#inkflows network

[mothpoems]

4.2.22 // id in alt text

#escapril #escapril2022 #napowrimo #spilled ink #poets on tumblr #inkflows network #original poetry #inkstains #the distance between experience and its representation #btw this one can be read either as two halves or as one whole #it should work both ways #c: made a bowerbird of me

[stardustandwar]

girl help im feeling again

(id under cut)

oftentimes i bite my own tongue to ease the ache of my jaw

my gnawing, gnashing anger ripples hurt in all direction

i look at my reflection and i see bones haunted by the unwanted memories 

white luminescent moon-flesh gone mad with un-fed yearning

my own blood burns me 

eats through my skin like acid to melt away the flesh of me

soon we'll see what these bones are really made of

how their color looks beneath natural light

and if they can carry the weight of their own meaning 

i do not aim for self-destruction but i dont think i was built to last

i try to learn how to let storms temper my tender heart

but cannot find any strength in my suffering

each passing blow tears another piece of me away

rain-soaked and half-starved and chest pushed out 

ribs curled forward to escape the heaving of my useless lungs

did the screaming ever stop or am i just used to the sound

stardustandwar

#mine #my writing #poetry #spilled ink #inkflows network #poet of tumblr

[smallepics]

The contemplation of orchards, Lau B. @smallepics || 04.11.21

In response to @nosebleedclub​ question prompts April 2021 series

Transcript below

[Text ID: I. Is there something that needs to change?

What needs to change is hiding in the fruit

In the stringy sweetmeat.

each bite pushing plum flesh

against gum. you find your teeth gnawing the pip

that only uproots itself to an attentive hand.

That Seed can grow some place else.

Carelessly litter, it will

lapse into the tides of earth

whose palm coaxes out fragility.

germination,

on a birthing blanket of grass knitted to weeds

promising to cradle the fissures the way the heart once did.

The Fruit

on the mouth

gnawing the pip,

gnawing the knuckle,

a kiss lying between your palm & lips &

in the sugar grain on your tongue

much sweeter

& useful,

as it already tastes.

II. Will there be flowers?

Only once the sun promises gentleness to the leaves

What does a flower know of comfort, of being cradled?

There is only ever the light

slipping its fingers beneath the peduncle gentling the flower to its philtrum

To grow into that bowl

enveloping the globe is not the same as falling

As being plucked

or pruned

or gardened]

#original poetry #spilled ink #nosebleed club #flower language and dedication #inkflows network #me looking at my writing as I write it: what does it mean #thank you nosebleedclub for helping me write processing poetry when my brain needs to process but cannot process #btw the fall is a reference to falling in love #because love is so much more powerful than like. an imagined crush on someone who looks cute (although that counts too) #also if my use of the word sweet meat bothers you here please feel free to tell me I have a 70% formed concept of the word I just wanted #another way to say fruit flesh

[streetsiding]

secret sappho gift for @verilies , with lots and lots of love ♡♡♡

#spilled ink #inkflows network #poets on tumblr #writerscreed #useraya #from me #secret sappho

[qq-riri]

tonight is a night for miracles

#spilled ink #inkflows network #poetry #poets on tumblr #my poem

[inkflowsnetwork]

prompt list

challenge: come up with a unique metaphor for love 

the story of your bones 

holy terror 

the street with the fireflies trees 

citywide fire 

countryside healer 

#prompts #prompt list 1 #tag us as 'inkflows network'

[sunsounds]

IN PASSING TO THE SEA // written for the Inkflows Network Secret Sappho Exchange, for @avolitorial

#wto #ss #spilled ink #spilled words #poetry #poems

[mothpoems]

4.1.22 // id in alt text

#escapril #escapril2022 #napowrimo #spilled ink #merulia #poets on tumblr #inkstains #inkflows network #lookaimi #this is escapril day 1: when i opened my eyes #and VERY loosely lia's prompts day 1: motif - new moon

[mothpoems]

you know that babies drop toys to see if gravity still works (it always does) and you (empty and transparent) (a synonym for yourself) do the same thing (fevered retreading of the same ideas) (writing the same poem around the same empty space) but you won’t admit it (a deniable language of correlation) (spoken, it becomes causation) (you know enough about tragedy in art to know that your life is neither) you’re still hoping that you (a body hitting the ground) can fool yourself (the ground that the body hits) into expecting anything other than the fall (the red line between desire and habit) (shapes in the receding sky) (the line between i want you and if i won’t admit i don’t want you, isn’t that enough?) (you know it’s not) because there will always be blood (the red line) (does the wound beget the poem or is it the other way around?) and you (weaving desire out of nothing so you can spend tomorrow night unweaving) know there’s no credit just for participating (leaving a space between lines) (pretending no one knows what goes there) so you’ll have to commit to living someday 

a.s.w. || (insp)

#spilled ink #poets on tumblr #inkstains #original poetry #inkflows network #lookaimi #wearywnet #if ur not doing the mondaymemeprompts on instagram u are very much missing out #shoutout to camisarahpoetry on ig for that

[mothpoems]

11.12.21 // ID below

what i want is simple and impossible. the quiet, thoughtless intimacy of sorting my laundry from someone else’s. peppermint tea cooling in the evening, offered without asking. someone to hold my hand when the waves hit and to search for my body in the dark silt and spilled-oil rainbows by the roadside when the floodwaters recede. but also

i want to live and i don’t want to do it alone. i want olive oil in a hot pan and a knife in kind hands, chopping vegetables together in the kitchen after sundown. linoleum floors that look golden in the light. keys in the door, footsteps on the stairs familiar by sound alone. we’ll wear each other’s shoes and walk in the rain and come home to do the dishes together. find the words that mean love without having to say it. wear out every endearment until our names sound like honest prayer.

and i do. i do know what i want. it comes back to me sometimes, simple and impossible and heavy in my hands like the tide. i don’t want miles between me and anyone who knows my name. in ten years, i want the songs to sound different even if the words never change. i won’t be 23 and lonely, crying at the thought of making dinner for someone else and sitting next to them while we eat. yeah, darling, i know. nothing is forever, but i think i could teach someone to cook and i think there are still stars to watch somewhere and i think maybe love is the only thing in this burning mess of a world that’s worth deliverance.

#spilled ink #poets on tumblr #inkstains #original poetry #inkflows network #lookaimi #wearywnet #this started as an unhinged stream of consciousness sparked by reading [redacted] #and then i spent a few days trying to make it poem-shaped #and now i am inflicting it on you all <3

[mothpoems]

your hands like autumn leaves, her eyes like spring earth. you feed yourself to the deep piece by piece, limb by secret limb, trusting the hungry water to swallow what it cannot bear, to carry you away. blood on the waves and her smile like a mirror or a forest you could lose yourself in, blindly searching.

the river you swam in as a child runs south all winter, seeking the golden coast, impaling itself on shores you’ll never see with innocent eyes. when the storm rushes inland, you’re left again as flotsam on the sand. driftwood love and glass-soft anger, enough to build a fortress or a throne or a home or anything else that burns.

you’re still burning. the riverbed is scorched dry, the ships all sinking. you’ll always know the delta that leads to your homeland by the condemnation spilling red from the river’s mouth, thawed in the sudden heat.

a.s.w

#escapril #napowrimo #spilled ink #poets on tumblr #inkflows network #lookaimi #original poetry #this is just a collection of vibes but also for full effect listen to 'the calling' by the amazing devil i guess - #also even tho this is my day 3 poem it fits lia's day 4 prompt 'rivers' #oops!

[mothpoems]

the clouds blossom with winter again and you stand in the streetlight-halo with your face tipped back to heaven and your eyes wide open. see, the sky bleeds with terror too. see, your body is still alive enough to break ice beneath it. the night unspools in velvet ribbons from under your pillow while the metal bones your life still haunts creak with heat. if you were brave, you could ask for less and maybe someone would give it to you. snow against the window, filling your throat silent. you’ve kept the same tired secrets for years and years, sewing them into your bedsheets out of habit, thawing them against your tongue to taste the sweet iron again like honey in the desert or snow on an empty road, your body in the center, waiting for something bright and consuming to finally come.

a.s.w. || @avolitorial

#spilled ink #poets on tumblr #original poetry #inkstains #inkflows network #lookaimi #*writes this and then posts it with zero editing*

[mothpoems]

secret sappho poem for @verilies || id in alt text

#spilled ink #poets on tumblr #original poetry #inkstains #inkflows network #lookaimi

[mothpoems]

i call after my god || transcription below

the house is empty and not. i bite down and chew the length of days, spit them out like teeth in neat rows: black pebbles and blacker shells. a corpse of a telephone breathes a dial tone ghost down the hallway to ask for what i don’t have.

i’ll give you my bones if you stay. i could drown like this in day-death shadows. this house could hold anyone’s flooded grief. tonight, the sanctuary could be empty because it’s meant to be, though an absence of an absence still won’t make anything i can hold.

faith is naming what gut you’ll decay in, but you have to live in the meantime. my god still hasn’t looked back at me. the pebble-teeth sink into soft beeswax like fingers, gilded with heat and prayer: fragmented antiphons and unwhole repetition.

#spilled ink #poets on tumblr #inkstains #original poetry #inkflows network #lookaimi #[shrug emoji] #wrote this one around a ghost line from the silt verses ep 11 #half of which is the quote in the caption #but that's more of a vibes thing than a direct inspiration y'know

[mothpoems]

11.27.21 // transcription below and in alt text

i wake up & the world hasn’t ended.

remember for me the way the autumn clouds reflected the burning horizon. how the leaves turned to blood and everyone avoided the forest except us. and the trees were the sort of darkness they write fairytales about, and the red on our knees was bright as day, and we ran until there was nowhere left to run to. the wild sky splits like a window along the etched outlines of cedar branches that are not unburned, but still grow. remember for me how the story started while we kneel in the meadows of our ending and wake again at sunrise in a bed of needles, bodies unfurling like seeds after the heat.

i stand at the bottom of a deep well and you are the blue above, asking me to do this just once more. pick up the shovel and unbury myself. you’ll remember everything i ask you to forget, so instead i demand your memory over and over to blunt the edge of recollection. the future is a bare, luminous blade. there’s no revelation, no end-of-days golden horizon. only graves to climb out of. only doing this for the rest of our lives.

#spilled ink #poets on tumblr #original poetry #inkflows network #inkstains #lookaimi #these are the fall vibes i think

[mothpoems]

out on the water, the stars burn. walk out under their warm and dying light and cast your line with me as a hymn into the deep. sing to me a prayer as open as the water: holiness that doesn’t ask me to pry apart the clasped black shell to get the sacred meat between my teeth.

the wooden dock is washed gray by time and air, and each pebble on the shoreline whispers quiet wonder as it slips under your step, then settles. beloved, i want to build you a boat. i want carve a cradle from moonlight to carry you home, saltwind turned lullaby in my mouth. let the sea be a wild thing and my hands full of the same restlessness. we, like the angels, are warm and dying and made of light.

a.s.w. || @avolitorial || nameday poem for lia @ragewrites

#spilled ink #poets on tumblr #original poetry #lookaimi #inkflows network #leaning into the uhhhhhh boats and fishing theme i guess!