glasswaters

[glasswaters]

an ode to happy trails. to furred backs and sloping bellies. to beards and bushy brows and yellowed teeth. to crooked smiles and rough laughter, to white a-shirts gone translucent with sweat.

hands gone rough with callouses. faces gone wrinkled and dark with age. chest hair with white streaks through it, jewellery worn and scratched.

a love letter to hairy calves, slashed with scars. to low smoldering grills and the scent of just-burnt meat. the sun has not yet set, this summer, and the grass has yellowed. there is laughter around the table, and the paper plates are stacked, half-full and mostly torn, by the bin.

to potatoes wrapped in aluminium foil, greasy fingers, to picking at corn and bones in between beer-softened giggles and burned shoulders. thinking idly about hair and mouths.

and beautiful men.

[glasswaters]

Da war einst eine Zeit, sagt Fantine, mit aufgerissenem Mund und ihren Händen um eine Kehle voll Verfall gelegt, aber ihr habt sie ganz genommen. Ich habe diese Proteste jeden Tag gehört, sagt Javert, hölzernes Herz und hölzernes Kiefer, seine Augen schneeverschmolzen, und es hat noch nie etwas geändert. Spar dir den Atem. Spar dir die Tränen. Fantine hält Perlen in ihren Händen, die tief in jede ihrer Ritzen tropfen. Sie spinnt aus Gold 10 Francs, um sie in ein schäumendes Maul zu werfen. Sie hält zwischen Vogelkäfigrippen ein Lied wie - Kommt, Herr General, Ihr könnt eure Schuhe behalten. Und Cosette, Cosette, Cosette; mutterlos, goldene Perle. Ein Muschelschalenmund, der einst Grausamkeit kannte. Eine fragile Brust, die in ihrem Heben und Senken Fantines Herz hält. Auch heute noch. Auch immer noch. Cosette, süß und lieblich wie eine Süßwasserquelle, die die Mutter nicht kennt, wie sie ihr einst alles gab. Das Wiegelied ist schon lange verhallt, und die Erinnerung hat das Gesicht verwischt. Und Fantine, die einst schön und lieblich war, legt ihre Hände um den Hals eines Manns, bis das warme Blut in die Ärmel ihres Kleids läuft. Da war eine Zeit, sagt sie, als Männer gütig waren.

[glasswaters]

Da war einst eine Zeit, sagt Fantine, mit aufgerissenem Mund und ihren Händen um eine Kehle voll Verfall gelegt, aber ihr habt sie ganz genommen. Ich habe diese Proteste jeden Tag gehört, sagt Javert, hölzernes Herz und hölzernes Kiefer, seine Augen schneeverschmolzen, und es hat noch nie etwas geändert. Spar dir den Atem. Spar dir die Tränen. Fantine hält Perlen in ihren Händen, die tief in jede ihrer Ritzen tropfen. Sie spinnt aus Gold 10 Francs, um sie in ein schäumendes Maul zu werfen. Sie hält zwischen Vogelkäfigrippen ein Lied wie - Kommt, Herr General, Ihr könnt eure Schuhe behalten. Und Cosette, Cosette, Cosette; mutterlos, goldene Perle. Ein Muschelschalenmund, der einst Grausamkeit kannte. Eine fragile Brust, die in ihrem Heben und Senken Fantines Herz hält. Auch heute noch. Auch immer noch. Cosette, süß und lieblich wie eine Süßwasserquelle, die die Mutter nicht kennt, wie sie ihr einst alles gab. Das Wiegelied ist schon lange verhallt, und die Erinnerung hat das Gesicht verwischt. Und Fantine, die einst schön und lieblich war, legt ihre Hände um den Hals eines Manns, bis das warme Blut in die Ärmel ihres Kleids läuft. Da war eine Zeit, sagt sie, als Männer gütig waren.

[glasswaters]

Da war einst eine Zeit, sagt Fantine, mit aufgerissenem Mund und ihren Händen um eine Kehle voll Verfall gelegt, aber ihr habt sie ganz genommen. Ich habe diese Proteste jeden Tag gehört, sagt Javert, hölzernes Herz und hölzernes Kiefer, seine Augen schneeverschmolzen, und es hat noch nie etwas geändert. Spar dir den Atem. Spar dir die Tränen. Fantine hält Perlen in ihren Händen, die tief in jede ihrer Ritzen tropfen. Sie spinnt aus Gold 10 Francs, um sie in ein schäumendes Maul zu werfen. Sie hält zwischen Vogelkäfigrippen ein Lied wie - Kommt, Herr General, Ihr könnt eure Schuhe behalten. Und Cosette, Cosette, Cosette; mutterlos, goldene Perle. Ein Muschelschalenmund, der einst Grausamkeit kannte. Eine fragile Brust, die in ihrem Heben und Senken Fantines Herz hält. Auch heute noch. Auch immer noch. Cosette, süß und lieblich wie eine Süßwasserquelle, die die Mutter nicht kennt, wie sie ihr einst alles gab. Das Wiegelied ist schon lange verhallt, und die Erinnerung hat das Gesicht verwischt. Und Fantine, die einst schön und lieblich war, legt ihre Hände um den Hals eines Manns, bis das warme Blut in die Ärmel ihres Kleids läuft. Da war eine Zeit, sagt sie, als Männer gütig waren.

#les miserables #les mis #fantine #cosette #poetry #writerblr #writers of tumblr #poets of tumblr #my work #spilled ink #spilled words #this is the german version of my fantine poem and i think it slaps so. #here you go.

[glasswaters]

this is a companion piece to this fanfiction: https://quecksilvereyes.tumblr.com/post/746587729213652992/helen-do-you-remember-still-the-smoking-ruins-of

[glasswaters]

furies.

In which Hera, queen of gods, patroness of matrimony, in a beautiful rage kills her husband.

-

Under her hand, there beats a pulse. Slow, and steady as the hands on her thighs. There is a storm in his eyes and another brewing somewhere in her bones, with those lips on her throat as they were when, once, a brother ripped light into endless, seething darkness. He hums. She shifts.

There is still soil on his palms. There is still pigment smeared into the fabric draped across his chest. There is still- Hera, you goddess of gods, does not her blood drip from your hands? Did you not, white-hot and burning, take her between your teeth?

He laughs. The storm thunders. “Wife”, he says, and stains her with soil. “Wife”, he says, and watches as the pigment, screaming red, settles on her lips. “Forgive me.” Under her fingertips, his heartbeat stays just the same, curled into the edges of his mouth.

He laughs. She curls her hand tighter.

Keep reading

#boost! #blood #character death #rape tw #bc. zeus #childbirth

[glasswaters]

inspired by recent events lol

#steven moffat

[glasswaters]

"All that pain, that misery, that loneliness, and it just made him kind." - Amy Pond, Doctor Who, season 5, episode 2, "The Beast Below" written by Steven Moffat

Pain sits on a chest too frail to lift it, its mouth split by teeth. it digs curved claws into sinew and bone and untwists nerves where they lie blank in its hands. Misery, hollow cheeked and hollowed bare, keeps its stomach concave, starving for company. A rattle in your lungs. Weeping sores on your skin.

What are you thinking? What are you feeling?

It hurts.

What are you thinking? What are you learning?

Make for me a map of the starving thing shredding your muscles. Hold open the puncture wounds, and pull out the claws.

Or else leave them in and let them fester. Watch your skin go blue and yellow, watch the flesh swell where they lay buried somewhere deep inside of you. Feel your tongue grow heavy and drop down your esophagus. Won't you lift your head?

Pain pulls from your head every thought before it's formed. Pain threads a needle from the spool of your words and stitches closed your lips. Tiny, and neat, a surgeon's touch. Pain takes your hands and holds them, fast and steady. Let me teach you, it says, and presses its splintering bones into the skin of your back.

What are you feeling? What are you learning?

It hurts.

-oh, my darling. pain doesn't have anything to teach. it just hurts.

#poetry #writerblr #writers of tumblr #poets of tumblr #my work #spilled ink #spilled words #on pain #and learning from it #we like to ascribe morality to pain #it has none #pain doesn't make anyone kinder or wiser #it just hurts #and hurts #what are you thinking? #what are you learning? #nothing at all #lol i wrote this without knowing the og quote was written by moffat #fuck moffat ♥ #as always #graphic descriptions of injuries #All that pain that misery that loneliness and it just made him kind #doctor who #steven moffat

[glasswaters]

new valid link!

currently screaming about half baked long form concepts in my server come talk to me im bouncing off the walls here:

[glasswaters]

OK like this if you want to be added to the tag list for @glasswaters

[glasswaters]

come, my sweet, and let me hold you on the way up. this road was paved an age ago, and the stone has cracked. the grasses underneath their blanket are ripe for their bloom, and your mother has started singing again.

let me wind gold into your hair and cold into your breath. i would bleach your tunic and take from your feet the sandals worn soft with use. my mouth against the hollow of your throat, your hair a spill across my chest; come lay on my shoulders the weight of this journey.

i will help you along, if you let me.

little godling, little would-be priestess, little gem; won't you take matrimony's hand on the long walk that devastated Orpheus? spring is budding, and your mother is waiting.

in six months, the leaves will fall again.

#poetry #writerblr #writers of tumblr #poets of tumblr #my work #spilled ink #spilled words #persephone #hera #hera x persephone #persephone x hera #hello welcome to yet another poem about persephone #persephone and matrimony #persephone and the changing seasons

[glasswaters]

i havent published any about fatness specifically but ill look through amd see if i can find one i like and put it up

I was wondering if you have more poetry you've written about diet culture, fatness, or fatphobia? I found one work of yours but would love to read more of your poetry about those topics if you ever feel the desire to write about that. It's in my queue!

hi! im so glad you like my writing! here's all my poems that deal with eating disorders and diet culture in some ways ^^

https://www.tumblr.com/glasswaters/721589124546658304/for-this-last-day-for-your-pride-and-your

https://www.tumblr.com/glasswaters/707367002554155008/i-wish-i-was-made-of-starlight-and-copper-of

https://www.tumblr.com/glasswaters/699083542081208320/its-funny-isnt-it-that-i-cant-eat-coconut

https://www.tumblr.com/glasswaters/684970133578530816/in-the-summers-the-world-trembles-i-cut-my

https://www.tumblr.com/glasswaters/675556440720670720/grazed-knees

[glasswaters]

I was wondering if you have more poetry you've written about diet culture, fatness, or fatphobia? I found one work of yours but would love to read more of your poetry about those topics if you ever feel the desire to write about that. It's in my queue!

hi! im so glad you like my writing! here's all my poems that deal with eating disorders and diet culture in some ways ^^

https://www.tumblr.com/glasswaters/721589124546658304/for-this-last-day-for-your-pride-and-your

https://www.tumblr.com/glasswaters/707367002554155008/i-wish-i-was-made-of-starlight-and-copper-of

https://www.tumblr.com/glasswaters/699083542081208320/its-funny-isnt-it-that-i-cant-eat-coconut

https://www.tumblr.com/glasswaters/684970133578530816/in-the-summers-the-world-trembles-i-cut-my

https://www.tumblr.com/glasswaters/675556440720670720/grazed-knees

[glasswaters]

Auf Deutsch bin ich schon seit Jahren stumm. Vergib mir.

[glasswaters]

i want to be a real boy, said the puppet to the fairy. i am too loud and too wooden. i cannot understand the softness of their skin.

when i lie, my nose grows. when i am lied to, nothing happens to them at all. they smile. their eyes shine, wet with salt-water. my wrists are bound with string, my ankles are threaded with wire.

when i open my mouth, out comes a scream, as a felled tree, bleeding sap. i've shattered the windows and bent the door.

i've broken my father's heart.

have i not given all i had within me to give? did i not shave myself hollow to offer a handful of wood chips and sawdust to anyone who would smile at me? my walls are thin, by now, and my voice is a haunting within my own head. when the sun is strong enough, it shines right through me.

as though i was made of glass, like the fine porcelain dolls in their fine silk dresses and their fine leather shoes. those chubby-red cheeks, polished to the noblest of shines.

smooth as aged pebbles, they do not hurt the palms that hold them unless dropped.

i have taken sandpaper to the high points of me. the rough, first, no matter how it hurt to hold it. no matter the mess. my father taught me well. i will not splinter if you touch me.

i will not lie. i will dance the dance, i will drink the drink, i will breathe only when i am told. i will sink this pining body into the sea. for my father, i will rot.

only make me soft. give me lungs and a beating, bleeding heart.

make me right, said the puppet to the fairy, make me whole.

silly little heartwood, said the fairy to the puppet, you are real. how else would you cry? there is nothing wrong with you.

#poetry #writerblr #writers of tumblr #poets of tumblr #my work #spilled ink #spilled words #pinocchio 🤝 autism #actually autistic #in which calling for help is not about the wood or the skin #nor is it understood #walked a wooden boy into a testing center and came out with no answers #burst a puppet into sodden tears

[glasswaters]

AGAIN BECAUSE I FUCKED UP THE POLL DURATION

#poetry #writerblr #writers of tumblr #poets of tumblr #spilled ink #spilled words #on narrative #and love #on relationships #the narrative loves you and it loves you well #what does that love look like?

[glasswaters]

nail shut the windows, and bar the doors. draw closed your gaping mouth, open your dear palms. lay your head against the cool stone wall.

breathe, sweeting.

no, it's still beating, see? every one of your breaths, a stutter of muscle. every one of your trembles, a drop of blood. there is still life in it, and it aches to match.

when i press my nails into the flesh, it quickens, a hiccup in your chest. when i bend over, the sharp edges of my skin don't scrape against hollowed bone. it's flushed, see?

oh.

oh, no.

don't cry, sweet thing. don't draw your comely mouth into a line so muddled by tears that it can only shape wails, now. dry your eyes and set your face into clear resin so i might look at it always. keep your hands cupped and your smile anchored to the edges of your lips. feel it drag against your teeth.

take it.

no, it's yours.

it leapt from my chest when you first spoke. it matched the rise and fall of your breath when you first laughed. it's fissured, I know, but it yet lives.

why are you crying? your hands are trembling and your cheeks are wet. your mouth has dropped the smile. your breath stutters where it lives in your breast-

why are you crying?

this is a gift, dearling. i cannot take it back. i have already severed the veins, and the ligaments and the tender flesh. i have already broken the sternum and spread my ribs. for you.

for you, i would tear my tongue from my mouth. i would pluck my eyes from their sockets, i would peel my skin from my flesh. i would set a knife against my femur, and cut until i met the joint.

for you, i would carve open my thigh until it lay, de-boned and spread open on your cutting board. i would open my mouth to be stuffed.

for you.

careful, now. hold me gingerly and kiss me tenderly. this is a gift. won't you thank me?

#poetry #writerblr #writers of tumblr #poets of tumblr #spilled ink #spilled words #love as consumption #gifting your love your heart #to their horror #is it a gift if they cannot say no? #as always #body horror #on gifts and hearts and butchery #and tears