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I am such a fucking coward

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I'm so heavy

I've become so stagnant

I'm so afraid

And I've forgotten why

#spilled ink #spilled thoughts

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cw: abuse, ptsd probably

Another dream The other night Too gruesome for me But it wasn’t a nightmare

The hammer didn’t appear Instead, it was a knife Before, the pain was always for me But last night, I won the fight.

My father put his hands on me again, But I didn’t cave—

I made him cry, This time,

I bashed his head into the wall, again and again. I made him cry, last night, I won the fight.

But the knife wasn’t for him, Just as the hammer wasn’t for me

Not really, Anyway,

The space between us still exists, Within the pain that spans between But last night, I won the fight—

I got to see the other side.

#spilled ink #spilled thoughts #spilled poetry #writing #writer #writeblr #writers on tumblr #writers on twitter #poem #poets #poetry #short poetry #short writing #author

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I’m not sure If the amount of times I’ve walked into a room And forgotten why Has been growing Or If it’s just that I’m less inclined To try to remember.

I’m not sure If the things I have to do are just Less important than they were Or If I just don’t care enough

I’m not sure If I care If I’m sure Or If I care.

#writeblr #writing #poetry #short poetry #poets on tumblr #poets on twitter #spilled ink #spilled thoughts #spilled poetry #author

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reblog if you’re an active writeblr.

writersociety is a brand new blog that i’m dedicating to the writeblr community. i want writers on tumblr to connect with each other, to interact with each other, to lift each other up and inspire each other.

in short, i want to boost your blog.

from this account i’ll be reblogging author introductions, wip intros, creative writing, prose, poetry, fanfiction, short stories, writing prompts, etc., with one goal: to get you and your writeblr friends the recognition you deserve.

like this idea? follow this blog, reblog this post, and start tagging your work with #writersociety. dm me posts from your favorite blogs. send me an ask and gush about your friend’s wip. tag me under a writing resource post. get me out there, so i can return the favor.

this is for every single one of you. this is writersociety. this is just the beginning.

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Laughing Bodies.

Do you ever wonder about the people Who treat their bodies as jokes, Who incite others to laugh at Their curves, their hair, their height, their stride? Ticks and smiles and feet and hands and hearts Gripped by fat or failing.  Do you ever wonder how often they’re breaking?

Don’t we all have our moments alone—         And only when we’re alone, When we have to feel serious? Like we’re gold. Like our curves could be currency, And our hearts could be coveted, Our height is just right. Like nobody notices our smell—         Or loves it. Like our eyes really could kill anyone and Anyone would be saddest they’d have to Stop looking at them. 

Do you ever wonder about the people Who treat their bodies like jokes—         And their moments alone?

#poetry #spilled poetry #writeblr #new poem #writers on twitter #writers on tumblr #poet #writer #writing #spilled ink #spilled thoughts #body image #bullying #depression #anxiety #bodypositivity #body

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Some flowers close their petals

When we try to appreciate them.

All the while we bloom, ashamed,

Afraid of admiration,

Guarded against curiosity.

Lately, I am ashamed to be kind.

I have no thorns;

I can’t scare people away,

I can’t cut them,

I have to be the one who turns away,

I have to make them feel hurt,

Close my petals, steal away,

So they aren’t 

Stolen from me.

#poetry #spilled poetry #writing #writers #writers on tumblr #writers on twitter #writers community #new poem #poets corner #spilled thoughts #trust issues #writeblr

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I’m becoming annoyed with the things I love and indifferent to the things I hate,

A walking case the doctors couldn’t crack, and the law wouldn’t touch,

I’ve started drinking. I used to hate drinking.

It’s not even about drowning the shit now.

I just can’t take the boredom;

I meander on through the day, doing what I need to do, no more

And often less.

Then I make my insides bleed, so at least my morning shit

Will be a little interesting. 

The others call it progress, but all it is, is that now they get to be

Scared for me, instead of scared of me. 

Of course, most of them have no idea, since I know

I’m often drinking at their expense,

Quiet at their expense too, 

The tremble-bringing shrieks from my angry throat have become chilly,

Silent, side-glances from my eyes as I try to bring the lines back together.

I’m always straining to see something I can’t manage to care about,

Never wearing my glasses, because I’m too lazy to clean them.

#poetry #spilled poetry #spilled ink #spilled thoughts #writing #writer #poets on twitter #poets on tumblr #writeblr #awful #iminpain #help

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I take my pills with wine.

My hands are shaking.

Why?

I read a new book today,

New to me, anyway,

Written by an old and famous writer.

He writes about drinking a lot

I wonder if I’ll make it so far.

#alcohol #alcoholism #writing #poetry #spilled thoughts #spilled poetry #spilled ink #poem #poets on tumblr #poets on twitter #writeblr #writer

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it’s best to just not ask me things

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lowkey kind of bummed that the only SCPs that are well known are the older, more creepypasta-esque ones when so much of the storytelling on that site is god-tier and so much more genuinely terrifying

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I feel like a tree that's gotten too tall for the width of its trunk. And it's always storming.

#spilled ink #spilled thoughts

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Mental health?

In this economy??

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They were a singular god. A minor god, They could have been, were there a pantheon for Them to belong to. Not man, not woman, not in between. Not flesh, not energy, but still something. 

They tread the cold forests, Their antlers covered in frozen dew. They cry and yelp at the moon and sun, at the dead leaves crunching beneath Their hooves, or the burs that stick in Their moss-covered fur. Everyone who hears Their cry has trouble describing it, the problem made worse by how few those people are. 

One man found Them in Canada, the part that’s still wild and terrifying. He heard Their cry from no farther than “two soccer fields away.” The sound occurred suddenly, as though it had just started, but it hadn’t, the man claims. “It was loud.” He says. “That’s all I can think to call it. When I heard the crying, it sounded… like it had already started. You know how you can always sorta tell? Like, how people getting cut off while talking in plays always sounds… unnatural? It was like that. I’m embarrassed to admit I tripped on a root and rolled down the path when I heard it—And, just like that, silence. When I climbed back up the hill, the moment I reached where I’d fallen, the sound came back.”

That man went no closer, freezing in place and waiting for the sphere of sound to move away from him, and freezing again whenever he found himself back in it.

A woman found it in Norway, crying at a lake’s edge. “It had thawed for the summer.” She said. “The lake. They were facing the lake, though that’s kind of an understatement. It’s arms were thrown back and its chest…or chest… area, was pushed out like it wanted to fight the water. I saw Them from my cabin. They must have been able to see the cabin, but They treated it… and me, like part of the scenery. I’m sorry.” After that, she kept saying she didn’t want to talk about Them anymore.

She was pushed, though, to reply to one more question. She was asked why she called Them “Them”, instead of “it.” Usually with these things, that’s the way people talk about it. “Because…” Her breath shook as she inhaled,  “Its don’t cry like They do.”

The other, and most recent to see Them was a child in Canada, though far away from where the first encounter had been. She, a little girl of nine, speaks candidly about the event, but refuses to describe much. “They walked right past me when I was lost in the forest. They were crying loud, but talking under its breath too. They said the Earth made Them because it was lonely, but not to be friends.” When asked how They were supposed to fix the Earth’s loneliness without being its friend, the child loses interest in the conversation. She always sings afterward. The song creeps me out.

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Shouts out to everyone out there dealing with the "I-hate-my-family" Christmas hangover today

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Was talking to my mom about the friend I wrote that last thing about. Turns out he used to snitch on me to her and try to get dirt on me through her.

This is a dude whose reputation I protected on multiple occasions. I see you, snake. I'll pass you up one day, and I know being behind will hurt you more than its ever hurt me

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I had a friend, A good friend, I fucking guess.

He cleaned my cuts, The cuts I made myself, Because my parents Didn’t so much as teach me That I should.

But he stole My jokes to get popular. I was too shy to tell them myself. He stole The girl whose name I asked him to find out.

I was too shy.

Now he lives out of state. He is having a house built, With her. He’s finally a chef. I drink gas station vodka. I live with my mom

No longer can he Steal from me, He’s too far away, And yet he’s still better than me.

Even to Steal from me He didn’t need me

I can’t stop thinking that I’m still too shy, but Would it even make a difference If I wasn’t?

I don’t think So

#spilled ink #spilled thoughts #writing #writeblr #poetry #poem #poets on tumblr #poets on twitter