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all-the-golden-roses · 1 year

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“But that's just it. Love isn't one thing.

Thats something hard I had to learn.

Love is a friend holding the door for you, or the guy taking you on your first date walking on the side of the street closest to the cars.

Love is a teacher printing out copies of assignments you've missed and stapling them together for you. Love is the applause at the end of a show you've worked your ass off to perform, and feeling the lights on your skin as people whoop and cheer.

Love is looking back at pictures of younger me, and knowing that she needs the biggest hug. It is wishing that I could step back five years and scoop her up into my arms, never letting anything bad touch her ever again.”

-A quote from a book I’ll never write and a letter I’ll never send

#poetry #love #my writing #a book i'll never write #a letter I’ll never send #a poem to my parents #writer

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ivynightshade · 1 month

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fatima aamer bilal, excerpt from moony moonless sky’s ‘i am tired of making a religion out of my suffering’.

[text id: i am too little, and too much, and never enough.]

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mrthinkerr · 9 days

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A dead parent poem.

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quaranmine · 9 months

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i think the whole cringe is dead, radical sincerity, depth of genuine emotion, earnest effort, and unironic love thing that tumblr has going on the past few years has transformed my outlook on things and changed me for the better. but it does mean that now the people i know irl will give me strange looks for being too sappy or too poetic or too dedicated or too excited about about something because they're still stuck in their "well i only like this ironically" phase. guess that's their problem tho not mine <3

#like on here i could spontaneously decide to write a poem about life & love & death & the dying peace lily on my parent's porch #and everybody would be like omg love it #or i could write essays analyzing mcrp. or dig up documents from 1910 and 1956 for fanfic research #and everyone is like 🤩#and in real life there's like a 90% chance anybody would just be like. that's good for you....you're a little weird though.....#or i will say something i was thinking about and people will get all cynic on me or something #SORRY for having a writer's/artist's/photographer's brain i guess and seeing the beauty in the world #idk idk so many people i meet irl are allergic to genuine expressions of emotion or artistry #there was a lady i saw on the train once who was reading a densely-written pocket sized planner...from 2013 #i think about her sometimes. was that her planner? were those good memories? was she trying to remember something? has it been a kind decade #and when i told my dad he couldn't at all see anything i saw in the moment. he just made jokes about her being crazy #but i liked the moment

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gloomydiary · 1 month

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I'm afraid to be honest with anyone, I'm afraid to be honest with my parents, the therapist with my friends

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sanddollarpoems · 6 months

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Raising Bitterness

We only had the generation before us

to show us their broken way.

Parents and guardians who believed

that stuffing their feelings down

and angrily crushing our spirits,

was the way to make it through.

Our example was a generation

Who touted ideas of "free love,"

but only knew how to love themselves.

And I pray every day that I don't end up

to be anything like my parents.

My dad always makes the same excuse,

that they did the best that they knew how.

And I'm sure that his statement is true,

but heaven forbid that I ever end up

anything like them.

This family trait ends with me.

#sanddollarpoems #spilled ink #poem #poetry #quick write #raising bitterness #I know I blame them #for all the ways they fail at being parents #I'm trying to accept that that will never be anything more than they are #and that I will never be the treasured daughter #but I will never fucking pass that shit on to my kids #this warped family trait ends with me #because i can #take that #family tree

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whispersofthepurplevalley · 2 years

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I see a lot of people talk about accepting the ultimate truth -- people die one day, and sometimes, they are our loved ones. And I see people who continue to ask the reason why we fear losing someone if we know that death is inevitable. Now that I think about it, I don't think it's necessarily the fear. It's the burden of stories we share with someone that we have to carry alone after them. Carrying memories for two can be heavy, and sometimes, they can make you lonely. I think it's the unpreparedness to take such a weighted responsibility that scare people.

Sabina Yesmin

#aesthetic #spilled ink #spilled thoughts #writeblr #writers on tumblr #my words #poem #my writing #quotes #positivity #death of a loved one #grief #dealing with loss #dealing with grief #losing a parent #losing a friend #separation anxiety #lifequotes

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lostmf · 8 months

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I think I forgot your voice

Not the voice you use every day

But the voices only I know

Your soft loving voice

Your screaming violent voice

The person you only showed to me

Whether it was good or bad

It was only for me

That’s love right ?

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egharcourt · 7 months

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They say there’s no scene that humanizes Jesus more than his prayer at Gethsemane. Matthew, Mark, and Luke all reiterate the same desperate plea: “Take this cup away from me.” Luke goes even further in describing Jesus’ agony, so tangible it manifested as sweat that fell to the ground like drops of blood. It’s almost theatrical, in a way— the composed Christ inconsolable, the faithful Martyr faltering.

But I know that anguish is not ephemeral. For it festers within you, bursts out from you when you can control it no more, and ends with you. They only see the eruption. We hear about Jesus as a precocious child, questioning his earthly parents, “Did you not know that I must be in my Father's house?” Does knowing his Father mean knowing his demise? Did that comprehension come later? Was he as oblivious as Issac then, asking his father on their journey, “Where is the lamb for the burnt offering?” At what point did he realize that he was the lamb that God had provided? When he learned that fate meant him to die did he realize it entailed such cruelty?

It’s perfectly reasonable if he didn’t. The sacrificial lamb is always adored. Without blemish, without broken bones, without fault. They dote upon you like a prince until they pin you to the chopping block. Your father nurturing you with a knife in one hand, saying, I love you so much that I’ll let you bleed out for God.

And you’ve internalized it. You’ll cry when you see the altar, but you’ve long ago conceded that you can’t escape doom. So you bargain to make it a little more endurable, to meet the end with a bit more poise and dignity. It’s the final resolute “May your will be done.” It’s Issac struggling in his binds until his strength is spent, taking one last glance up at Abraham to whisper, Make it hurt less.

"Elegy for the Messiah by the Sacrificial Child-Lamb on the Altar", E. G. Harcourt

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sfsolstice · 2 months

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exurb1a, from "Mum" in Poems for the Lost Because I'm Lost Too

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darubyprincx · 3 months

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the aroace mood

#ray's tag #undescribed #writing #keys' writing #aroace #aspec #aromantic #asexual #aro #ace #MY PARENTS ARE HAPPILY MARRIED AND HAVE BEEN FOR ALMOST TWENTY YEARS BTW. I JUST MADE UP A SITUATION FOR THIS POEM SPECIFICALLY

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srvyxhi · 15 days

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yes, i understand its their first time living.. but why, do i have to carry that burden of thought? why didnt they think "its her first time living too" i was merely a child, learning how to cross the labyrinth of emotions but the exit was no more even before my eyes could search for it.

-Me.

#dark academia #quotes #relatable quotes #dark academic aesthetic #life quotes #poetry #childhood #inner child #literature #love poems #quotes about life #my writing #my work #my words #parenting #children #family #toxic household

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ivynightshade · 25 days

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fatima aamer bilal, excerpt from moony moonless sky’s ‘i am tired of making a religion out of my suffering’.

[text id: my bones whimper at the thought of what could have been. / what could have been if i was not born in a grave?]

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jaxxrabbie · 29 days

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My mother’s desperate plea for validation and my father’s instinct to avoid intimacy have claimed home in my skin and blood. My father’s ego flows through my bloodstream, and my mother’s insecurities slice every inch of my body. I want to peel my mother’s layer off, and bleed my father out these veins. A suicide of who created me, searching for what’s left of me beneath. I know humans can’t live without skin and blood, but I’d rather become a monster than only be known as my parent’s daughter.

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elainewellspoetry · 2 months

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Playing The Part | 2.26.24 Note: This is the second poem I've written about this topic in 2 days and I'm realizing now that the reason it's been so hard to write in the past year is because I haven't been writing honestly. I was trying so fucking hard to write love poetry about a guy I wasn't into, and now I'm just speaking my feelings and it's so easy to write again.

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vulnerableagendaofdeath · 6 months

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i had a foul mouth and hands dirtied of holding love. i was a kid with busted lip. i was a kid with parents not home on Sundays. i was a kid who never knew what to eat so she chewed on whatever looked like it could fill the bullet gap in shape of her parents.

— exerpt from "Twenty-two nudes of my remodeled house

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