on lunchroom tables tryna buss a rhyme.

Oh to be that beat that moves you..

The one that had you doin shows.. Pop lockin in those shell toes..

Oh to be that song that makes everything bettah.. in that moment of sadness or defeat..

You know the one where your stomach gets buttaflies and your heart skips a beat..

Oh to be your music..

The music that you hear and it takes away all your fears..

Oh to be that music.. that rhythm.. that Beat 🎼🎧🎤

#my writing #old poem #spilled thoughts #feelings

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home-ward · 3 months

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sameschmidtdiffname · 2 months

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Split

08.19.23

Thudding, dull pain is something that reminds me I am alive

The emotions course through my veins in a way some may call sadistic

Trailing along my curved spine, I mentally picture someone there

Their face is blurred to me, their hand one I know not

Words drip from my mouth as though a leaking faucet

Our main difference being that many hear the repetitive tap against the bowl

The words that spill forth convey so much, yet those who read them realize so little

If I showed this to you, would you understand?

Would you know yourself of nights spent in unholy water, trying desperately to make up your mind

One hand grasping a razor

The other your own wrist

The mental debate one you've heard so many, too many times

Would you believe me if I told you how sore my able heart beats against the bones that are used against I and every woman?

Would you listen when I ponder how said bones resemble a grasp around us, the design effective and symbolic?

And while I let these thoughts drip from my red, swollen lips that tremble and bleed from the cracks I bite into them

Could you find Aphrodite in such an unabashed display of humanity?

Would you find beauty in the way the water spirals down my hair?

Would you take care to notice, stranger, how the color sets shame to fire, beautiful even in the artifical light?

Would you see my eyes, which I long to hear described poetically, peak between too long of bangs, tears trapped in blonde lashes that do not sit evenly

And see the rage that fuels me?

Would you find beauty in my nose as one once did

His words unlike any ever spoken to me

Held in a diary I've kept, used to decode myself and others

Would you run your hands along my body?

Not in a way to bring lust into your heart

But to tell me you see me

You feel me

Would you admire me as I admire you, stranger?

A figment created long ago when it became clear to me that when I cried, no one would come

Maybe this is why God the Father has created us

Maybe he too has spent endless nights in this porcelain trap

Tapping his head against a hollow wall

Begging for salvation

Maybe he too knows not what he did

Does God also have a father that damned him?

A mother that begged him?

Is this why he chose to send his child into the gallows?

All say mercy

I say an eye for an eye

Would you look into mine and see redemption?

Would you cup my aging face and tell me I've done nothing to cause this?

Would you press your forehead against mine and whisper the thoughts I whisper to others?

"You are not broken,

You are loved.

This world feels your warmth

And will one day allow you to exist without lessons to remind of how mortal you and I are"

In my mind, this figure takes the razor and places it away

Wrapping their arms around me

Allowing me to feel the air my lungs have refused to breathe

But in reality, my fingers are pruned and the razor taunts me

I am too weak, it knows

And I stare back, begging myself to show strength and allow myself to slip away in a crimson pond

In this pond, I dare the selfish thought of maybe being worth compared to the beauty of Ophilia

Would I be an example worthy of art then?

In my mind, the stranger carefully lifts me and wraps me in cloth that soothes my tender, self admired skin

In reality, my bones feel as though knives carve away the detested excess of my body

A body my mind knows not how to view

Mentally I lay in a soft bed

Sheets and pillows surrounding me as a stranger sings sweet songs to me

Combing through my hair

They trace shapes upon my cheeks, their touch making me smile

Physically I begin to see the water lap at the drains that prevent it from overflowing

The water and stinging tears the only warmth I'll ever deserve

I exist in two worlds

I always have

Since I was a child, I knew how to balance such things as this

But as I grow older I realize there is no point in such niceties

The delusion of love for me makes my back ache more and more

It was promised to me once

It was given to me

Yet this love was not for me

This love was for an idea

Now I live in fear I am but a horrible, intrusive thought

Something my makers conjure and bat away, uncomfortable with my existence

I chant and cry

"I am worth it! I am good!"

But silence is all that echos in this small room

Eyes look but they do not perceive

I am but a paperweight

Occupying space better taken by someone other than I

I wonder who all have died to allow me to continue living

Is there a limit to those who are allowed to be?

If so, why does God continue to let me take space?

"You are worthy," the stranger tells me

"I have done nothing," I respond

"You need not do anything to be worthy" he implores

"But I do; for why should I be given rewards with no work?"

In my dreams they pull me into their embrace and remind me of how much I do

How I burn pieces of myself to keep others warm

How I let others occupy space in my mind

Thinking of ways to make them happier with me

Even those I hate, I still long to see them smile at me

I long for their praise and I long to hear laughter as they feel joy that I have caused

I do not wish to be worshipped

No, I ask for something more selfish

I ask that I bring every person I meet happiness

True, unfiltered happiness

And in return, I ask for just one human to return the warmth to me I cannot help but give

"It is not selfish to be loved."

No, it is simply damning.

Yet this damnation is my favorite sin

I crave it as one would crave water or food

I would willingly sacrifice the latter for the former

And this sacrifice, which is not truly a sacrifice

Is one that brings me joy I cannot describe

Lean on me and I will feel useful

I will go to bed that night feeling worthy of my place in this world for but a moment

For when I wake, I will crave another dose

As is only natural for an addict

But reject me and I will reject myself in a way I do not know if Eve could have comprehended when the snake seduced her as they often do me

I will remind myself that this is not fair to anyone

How I deserve the pain that thuds and thuds against the cage made of Adam where I contain my selfishness

And this stranger looks at me with pity

But this stranger is myself

And I tell him "leave; no one is less worthy of this self indulgence than you."

Once more, the stranger disappears

And I sit here in this tub, finally free to press the blade to my vein

And free myself from this apple I would consume again and again

In a garden given to all but me

If only I wasn't a coward.

#original writing #original poem #original poetry #original work #writing #old poetry #old poem #old writing #writers on tumblr #writerscommunity #writers and poets #writeblr

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sanchezpoetry · 6 months

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I doubt I'll ever be able to forgive myself for my mistakes and wrongdoings, but I'm finally learning to stop blaming myself for things that weren't my fault.

#prose #poetry #fragment #spilled ink #thoughts #zen #old poem #love #personal #philosophy #motivation #unrequited love #psychoanalysis #psychology #mental ill health #mental illness #mental health

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faggotbetweenrevolutions · 6 months

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these days

#itellyouthistobreakyourheart #poetry #transsexual #anarchist #butch dyke #trans poetry #dyke #grief #collage #grief poem #ocean #smokes #smoker #ocean swimming #grounding #old poem

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noranezu · 2 months

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i found a thing i wrote the day i realized i wasn't human, like it's cringe and definitely not how i would write now but i thought it was pretty cool that little me thought to write about that realization

dude younger me was so cringe and emo, i'd def push them into a locker if they started spewing this to me ngl 💀

To The Stray Dogs

They live, they feed, they die

What a simple life I one day wish to live

To have the rush of adrenaline that simply surviving gives

But until then I live chained down

Bound with money and greed

They run through alleys and forest alike, their home

They protect one another with their lives, their pack

They still know how to live by themselves and that is beauty

But humans are selfish, the believe that they need to be chained down

We stripped them of their instincts

Replacing them with meaningless tricks, to sit, to speak, to beg

We made them dogs

Hunters, runners, fighters, no matter the job they are still trapped

But not the strays

The strays don't wait for humans to tell them when to eat

The strays don't need to do a trick to be fed, they simply eat

The strays are the lucky ones

Forever wild at heart, the strays are truly lucky to not be bound

No chains, no collars, no money, no greed

Just plain living

But in the end I am simply a house mutt

Forced to sit to get food

Chained up at night

Told to fetch, and to drop it

So I wait by my chain for the night I feel the weight around my neck disappears

The night I can join my stray comrades in the alleys and the forest

The night I can eat without having to sit

The night I am free

The night I become a stray dog too

#alterhuman #otherkin #therian #dogkin #old poem #can this even be considered a poem #this is cringy #yikes young me #try again next time

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sceocca-sc · 27 days

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[Phronesis]

As I walk off the edge of the earth

In search of my parallel

A wisdom obscured by the shadows at my feet

Grew carcinogenic, as I fell

I whisper over the bridge of tomorrow

Into the sordid past

The name of ruin; the forgotten thorn

Sacred, hollowed, echoing at last

A thought crawls over the abyssal

Scared by the implication of its own freckled skin

As kin, as face, is mirrored in self

Enticed by stardust engaged in carnal sin

Therein lie the birth of cosmic plume

Titillated into fractal decay

Exhale to the sound of eternal demise:

a dance of damnation in delay

#original poem #old poem #philosophical horror

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lovediariesofanintrovert · 5 months

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Look at his hands. He has the most beautiful hands. You can see that he has never worked.

Charles Bukowski.

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peach-and-cherryblossom · 1 month

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canismajor0 · 6 months

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vthetease · 2 months

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see you in my dreams, lover boy

#vthetease #poems #original poem #writing #mywork #my content #my writing #old poem #old work #old feelings #feelings #emo #cherry #poet #poem #poetry

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always-coffee · 5 months

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Don’t Date a Writer

If you are looking for simple,

don’t date a writer. Don’t even

flirt with her. While you are talking,

she is considering

how you might look in a story,

or a poem,

or, possibly, in her bed. She analyzing

the metaphors in your smile,

the conjugated verbs

sprinkled in your laugh,

and the way your hands dance

in the air while you talk –

she is writing a story for those hands.

She will have bad days.

She will break dishes and cry

because failure feels like an adjective

for every incomplete sentence,

even though it’s the wrong part of speech –

her heart is always dangling

over a precipice, thoughts

wandering like a hurricane,

no one can swallow that –

but will you try, anyway?

If you are looking for simple,

marry a woman who won’t

wake you in the middle of the night,

full of desire and tequila, flames

foraging through her body

like wildfire made of lightning –

there will be countless paradoxes

and no end to her examinations,

always a heart full of purpose,

a kiss full of questions.

#poem #old poem #poet #writer #writing #don’t date a writer #unless you are brave #hearts the size of hurricanes #ali Trotta #art

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lordcod · 4 months

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ZOMBIE POEM

I am Infront of a Zombie

with my gun on safety.

The Zombie looks at me

with nothing behind its eyes,

except the urge to attack,

to eat me for all I'm worth.

But i remember it is not the zombies fault it is hungry,

it has been infected by something else.

Does that mean the zombie wasn't always like this?

Was it also once warm,

and used its teeth to love,

it's hands to protect?

Though in this moment it kneels over me,

teeth sunken into my flesh,

hands ripping the limbs from my body,

and I wonder when the Zombie was human,

If it was treated just as roughly.

So I forgive the zombie for being evil.

I lay there in its arms,

and I imagine it is hugging me,

Instead of tearing me apart.

..

I am infected,

and I am standing Infront of a human.

I bare my teeth lovingly,

and drool happily at the sight of unbruised skin,

and forget when it was me in their place,

because I am so, so hungry.

#poem #poetry #zombie #writing #zombie poem #old poem #we in for it now lana

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