poormonster

[poormonster]

First date

At the bar I hold my breath like a pint. Wood varnish stains and I wonder if they find me in some ditch tonight. will its small impressions under  my nails trace me back to him? Blue dawn chorus – wake up on the news. Trace a bitten finger around the rim as his mother weeps. I choose to be walked and kissed and fucked. The jury watches dismayed when I beg for a hand around my face and throat and wrists and then left for dead when he grabs for the towel. Call a recess for now.

#sonnet #sonnets #poem #poems #poetry #daily poem #poems on tumblr #poems and quotes #poetry on tumblr #writers and poets #poetscommunity #poetsclub #writing #spilled ink #spilled poetry #spilled words #spilled thoughts #feminine rage #poetrycommunity #poets on tumblr #girlblogging #female manipulator #sad girl #violence against women #sadgirl #hook-up culture #hook-up #internet poetry #internet poet #contemporary verse

[poormonster]

words from class of 2013 by mitski

#inspo

[poormonster]

John Yuyi: Airbnb Selife (2019)

#inspo

[poormonster]

— Vladimir Nabokov, Letters to Véra

#inspo

[poormonster]

Virginity part 3

First love! Last night in cold summer morning embalming river swim, down where old love-reeds stagnate with sting of skin and cloth and bone - you were there, key-keeper bound and strung behind stone- high walls of red creeper; nothing stolen, nothing gained. We go where the sound bleeds across bedsheets and stains corridors with those river-weeds of first love. Eyelashes like wet ink stain the basin of the bathroom sink.

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[poormonster]

"It is June. I am tired of being brave."

–Anne Sexton, from "The Truth the Dead Know"

#inspo

[poormonster]

Love, We Must Part Now

by Philip Larkin

Love, we must part now: do not let it be Calamitous and bitter. In the past There has been too much moonlight and self-pity: Let us have done with it: for now at last Never has sun more boldly paced the sky, Never were hearts more eager to be free, To kick down worlds, lash forests; you and I No longer hold them; we are husks, that see The grain going forward to a different use. There is regret. Always, there is regret. But it is better that our lives unloose, As two tall ships, wind-mastered, wet with light, Break from an estuary with their courses set, And waving part, and waving drop from sight.

#inspo

[poormonster]

Wednesday

I wake up a million pounds, cry for you all morning, scaffolded by dreaming-sounds and slick with hasty mourning. I’m rolling boulders, snapping twigs and things I find in my room to bring to you like wedding rings splayed in glancing catacombs. We refract around a single heart, moult like cave-shadows, drink the wounded bison’s injured part, we animals. My love, I sink like a body from a moving car and stay stuck here. That’s how we are.

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[poormonster]

"Do I have to smash a glass over the head of every single man I come into contact with, just so I leave a fucking mark?"

- Boy Parts by Eliza Clark (2020)

#inspo

[poormonster]

By the roots of my hair some god got hold of me. I sizzled in his blue volts like a desert prophet.

The nights snapped out of sight like a lizard's eyelid : A world of bald white days in a shadeless socket.

A vulturous boredom pinned me in this tree. If he were I, he would do what I did.

--  The Hanging Man, Sylvia Plath

#sylvia plath #the hanging man #poems daily #poetry on tumblr #poetry #poems #classic literature #classic lit aesthetic #classic lit quotes #20th century poetry #inspo

[poormonster]

thursday at the honour oak (work in progress)

the air is hot with the smell of people who don’t know  what happened hold our pints like weapons  perpendicular to the radiator and I think about how if they found me in some ditch the wood varnish under my nails traces me back here to you

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[poormonster]

Ian Stone, Doubting Thomas, oil on linen, 12x16 in, 2023

"If you know the painting by Caravaggio, Doubting Thomas, it was my direct inspiration for this piece.

A doubting Thomas is a skeptic who refuses to believe without direct personal experience. 50-60 years ago, it was not uncommon for people to think or believe that being gay was a phase or a mental illness or deviance in some shape or form. It's embarrassing that the same things are being said about trans people today."

#inspo

[poormonster]

friday at the groucho club (work in progress)

we left it  on the table with the bill with your empty glass  and my untouched plate we left it with the table next to us where the drunk old fucker from an ancient dean street as we stood to leave not holding hands told us all about a philosopher you’d already said  you’d read  when you were 21  as if we’d never heard of hobbes as if our eyes weren’t damp at the time

#free verse #poem #daily poem #poetry #poems on tumblr #love poem #love poetry #breakup poem #break up #love #internet poetry #creative writing #writeblr #poemblr #poetryblr #writers and poets #writers on tumblr #thomas hobbes #philosophy #dark academia #dark academia aesthetic #old money #old money aesthetic #soho #london #wip

[poormonster]

greek street song

The litter beached along the Tottenham Road lying spaced like jellyfish, like he lies next to the bright star of the evening's moral code with "buy now or regret it" print in 5-11 text. I asked a saint who had fucked you if she ever stayed the night. Perhaps maybe she heard me or at least she knows I'm precociously clever and didn't stay here long enough to see your eyes fumble with my shirt and leave the room to seven patient brides on horseback in the hall where the patron saint of debtors drinks my perfume on the floor. There is a man whose curtain call is fingerless dawn in still baby blue hoar, but sleeps smoked like hide with the night before.

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[poormonster]

Sonnet for a guy I fucked at a conference

Heat rises and on the top floor of this hotel it sticks. The wallpaper curls, rolling up in ribbons to the ceiling and I can tell it's done: get up boy, take it on the chin. I was never hoping to find you there  but who could say no to a night alone? Trains bloom and die; oh god I swear I never do this. Pass me your phone so we can never speak again until I place your lanyard at your door and feel nothing. Your brown eyes, then - I think that's all I want, your poor dog desperation and hapless virtue; I never did worse than when I did you

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