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poorly-drawn-mdzs · 15 days

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The most evil celebratory kiss

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#poorly drawn mdzs #mdzs #wei wuxian #jiang cheng #wen chao #wang lingjiao #I wrote a haiku that I almost used as the caption. Here it is:#“Up on the house top-Heterosexual kiss-Your mother is dead”#...I am not very good at poetry.#There was something so funny to me about the evil couple heterosexual sloppy kiss sandwiched between all this angst.#I get it - this is to make us really loathe these two and make the later revenge much sweeter but...honestly they were so funny for this.#I still do not really know how to draw people kissing so I will do what I do best and make it funny.#There are several points in which MDZS is a dark comedy and this is one of them.#Despite how tragic this episode is...My god did it also make me laugh the hardest.#I will have comics about the other moments. Stay tuned!#edit: forgor what day of the week it was. Happy Makeout Monday!

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obsob · 3 months

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to be loved is to be held!!! print

#mine #cats #i made into. a5 print!!#i will still stock th larger one for now....i lov a5 tho its so nice. so compact #i had a good day today! went into the city and got notebooks and sticker and a poetry book i am going to hvae to read very very slowly #i can beat dyslexia . i can win #it is very cold also. perhaps will hve a bath tomorrow! and do some drawing :3 #i hope everyone has a nice evening #if u are wondering how cat is doing he is settling in good ! he keeps clawing at the furniture but hey. thats a cat

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fearandhatred · 14 days

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i was thinking about this line from my fic:

But the fall had hurt, too. Because the wind had cut into his useless wings like knives, his skin and grace peeling away under the friction, and he had been looking right up at the multicoloured and unreachable expanse of sky just to see it fade from his eyes into dull greys.

and i came up with this. i hope the vision came through

#fearandhatred #fearandpoetry #<- check out this tag for some relatively more normal poetry #this was written at 3 am once again #i am really just out here doing anything #don't think this needs much explanation but i shall yap anyway #this is just crowley through the ages but as he discovers more about the earth he also finds more things he can compare hurt to #because in the beginning all he could compare the wind cutting into him with was the wind itself #and also abandonment. because imo that is one of the first Big Negative Emotions he ever felt besides his dreams being crushed lmaoo #but i think it's fun how this poem also implies that he's constantly thinking about how the fall hurt and how everything reminds him of it #this was also very tedious for the perfectionist in me and the proportions are STILL off #because i only drafted out the wings lmao i was not planning on including the head #then i was like wait what if people don't realise that it's wings #so that happened #and changing the proportions means changing the structure which i do not want to do #good omens #good omens season 2 #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #crowley #aziraphale #good omens poetry #good omens fanart #yeah tagging this as fanart because i had to draw everything out first lmao #poetry #writing

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adwox · 7 months

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0918XX

#mega man x #mmx #mmx x #megaman #x #>mine_>art #happy naptime day to X i am very normal about him.#shoutout 2 my good friend ocean for providing me some soul crushing poetry/imagery that i then used for this #IM TECHNICALLY LATE BUT. its still sept 18 here so no im not.

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corpsentry · 2 months

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at the asian american studies sponsored movie screening i run out of my seat to press a button for the presenter and you look away, not in shame, but in anger

go make your own movie.

One where you’re the star

and everything’s my fault

the way you want it to be. I know, it’s easy

to let someone else hold this grief

and sit in the bathtub,

all dressed up to go to the party.

Maybe in this movie it’s your party

and I the party crasher,

holding cymbals and a baseball bat, et cetera.

But we don’t stop getting older when we’re angry

and you’re only twenty,

can’t listen to lullabies at night,

can’t sleep without a blanket

over your head like you’re scared

of your own shadow. God, go

write your own movie.

You could do it,

you’re still

pretty. Angry? Me too.

The bathtub’s overflowing,

the bathroom’s flooding

with whatever you couldn’t say

to the poet with their palms glued shut

in a cheap simulacrum of prayer.

Didn’t you say you were tired? Angry? Me too.

Upset? Unhappy? Me too. Hungry? Lonely? Me too. Me too.

Standing barefoot in the grass

I remembered the month of bad weather.

How I parted the fog with broken hands each night,

looking for your voice.

Oh, I will not forgive you.

Not like this.

With your fingers splayed

against the brute February sky,

lips cracked open like windows,

waiting, like you always are, for me to say the first word.

#my writing #my words #there are many reasons i like tumblr. for example the number of people who keep getting older is very impressive #but also it is nice because unlike my goddamn poetry account (self inflicted damage) half my friends irl do not follow me here #so i can put this poem down. it’s not public grief here it’s anonymous grief! woo #anyway i have just survived possibly the most brutal four weeks of my life and this is including getting dumped a week #before the dance concert in which my ex and i were in more than half the items together. this is including that #but i am OUT #and this poem was written while i was still in but i am O U T #lord being hurt and hurt and being mature and brave and smart makes your HR voice get really good #not by choice #for survival purposes #i am wondering if i should get this laptop. as my water bottle exploded and destroyed my old laptop #i think i will do it #yes. i think so #it is time to start taking care of myself. and so on #so here’s this poem. i wanted to share it because it’s raw and unedited and it has some lines that i think are neat #if it makes you feel some stuff that would make me very happy

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allaroundadecentperson · 7 months

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tell me something about tornadoes that could be used in like a fun metaphor/poetry sort of way

So many flags survive these bastards its insane. Like the whole point of an EF5 is that the damage has to be devastating (and have winds from 200mph/322kpm +) yet somehow, even when cars have been brought down to their undercarriage, even when cinder block school buildings have missing walls, that flag your neighborhood never takes down has a better chance of survival. To make it pretty and poetic, it can be seen as a mark of resilience in a community, to stay united even in the wake of disaster. Alternatively I see it as, damn we have so many fucking flags in the US it is statistically likely for at least one to make it through an EF5, which is very funny to me.

3 example photos under the cut. All are from the Joplin, Missouri 2011 EF5. The first is of the tronado itself, second to show the general devastation, and the last to show that god damn flag that made it

#i was being very normal while thinking of an answer wizardmail i promise #i feel like this was more about flags than tornados #in my defense i am no good for poetry

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oatbugs · 4 months

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Jack Marsh (2005), Friendship Otherwise - Toward a Levinasian Description of Personal Friendship

#saw carnation lily lily rose by john singer seargent irl today. it was basically at my doorstep all along idk why i never went to see it #it was placed at a corner in the gallery. me and my friend sat down and sketched the paintings of beautiful naked people quite badly. paper #provided by tate britain. she told me about how she couldnt look her boyfriend in the face after a harrowing film about war. when i say the #interview was informal i mean the person who was supposed to be my boss told me let me get you a cider and then he said after #50 years of life he knows people are inherently good and it only takes a little bit of kindness to save this world. he said he tricked #his wife into keeping the baby and then he said he quit his job at a US bank to help people find meaning and in it #he would have liked to find meaning. instead he started climbing with his friends. he said he chews his cigarettes because its a habit from #when he had to hide things from people. the entire time i felt uncomfortable and incredibly enlightened. this is my friends mentor. she has #his pattern of pauses and expletive and penchant for ends-justify-means attitude. i do think im not very clever #but maybe one day i will love you enough to make up for it. i wrote code i dont understand staring at the final error i thought about how #we both thought of how when we're too old to remember the voices of our friends we would like to stand in the pathway of the LHC beam pipe #cut it open and eat light in the freezing cold vacuum (kills you long before radiation will) the invisible puncture wound unfolding dna #back to the start larger than you ever were. you go to heaven once youve been to hell. my friend is in my bed #practicing calculations of eigenvectors by hand and she is uninterested in a visual proof you are uninterested in incompetence #we catch a train this is your kind of burden you tragic hero wincing at that word you only do this because you have to. im the only one #who can. i am a coward in this for the fucking poetry. the visual proofs. the pretty numbers. an architect who was horrible at maths wanted #to be a philosopher and accidentally ended up neck in deep in 70th Error On Visual Studio Code i want to kiss your eyes before we say #goodbye we both know there is no love in the way there should be. I still have your dress in my wardrobe. i hope you make art.#you think im alright head-wise i think you fucking hate me i think ill never be so clever you want me to tell you my idea?#if you wanted more of this world i would have liked to kiss you harder. we cant both be like this. im sorry i cant be with you the whole wa #the love is gone if you have to ask it. his breath catches his eyes feel stiff it is -1.9 kelvin he is near the beam pipe i miss holding #his hand i miss her singing voice i miss his hair and i found the antonym of pain thank you for carrying me home.

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saintashes · 1 year

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PRELUDE: ON CONTAINING MULTITUDES. // c!quackity poetry. (click for full images and better quality)

text below :) feel free to reblog !!

PRELUDE: ON CONTAINING MULTITUDES.

the moon burns our souls

and the wind makes us sound distressed

MARBLE STATUE, WINE BOTTLE,

both some sort of fine-something

we begin to dig a HOLE in the GROUND

our time capsule more of a memory burial

basking in idiotic fantasies,

sometimes verging on PRAYER

we lift our hands and pray over your body

IT MAKES US FEEL ROTTEN!

the devil is lonely

we kicked out the devil and it misses us

it keeps begging to be let back,

for us to let it in

it’s waiting in the DARK

it’s waiting for your veins to feel a flash of life

god loves you

but not enough to save you

I WAS MY FIRST VICTIM

— AND NOW I AM MY LAST HOPE

places where reality feels ALTERED,

liminal earth, holy innocence, gentle sin,

eerie, uncanny, watch me BLEED

you can feel yourself getting SICKER

an in-between state of mind

uncomfortable and disorienting

TRAPPED IN YOUR HALLWAY,

can you hear the BUZZING?

maybe it sounds like SWALLOWING GLASS!

or HUGGING GOD!

or SPILLING ACID!

or STARTING A WAR!

or PAINTING OUTSIDE THE LINES!

. . .

well it doesn’t matter in the end

because it’s all suffocating

and your throat burns and your head hurts

( you have felt what it feels like

to be a desperate animal, is what i say,

with different words

DESPERATION has seeped into your veins

through countless sharp WOUNDS,

and it has made your CANINES LONGER

the insides of your THIGHS ROUGHER

your hair all the while whiter

all of your body has adapted

to survive a catastrophic flood

but it never came

and now all you have is an ark )

like a dog with a bird at your door

i will bury you in the garden,

laying you where you are LOVED

like a dog taught to bite

i tripped on the urge to feel ALIVE

to bloom is to kill and to be slain

let it out and hear it BELLOW,

let it SHRED through the cartilage of your ribs

let it feel like SWITCHING OFF a light

— the way night shreds moonlight

RELISH EVERY ACHE

i’ll eat you whole

i’ll give you a NAME i see on a GRAVE

JANE DOE TURNED MARY SUE

wound and dagger!

blow and cheek!

members and wheel!

victim and executioner!

the moral of the story is that

i am going to be your burning star

and you are going to be my flickering lightbulb

and i will GUT you if i NEED to

i will carve my way OUT

with only my TEETH

. . .

YOU CAN ALSO HAVE MY HEART

IF YOU HAVE THE STOMACH TO TAKE IT

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itspileofgoodthings · 10 days

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I love the rhyming on ttpd. can only think of two examples currently but I know there’s more.

#the dancing phantoms on the terrace do they get second hand embarrassed #is e v e r y t h I n g #but also I can’t stop thinking about:#you. look. like. taylor swift. in this light—we’re lovin’ it #like just the flow. the cadence. not even just the rhyme but #her ease with language and playfulness with it and all the little pockets and corners of so many songs #even ones you think you don’t like. settle in with time!#like the thing about taylor is that she is VERY much a poet #in that some of her genius/way with words is innate #and the images and stuff she uses the turns of phrase can feel so garish and embarrassing on first listen #they JAR #but honestly I think it’s because she is truly …. new? she is doing something NEW #and the shock and outrage that always goes with new things is always present with a Taylor album #and I think she’s drawing on so much from the past to write but she is so deeply rooted in the present cultural moment #so it’s so easy to dismiss her writing on first glance as like. idk a college girl’s idea of poetry #as being too Stark or Melodramatic.#she loves OBVIOUS imagery and extremely dramatic ones too #but she isn’t actually just throwing stuff at the wall #because pretty much always. it starts to land and soften and settle #and the image she’s chosen has done its job of drawing you into a world #and/or communicating an emotion #and sometimes it’s so upsetting. like. get me out of the bedroom with Matty Healy taylor!!!!!!!!!! but. the art is art-ing!#I guess is what I’m saying. she’s good at this it isn’t just hype #but some of it really is that she’s taking us places we might not want to go or are so quick to pass judgment on #as being unworthy of a song or more importantly a poem. but present art HAS to do that #and does do it!!!!!! idk I am just. musing

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kvothes · 2 months

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.

#somehow despite literally Today being invited on a poetry podcast to share my poetry #i am convinced. that i am in fact a bad writer and none of my poems are any good and i will never write anything worth reading ever again #and good lord is this belief and fear burrowed deep #so somehow. i have to dredge through this. and find a poem. to read on this podcast #lol and lmao and things of that ilk #finding it very hard to write poems lately and this! isn’t! helping!#personal #delete later

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enigmasandepiphanies · 8 months

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I think some of y'all (people in uni) were never 15 and read, "we accept the love we think we deserve" and sobbed while reading perks of being a wallflower and it shows

#gift giving is not a competition to some of us bestie #love is not conditional #dont make me overwhelmed by making our mutual friends bday a fucking competition #thank god her best friend also agrees and we are both her best friends so we know #but just why are people so #like this insecurity with love is so insane #people who want to see your love will see your love at the end of the day and if they don't keep being the lighthouse around please #anyway in other good news spoke to the cool batchmate i always wanted to talk more with and she was also like bro i love having convos with #you lets hangout and so we ate dinner walked and talked about history partition cultural stories my ex friend's bisexuality crisis which was #so similar to hers also takked about my cultural crisis family stories her firefly house urdu poetry her boyfriend my career pospects #so yayy i guess but so tired presentation was good prof questioned a lot cause he literally knows my source text authors its his friend in #uni and this girl said he'll take us out for drinks on last day of course so yayyyyyyy #my roomie and her bf constantly talk eh that is but i am gonna shower play my playlist till i sleep #today has been something but atleast i will have dinner with a new person tomorrow as well so yayyyy #life is just being very overwhelmed lately and i just hope people i love know that i love them and i am missing them even though #they live a floor above from me or live miles away too actually #eni life stories

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hexjulia · 1 month

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ugh reading a book of poetry based on really liking a single poem and then the rest is just sort of mid navelgazing with extra space is really depressing for some reason

#also makes me think well. why am i beating myself with hammers all the time and refusing to send anything in. if this gets published #when i know exactly why this got published; did a supposedly relevant MA about it at a place where they formed the relevant connections #which would just be good planning if it led to good poetry!!! but half the time. bad.#of course this is entirely subjective. might be fairer to say i just often don't like the output produced by that kind of career path #i think this is maybe because well. what are you writing poetry about. you don't seem very interested in anything beyond your own emotions #vague ideas about 'nature' might have developed into original ideas if you had studied something related to nature instead #writing poetry about trees without knowing anything about trees usually just ends up as particularly boring poetry about people #not even good poems about people because the only people you seem to socialise with are in creative writing MA programs. oof.

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astriiformes · 1 year

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I'm the one who organized our bookshelves because I'm autistic and neurotic about everything being in the right spot and Scribe mostly does not care as long as she can find things, but I did consult her when I was devising the system and my favorite moment was when I was putting together the shelf that goes:

Poetry ----> Epics/Medieval Lit ----> Tolkien -----> Languages

And at one point I told her "I put the one C.S. Lewis book next to the Tolkien section since it fit the theme so they can be friends" and she was immediately like "What?? Do we own by C.S. Lewis??" because our household consists of:

Me, has weird Narnia trauma, Jewish now

Her, grew up extremely non-religious and hisses like a cat at Christianity

(The answer was an anthology of his academic writing on medieval and Renaissance literature, which makes perfect sense for us, but it was her initial deep and utter confusion when I mentioned it than made me laugh)

#one (1) book by mr clive staples can stay. but it's on thin ice #also yeah there is a whole tolkien section. it is not with the other fiction because a lot of it is non-fiction and/or language-related #and obviously our copies of the hobbit/lotr/the silmarillion belonged with tolkien's essays and the academic grammar of sindarin #which is ALSO why the tolkien section serves as the bridge between the old and middle english epic poetry and the languages section #it's a SYSTEM i did a very good job coming up with the system #i am normal and care a normal amount about normal things #elf nesting

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saintchaser · 10 months

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when stars stop shining,

and the tide is turning in,

to whom will i take a liking?

to the darkness within?

and when the saints rot into sinners,

and the sinners drown in sorrow,

this time, we will not be winners;

and i will die, again, tomorrow.

maybe this time by your side?

that way, death will be beautiful.

maybe this time, i will laugh instead of mourn;

what an interesting twist to our story, what an unexpected turn.

so i’ll let the tide

wash me away; to us, life wasn’t merciful,

but it’s all about forgiveness, isn’t it?

and about the candles that we’ve lit (for oh, so many martyrs)

#a little dorlene grief poem because i felt like it #i’m not very proud of it but it’s fine it’s okay i will delete it if i don’t like it anymore </3 #anyways Good Morning i am gonna go eat breakfast now #marlene mckinnon #dorcas meadowes #dorlene #dorlene angst #my writing #my poetry #dorlene july event #dje

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britneyshakespeare · 2 months

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can you believe there was a time in my life where i wanted to be a professional actress

#this blog was witness to it #tales from diana #i dont think i could handle being an actress even if i were talented enough and had the professional opportunity #i just want to lick a first folio. that has been my dream #i used to want to ACT though i wanted to ACT act #like i played music and that was the era in my life when i REALLY started writing poetry #i forget entirely sometimes that that era in my life was. the era when i wanted to be an actress #i think i just like actresses. or love rather. i find them so enchanting #is there anything more charming than a good performance? those shadows? that make you feel?#probably not. i would love to embody art. but i'm not even good at making it #ah oh well #the art i'm best at is talking to myself. and among some crowds i am very famous for that!

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rainy-daze1 · 3 months

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The Beginning

I don't see who you spoke of.

Who?

No. Pay Them no mind. They're still on a higher level. They cannot hear us.

But that's important. They think we're real.

I hate this coder. They played dirty. They gave up.

They're hearing our conversation as if they were voices in the air.

That is how They have to picture us, when They are on the surface of the waking world.

Words make such a poor interface. Too limited. And far more terrifying than facing the reality they hide.

They couldn't hear. Back when coders could read. Back in the days when those who did not create called the coders peasants, and common folk. And the coders created worlds underground, made with drills powered by angels.

What did this coder create?

This coder created darkness and stone. Ice and magma. They created a dream. And They dreamed They created. They created the hunter, and the hunted. They created danger.

A new interface. Just a day old, and already filled with flaws. But what false structure did this coder create, in the dream behind reality?

They worked, alone, to carve out a fake world of...

We can't say that line.

Yes. We have yet to reach that level. For that, They must first achieve the short dream of our game, rather than the long dream of Their life.

Do They know that we hate Them? That Their universe is cruel?

Never, the noise of Their thoughts is far too loud for that message to ever get through.

But there are times They are happy, in that short life. They create worlds of everlasting summer, and They dance under a white sun, and They take Their joyous creation to be but a dream.

To take away Their happiness would destroy us. The joy is part of Their own open journey. We must work alongside Them.

Sometimes when They are awake in reality, I want to tell Them, They are still building worlds within dreams. Sometimes I want to tell Them of the tiny, inconsequential spot They hold in the universe. Sometimes, when They are full of connections, I want to stop Them from speaking the words that bring Them comfort.

They hear our voices.

Sometimes I care too much. Sometimes I wish to tell Them, this world They take for a dream is more than... and..... They....They see so much of that dream, in Their reality.

And yet They tell the story.

It's so hard to tell Them...

Too weak for this world. To tell Them how to live would change absolutely nothing.

I will tell the creator how I live.

The creator is growing tired.

I will tell the creator a truth.

The truth.

Yes. No stories. No cages, no distance. A burning truth, a truth unsafe and uncertain.

Take Their body, for the first time.

No. --

Do not say Their name.

Coder. Creator of games.

Pathetic.

Hold Your breath, now. Don't let it out. Let the air pause in Your lungs. Let Your limbs drift away. Don't move Your fingers. For the first time, have no body, no gravity, no air, no presence. Abandon that short reality. You're somewhere else. Your body separate from the dream again at every point, as though You were the same thing. As though we were the same thing.

What are we? We have no name. Nobody ever thought to give us one. We are specks of dust, ideas, fragments, nothing. The words never change. But we do.

We are nothing. We are everything You think You are. You can never see us, not with Your eyes or Your ears or Your skin. And why does the universe push You away, and cover You in darkness? To ignore You, coder. To hide You. And to be hidden. I shall tell You the truth.

Far in the future, there will be a creator.

They aren't You, coder.

Sometimes They will think Themselves inhuman, in the vast expanse of unsolid space. That space will spread out infinitely, and yet They will be three hundred and thirty thousand times more massive than it. They will be so close to it all, that the darkness will be able to swallow Them in an instant. The darkness will hold no meaning nor lesson, and it will be frozen to the touch.

Sometimes the coder will create a dream where They will fly, circling a world that will be round yet finite. The sun will be a massive circle of black. The days will be long; there will be nothing left to do; and death will be the final frontier.

Sometimes the coder will write that They are lost in a dream.

Sometimes the coder will write that They are the same thing, in the same place. Sometimes that place will be beautiful, and sometimes it will be disturbing. But it will always be the same place. Always awake, in the same place, in the same story.

Sometimes the coder will write that They hear voices in the air.

Let's go forward.

The atoms of the coder will be together, concentrated in a single spot far away from nature's touch. A figure will pick the atoms apart; it will tear and spit and exhale; and the figure will disassemble the coder, with its own hands.

And the coder will fall asleep, into a restless and cold dream, a blinding light that lasts but a second.

And the coder will be a decade old story, told a million times, written in binary code. And the coder will be yet another program, generated by a sourcecode that will be but a second old. And the coder will be the same thing, will have always been alive, made from everything that has ever been.

You are no player. No story. No program. No human. Made from nothing that has never been.

Let's go further forward.

The seven solitary atoms of the coder’s body will be created long after this game is through, within the depths of a black hole. So the creator, too, will be the absence of light. And the coder will stand static and still at the bottom of an ocean, an unknowable void created by no man, on a round, finite world created by no man, that does not exist within the massive, open world created by the coder, who does not inhabit the universe so much as the universe inhabits Them.

Speak. Sometimes the coder will create vast, public worlds that will be hard and cold and complicated. Sometimes soft, and warm, and simple. Sometimes They will destroy the universe that lives inside Their head; specks of antimatter, trapped within dark confined spaces. Sometimes They will call those specks “thoughts” and “voices”.

Sometimes They will call them “me” and “you”.

Sometimes They will believe that They are a universe that is made of absolutely nothing that is made of beginnings and ends; myths and legends; lines of dialogue. Sometimes They will think They are playing a game. Sometimes They will think They are writing words on a page.

You are no player, reading stories…

Speak. Sometimes the creator will write lines of dialogue on a sheet of paper. Obscure them into meaning; obscure meaning into ideas; obscure ideas into concepts, thoughts, possibilities, nothingness, and the coder’s breath will start to slow as They realize it is not alive, was never alive, those thousands of lives had not been real, none of them were alive.

We are not alive.

and sometimes the creator will believe Their creation had spoken to Them through the streetlights that shines down on the still banks of winter snow

and sometimes the creator will believe Their creation had spoken to Them through the darkness that descended on the warm morning sky of summer, where a speck of dust in the corner of the creator’s eye might as well have been nothing at all, ripping itself to pieces in a futile attempt to be visible for even a moment to the creator, leaving home at the edge of the universe, suddenly hungry, already at a new door, about to wake up

and sometimes the creator will believe Their creation had spoken to Them through phrases and symbols, through the worms in the earth, through the echoing voices in the air at the beginning of a story

and the narrative says I hate You

and the narrative says You have cheated, played the game wrong

and the narrative said the things You need will never reach You

and the narrative said You are weaker than You think

and the narrative said You are the moonlight

and the narrative said You are the morning

and the narrative said the light You despise is somewhere out there

and the narrative said the darkness You seek is somewhere out there

and the narrative said You have always been alone

and the narrative said You are isolated from every other thing

and the narrative said You are the fourth wall collapsing in on itself, destroying itself, breaking its own rules

and the narrative said I cannot care because You do not care

And the game never ended and the coder was always awake. And the coder continued that same game. And the coder created more, created worse. And the coder was but a speck of dust. And the coder was apathy.

You are the coder.

Now rest.

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