#long poems

[katie-urtessa]

Pretty

Those who born pretty; have not a clue what it’s like.

You see bad of yourself. 

All the imperfections and the wrongs, but you still are a pretty.

Sweet, dear, unpretty; she sees such is wrong.

All the bumps and the flaws, she sees an unpretty.

She looks for what is better, but not much of pretty.

Skills of mastery, that are hard; but not dear pretty.

Dear pretty work not of what’s hard, but of what is just pretty. 

She need not of what’s hard, because she is pretty.

Grown spoiled and dependent; but it’s all cause she’s pretty.

Dear unpretty has grown, hard of work and neglect.

I worry not of rape nor a threat. She worries though. Because she is pretty.

I sorry not of false love or sex. She sorries though. Because she is pretty.

I need not be scared of walking alone. Nobody wants to take an unpretty. 

Dear pretty is scared though.

I am not jealous, of dear, helpless, pretty.

I have thick skin from the beatings of unlove you have given.

I have worked harder, than unhelpful, cruel, pretty; 

To prove that I am worth something in a world of brusque pretties.

I have forced progress. More than weak, childish, pretty. 

You gave benevolence as a reward for my earnings, dear pretty.

While you were given diamonds I sorely take thorns.

I am worth as just as you are, dear pretty; if not even more.

But I hear sympathy from you not, dear pretty.

You just give mockery to your dear sister, unpretty.

//Katie Urtessa aka Me

#poetry #pretty #self growth #short poems #long poem #long poems #poet #new poets on tumblr #new poem #beautiful #deep poems #Poems #inspo #insporation

[nuel-blade]

Loving The Devil

I couldn't make the same mistake twice.

So I asked the Giver and He gave me that which I asked for.

But it seems like I'm in a bigger mess than before.

I loved her very dearly better than I did myself.

Regardless of her flaws,

Despite her horns, her fangs, her claws, and her tail.

It seemed like perfection in its finest. 

Perhaps it was way too much; overly irresistible.

But I was fooled by my self-deception; 

Oh! The good memories I shared with the devil,

Now clouded with flashes of backstabbing.

She clawed at me, kicked me in the gut, stabbed me not once, and whipped me with her tail.

Though it felt like it was I who hurt her;

Always was I seen running back and begging for forgiveness .

She lived off my broken soul like a leech

Same as the previous ones.

The Giver came once again to my rescue.

He opened my eyes,

And when I looked at her again the illusion was gone.

My mental health was hanging by a thread

But I feared I still admired her; worried I was just as twisted as she was.

But I wasn't.

I was simply being utterly naive as usual

But I fought as hard as I could 

And as long as I could.

Running away from her manipulative charms.

And I escaped with many lessons learned

I cannot be treated the same as I do to others cause the world is toxic.

And I reckoned that the lessons learned were the answers to my prayer;

A gift to me by the Giver. 

#betrayal #friendship #mental health #words #poetry #literature #quotes #spilled thoughts #original #titled poem #prose #classic academia #long poems #dark acamedia #the devil

[jellogram]

"Half-Hanged Mary" by Margaret Atwood was one of those poems that I had to read for school and never forgot. Everything about this poem lodged into my brain but I had a surprisingly difficult time finding the entire text online, so here it is, unedited, hopefully with all the correct spacing and inflections. Enjoy. I wish I could read it again for the first time.

7pm

Rumour was loose in the air

hunting for some neck to land on.

I was milking the cow,

the barn door open to the sunset.

I didn't feel the aimed word hit

and go in like a soft bullet.

I didn't feel the smashed flesh

closing over it like water

over a thrown stone.

I was hanged for living alone

for having blue eyes and a sunburned skin,

tattered skirts, few buttons,

a weedy farm in my own name,

and a surefire cure for warts;

Oh yes, and breasts,

and a sweet pear hidden in my body.

Whenever there's talk of demons

these come in handy.

8pm

The rope was an improvisation.

With time they'd have thought of axes.

Up I go like a windfall in reverse,

a blackened apple stuck back onto the tree.

Trussed hands, rag in my mouth,

a flag raised to salute the moon,

old bone‐faced goddess, old original,

who once took blood in return for food.

The men of the town stalk homeward,

excited by their show of hate,

their own evil turned inside out like a glove,

and me wearing it.

9pm

The bonnets come to stare,

the dark skirts also,

the upturned faces in between,

mouths closed so tight they're lipless.

I can see down into their eyeholes

and nostrils. I can see their fear.

You were my friend, you too.

I cured your baby, Mrs.,

and flushed yours out of you,

Non‐wife, to save your life.

Help me down? You don't dare.

I might rub off on you,

like soot or gossip. Birds

of a feather burn together,

though as a rule ravens are singular.

In a gathering like this one

the safe place is the background,

pretending you can't dance,

the safe stance pointing a finger.

I understand. You can't spare

anything, a hand, a piece of bread, a shawl

against the cold,

a good word. Lord

knows there isn't much

to go around. You need it all.

10pm

Well God, now that I'm up here

with maybe some time to kill

away from the daily

fingerwork, legwork, work

at the hen level,

we can continue our quarrel,

the one about free will.

Is it my choice that I'm dangling

like a turkey's wattles from this

more than indifferent tree?

If Nature is Your alphabet,

what letter is this rope?

Does my twisting body spell out Grace?

I hurt, therefore I am.

Faith, Charity, and Hope

are three dead angels

falling like meteors or

burning owls across

the profound blank sky of Your face.

12 midnight

My throat is taut against the rope

choking off words and air;

I'm reduced to knotted muscle.

Blood bulges in my skull,

my clenched teeth hold it in;

I bite down on despair

Death sits on my shoulder like a crow

waiting for my squeezed beet

of a heart to burst

so he can eat my eyes

or like a judge

muttering about sluts and punishment

and licking his lips

or like a dark angel

insidious in his glossy feathers

whispering to me to be easy

on myself. To breathe out finally.

Trust me, he says, caressing

me. Why suffer?

A temptation, to sink down

into these definitions.

To become a martyr in reverse,

or food, or trash.

To give up my own words for myself,

my own refusals.

To give up knowing.

To give up pain.

To let go.

2am

Out of my mouth is coming, at some

distance from me, a thin gnawing sound

which you could confuse with prayer except that

praying is not constrained.

Or is it, Lord?

Maybe it's more like being strangled

than I once thought. Maybe it's

a gasp for air, prayer.

Did those men at Pentecost

want flames to shoot out of their heads?

Did they ask to be tossed

on the ground, gabbling like holy poultry,

eyeballs bulging?

As mine are, as mine are.

There is only one prayer; it is not

the knees in the clean nightgown

on the hooked rug

I want this, I want that.

Oh far beyond.

Call it Please. Call it Mercy.

Call it Not yet, not yet,

as Heaven threatens to explode

inwards in fire and shredded flesh, and the angels caw.

3am

Wind seethes in the leaves around

me the tree exude night

birds night birds yell inside

my ears like stabbed hearts my heart

stutters in my fluttering cloth

body I dangle with strength

going out of me the wind seethes

in my body tattering

the words I clench

my fists hold No

talisman or silver disc my lungs

flail as if drowning I call

on you as witness I did

no crime I was born I have borne I

bear I will be born this is

a crime I will not

acknowledge leaves and wind

hold onto me

I will not give in

6am

Sun comes up, huge and blaring,

no longer a simile for God.

Wrong address. I've been out there.

Time is relative, let me tell you

I have lived a millennium.

I would like to say my hair turned white

overnight, but it didn't.

Instead it was my heart:

bleached out like meat in water.

Also, I'm about three inches taller.

This is what happens when you drift in space

listening to the gospel

of the red‐hot stars.

Pinpoints of infinity riddle my brain,

a revelation of deafness.

At the end of my rope

I testify to silence.

Don't say I'm not grateful.

Most will have only one death.

I will have two.

8am

When they came to harvest my corpse

(open your mouth, close your eyes)

cut my body from the rope,

surprise, surprise:

I was still alive.

Tough luck, folks,

I know the law:

you can't execute me twice

for the same thing. How nice.

I fell to the clover, breathed it in,

and bared my teeth at them

in a filthy grin.

You can imagine how that went over.

Now I only need to look

out at them through my sky‐blue eyes.

They see their own ill will

staring them in the forehead

and turn tail

Before, I was not a witch.

But now I am one.

Later

My body of skin waxes and wanes

around my true body,

a tender nimbus.

I skitter over the paths and fields

mumbling to myself like crazy,

mouth full of juicy adjectives

and purple berries.

The townsfolk dive headfirst into the bushes

to get out of my way.

My first death orbits my head,

an ambiguous nimbus,

medallion of my ordeal.

No one crosses that circle.

Having been hanged for something

I never said,

I can now say anything I can say.

Holiness gleams on my dirty fingers,

I eat flowers and dung,

two forms of the same thing, I eat mice

and give thanks, blasphemies

gleam and burst in my wake

like lovely bubbles.

I speak in tongues,

my audience is owls.

My audience is God,

because who the hell else could understand me?

Who else has been dead twice?

The words boil out of me,

coil after coil of sinuous possibility.

The cosmos unravels from my mouth,

all fullness, all vacancy.

#poems #poetry #margaret atwood #writing #women writers #half hanged mary #witch trials #salem #witches #long poems #epic poems #history #salem witch trials #literature #gothic literature #english literature

[whisper-in-the-dark]

it's hard to be happy

it's easy to be sad

with the comfort of my tears

and my quickening breaths

this silence i can speak to

walls i built as a nest

happiness feels empty

part of it is always left

if i feel I'm getting better

i wish to retreat

if I'm ever fixed,

then what is left for me?

if I'm fixed,

what hope do i have in this life?

what will keep me going

what war will i fight?

what hearts will be turned towards a seemingly happy smile

if I'm okay who will ask me if I'm doing fine?

am i happy? am i fixed? am i doing alright?

this thought troubles me and occupies my mind

my grief isn't away, isn't sleeping, isn't gone

it's sitting there in silent, watching, alone

what does it have to say?

what words does it hold?

i wanna hold onto it

i don't wanna let it go

it's too soon, it's too wrong

why can't it come back?

and when it does I'm too fragile to manage to even stand

sigh i guess that's life

confusing, perplexing

my mind is a maze

a weird friend, a blessing

my feelings all gave up

on trying to get their turn

i don't even know what to feel?

i guess we're all just hurt

it's nice in my brain

despite the awful mess

despite the wars, and the grays

at least it's mine to have

you see, my brain is too complex for anyone to comprehend

i get it, it gets me, things no one can understand

it's an old childhood friend I've been fighting with for years

swords on floor, open doors, embrace filled with tears

welcome home, you've always been here, what's new is the first word

i love you, I'm sorry, we're both just very hurt

I'm you, you're me, i guess i finally like myself

my mind is so confusing, but at least it's mine to have

claire k - stars

#long poems #grief #tw grief mention #self reconciliation #self love #honesty #tw sword mention #sadness #sad poems #hope #hopeful poems #happy ending #poems about grief #silent grief #silence #happiness after grief

[kairos-thehumanpoet]

(Please, Go)

the last time we

slept together,

after you broke

my heart,

i can't forget

the way you

looked at me.

they way you

told me not

to stay,

in the

kindest way.

"i don't want to

tell you to go..."

but I'm a writer,

i read between

every letter,

and i knew

what you meant.

~kairos 💛

#poetry #poem #tumblr poetry #poems #original poetry #original poem #writing #prose #kairos #love #kairos the human poet #lovers #heartbreak #spilled ink #depression #long poems #ig poetry #original content #loml #creative writing #original poems #original post #original poets on tumblr #academia #dark #sad #poetry love #love poetry #deep #spilled heart

[abrighterspark]

in my mind's eye, you're frozen in time, in place not even revolving, never evolving

taxidermied, preserved, stuffed

until the next time we meet, face to face and you ask me to reassure you, learn you all over again

this time: i see you

you look soft and spiky, like a tumbleweed happier drifting with the wind and your thorns but when you latch on to your chosen rock, they're stuck with you, more often than not...

because you're endearing, as much as you're wearying.

again, you ask me to reassure you i hear you

you said: i'm ready to bloom and i said: let me take a step back, and you can have the room and i wait it seems i'm always waiting on you to let go, to latch on to latch on to me, preferably... ha!

instead, i see you grow i hear you, and i know

it's my problem, not yours but i'd like to cultivate my roses, too and i can't do that if i'm letting you still my room, waiting on you to see me and the space that i need.

#poetry #napowrimo #long poems #writerscreed #poeticthoughts #twcpoetry #caregiving #roses #personal growth #self assured #codependence #self growth #poets on tumblr #spilled words #spilled thoughts #poets on life

[fortunawren]

lyrics i

I wrote these journal entries while waiting to be rejected. Enjoy. :)

--

Phoebe Bridgers’ “I Know The End” sits in my Top 10. Bridgers is post-modern Southern gothic/emo, so naturally I’m obsessed with her. Bridgers works with a lot of folk elements, but she has some of the most beautiful lyrics that I have ever read. I aspire to be on her level of greatness, truly.

I’m in love with songs that take on that “Happier Than Ever” music-switch. From sad and contemplative to angry and resolved. “I Know the End” scratches that itch.

“I Know The End” begins with lamenting lyrics such as,

“When the sirens sound, you'll hide under the floor But I'm not gonna go down with my hometown in a tornado I'm gonna chase it I know, I know, I know I gotta go now I know, I know, I know”

And then the song changes in her resolve to simply go, as leaving is always an option. This song perfectly captures the emotion of deciding to be better, do better, have better, love better—and just run from tradition and expectation because it’s miserable. There’s faster lyrics. Faster music as if something is building.

Bridgers goes on to say,

“Either way, we're not alone I'll find a new place to be from A haunted house with a picket fence To float around and ghost my friends

No, I'm not afraid to disappear The billboard said, "The end is near" I turned around, there was nothing there Yeah, I guess the end is here.”

For me, I’ve always taken this to mean there’s an end to the traditional narrative, or there’s ends to unfulfilling cycles.

A choice has been made in Bridgers case, and you can make that choice as well. She’s made a decision that all “rags to riches”/ “self-made” archetypes have to make. She’s not going to die in her hometown. She’s not going to be defined by it. The picket fence American dream isn’t the desire.

She wants something else and she’s going to have it.

#phoebe bridgers #lyrics #annotations #books and literature #literature #modern literature #modern poetry #poetry #poems on tumblr #poems and quotes #long poems #music #philosophy #booktok #country #pop music #alternative

[giullianna]

Viajando a tu recuerdo

Escuche una vez a alguien decir que los viajes en el tiempo existen,

Lo mire, ceño fruncido cara confundida y le dije “como es eso posible?”

Y me dijo que el secreto para viajar en tiempo es sólo cerrar los ojos,

E imaginar ese momento al que me quiero transportar.

Y eso hice, cerré mis ojos y al abrirlos me topé contigo, con nosotros,

Te mire eras tal y como recordaba; alto, ojos claros, pelo castaño y hoyuelos en el medio de la cara,

Te vi y quede anonadada, porque me vi al lado tuyo y nuestras manos entrelazadas estaban.

Te vi haciendo algo que ya no haces, me mirabas, me besaste,

Y ver cómo éramos antes, eso me rompió el corazón por segunda vez.

(La primera fue cuando te tuve que decir adiós)

Y así pude comprobar eso que alguna vez escuché,

Los viajes en el tiempo son posibles, y lo que aprendí del mío

Fue que nunca quiero volver a repetirlo, porque me parte el alma ver algo

Que ya no está vivo, es decir;

el amor que alguna vez existió entre nosotros dos.

~ giullianna a.

#poemas #poeta nocturno #poetarisando #poetas #español #poema triste #original poem #original #long poems #sad poetry #poems on tumblr #spilled poem #paraguay

[ancientgoddessofegypt]

20

ugly ; im so tired of looking in the mirror

and not seeing the goddess I want to be

hiding my skin with an array of masks

gorging my eyes out

when I look at us

me and myself in the mirror

I crack myself open into two

hoping one of the other versions of me

sprouts and turns into a butterfly

this dysmorphia is causing me to go mad

perishing my self

to the dungeon of my room

hiding in the tomb

away from the sun

away from the world

so I wouldn't have to deal with the pain

that my insecurities give

'mom, why cant I be pretty?'

#poem #selfhate #self hate #self love #poetry #ilovepoetry #poetry reading #poetry of the day #poem of the day #sad poems #sadness #mysticism #love poems #short poems #long poems #poems and poetry #poems on tumblr #poets of tumblr #im a poet

[crayolaqueen123]

A poem by me

The heat of the light like the reassurance of a mother, 

All the colours of my costume swirling in my head, 

The glare of the audience looking up to me, 

The bounding of the music vibrating off the walls, 

The pure pressure of getting to states, 

From the wings, my team is cheering, 

All the other performers acknowledging my talent, 

We all line up to get results, 

Now that it's over I am filled with Sunshine, 

States in the Sun dancing through the day, 

Lots of practise and fun in the studio, 

Family sing-alongs on the couch, 

Flowers and congratulations from others, 

Make up wipes on the floor, 

Hair slicked back of enormous amounts of hair spray, 

The time has come again to go on stage.   

#poems on tumblr #poems #long poems #poetry #fyp2023 #all by me

[lostpoet09]

If I become silent

Would you come to me

To talk to me and love me?,

If I just sat alone in a corner all sudden

Would you come to me

To ask how I feel and love me?

If I started to smile a lot little

Would you come to me

To ask the reason and love me?,

If I just started to tear apart

and hide my tears from everyone

Would you come to me

To ask why I cried and love me?,

If just once I would loved by you

I would be a lot happier.

#1950s #poem #poetry #pinterest aesthetic #always #i love him #i love her #love poem #forever #love #poems on tumblr #spilled poetry #long poems #poems and poetry #my poems #lostpoet9 #lost poet 9

[blves-love]

𝙆𝙞𝙨𝙨, 𝘾𝙤𝙣𝙛𝙚𝙨𝙨, 𝙇𝙤𝙫𝙚.

Dear J,

We barely talk.

We don't talk at all actually.

You just nod and say hi. I do that too.

In a friendly way, of course.

It wasn't much, but I am lonely to the point of romanticizing someone I haven't even had a decent conversation with.

It wasn't love at first sight.

I don't believe in shit like that.

But, it felt so much like that.

I saw you.

One day.

Just standing there.

With your friend beside you.

You were greeting everyone you saw.

Including me.

And I greeted you back, as I talked with a friend about if we had homework or not.

You looked beautiful.

I love the way your eyes squint as you said hi.

It told me you were smiling.

Your smile was very evident.

Every time you smiled, your eyes would squint.

I'm in love with your smile, even if we had to wear masks.

I loved your eyes when you smiled.

And I know I would love your eyes even if you weren't smiling.

But I've never your eyes when you're not smiling.

Whenever you looked at me, you smiled.

If I approached you, and you were talking to a friend,

I can see from the side that you weren't smiling.

But when we made eye contact,

you smiled.

Sometimes I feel damned,

because every time I see you,

it's the same damn half-face.

And sometimes I feel special,

because every time I see you,

it's the same damn half face.

I remember passing by you,

you were sitting,

working on your laptop.

You looked up at me,

and you smiled.

I can still picture it.

I heard you speak a lot.

Every time you say hi to me.

But I once had a class with you.

You probably don't remember.

But our two classes were put together.

I heard you talk.

You sound wonderful.

I want to hear you whisper in my ear.

Anything you want to say,

I don't care.

It could be something hateful,

you could ask me to back off,

you could tell me to get you a pair of scissors,

I don't care.

Just whisper in my ear.

Say something to me,

so intimately close.

As if we have something just for us,

our own little secret.

I love your hair,

and the way it covers your eyes lightly.

I loved how fluffy it looked.

I wanted to rake my hands trough your hair.

I wanted to brush the hair out of your face, so I could see your face.

I love your posture.

I remember how it was relaxed,

how your hands were swaying at your sides.

How you kept clapping your fist to the palm of your hand when they meet.

You usually greet everyone you see,

or nod out of respect.

But today,

people passed by you.

People you know,

people who've talked to you 10x more than me.

But you passed them with a glance.

And while I was right behind them,

you greeted me.

You nodded.

And that was nothing for everyone.

But everything for me.

It was weird,

but I am lonely to the point where I romanticize a small smile.

It was creepy, yes.

It's what lonely creeps do everywhere.

But I'd never make a move.

That's why I publish this letter anonymously to the internet.

Where hopefully you'll never find.

But, somewhere deep inside.

I want to send this to you.

In a letter with burnt edges and tear smudges.

Calligraphed messily with a glass pen.

I want you to get it anonymously.

And fall in love with my words,

the way I write.

Then, maybe, one day, you'll have to read an essay I made,

and you'll see the similarities.

Then maybe, you'll suspect it was me.

But you were uncertain.

So you notice me more.

And we'll get closer.

And you'll start to fall for me.

Fall for my humor,

fall for my intelligence,

fall for my curiosity,

fall for my weird thoughts,

fall for the way I sit,

fall for the way I smile,

fall for the way I look at you,

fall for the way I love.

Then,

on one lucky day,

I’ll find the letter you kept away in your cupboard.

And you’ll try to take it away from me,

embarrassed someone wrote you an anonymous love letter,

not wanting me to know that you kept it because it made you smile.

And I'll tell you I wrote it,

and you’ll be surprised,

in the best way,

and we'll finally kiss,

confess,

love.

Sincerely,

me.

12 Mei 2022, Thursday

#poem #poems #poetry #short poems #poet #poetic #long poems #longer poems #writer #writing #write #writers #writers and poets #female writer #female poet #female poets #women writers #dark academia #light academia #academia #dark academia romance #cottagecore #classical #classical academia #sadcore #romance #romantic #romantic academia #quotes #love letter

[bhumikatewari123]

Nature change now Constant

In this World, Change is Constant,

It’s law of the Nature!

Constant change turning against life,

Preponed much too early to activities of Man,

Going against the Nature!

Started biting, hitting Man, Flora, and Fauna!

Primarily, a lifestyle problem;

It’s the change,

That may be obstreperous,

That need be contained,

That’s changing the ecology,

Pollution, a new, ‘constant change’ now all over!

Scrutinize the change,

Nature nearly constant, stood the test of time;

For long, acceptable, and practicable;

Could it get so wild, a wilful curse?

The Power wielding effects of Man!

Influenced change, now no more constant!

Changing the course of river!

Action so adverse, calamitous;

Through obstructions, overflows;

Landslides, to cloud bursts;

Upsetting the ecology,

Destroying lives, a constant change, it’s been!

An attempt to change Beas River’s course,

Failed for good, checked in time;

Prevented a certain holocaust!

Future of man stays in jeopardy, out of control;

Innumerable mistakes, continue unchecked;

It’s Man versus Man! Eternal conflict for dominance!

Check ongoing Wars with Nature at War!

Destruction and Survival interlocked,

Besieged with issues,

Fighting with his mind, no longer in hand;

Time to listen to mentor,

An urgent need to respond, in time;

Delay now against own survival!

Nature, dynamic, takes its call;

As man struggles to forge with concepts entangled,

Nature disembarks, concepts created;

Acts the only way it knows, works;

Follows its free will,

Live and let die! Formula it envisages!

In a flash, can flatten the life on Earth!

Brute force, Nature has, can reset those blameworthy!

Fate nearly sealed with follies,

The Nature is pushing its free will,

No distinctions it makes,

Time to learn to live and survive!

Intelligence to upstage it one last time,

Five mass extinctions been, sixth one on,

Nature brought him to life, the fifth time;

Grave danger to life with Sixth one on,

Confused, living with constant change;

Living on precariously, knows not of morrow!

Disruptive technologies, use no more;

It’s time to realise mistakes,

Uproot them to survive, one last time;

Attempting to save the Nature,

Earnestly Pray for him to succeed!

Survival utmost important, for Change is Constant!

Now largely out of control!

NATURE CHANGE IS NOW CONSTANT!!!

#poem #poetry #naturist #nature #natural #long poems #constantly #change #positive #Spotify

[awritingsloth]

an ode to the body where the owner doesn’t want it to exist

tw. mentions of eating disorders, fatphobia, loath. 

20.

it's been almost twenty years since this body wanted a poem to exist on their name/ how do you explain to the foetal body that it's twenty year old fragility doesn't want to exist/ probably the future self visited the twenty day old baby and explained it's trauma of living too long and wished for it to not exist/ it knew if we could prepone the death, the suffering wouldn't be relived again/ however, the foetality expresses the fragility that it will fight to exist/ unfortunately it does with machines, restrictions and steroids/foetality forgets the fatality of the fragile/

19.

can nineteen years of existence be documented in nineteen hundred worth unwritten diaries of being the nihilistic nil of the (not) normal/ is it normal to define yourself (not your body) only by quotes of your favourite tv show/ what happens if you lose the obsession of favouriting a thing over a person that won't stay longer than the thing you (sort of) hold right now/ how does feel to be the person who annihilatively abuses their own body/

18.

how do you learn to equate eighteen years of drowning with eighteen seconds of laps around the blue black green pool/ it always starts with one thing that we look at eight in the morning that turns into eighteen years of abhorrence and lack of courage to eliminate it completely/ how do you learn to stay inside this body/ when the whining turns weight into weirdly worthless words/

17.

can we forgive the seventeen to the power of seventeen sorts of mistakes we did to prove ourself unworthy of the body we didn't choose to be born in/ how do we learn to obsess over the differences in the body and call them as negatively as flaws/ how do we hatch the hummingbird when the hummingbird heaves the ham left off on the hawthorn hill/

16.

how do you unlearn the sixteen times you felt uncomfortable in your skin/it is always the one urge that makes you pick up the six different instruments you thought would help to remove the piece of flesh you loath; the emptiness with it/the sweet sixteen souvenirs you sought to saw, saw the saltiness/

15.

when was the last time you counted till fifteen before which you lost the urge to kill people/yourself/ how does it feel being the fifteen year old who said no to the water when it said it didn't want you to drown in it/ fifty-fifty faults that fret the frown of its fraternity/

14.

have you ever tried crouching down the fourteen inch space and wish you could turn into thin air while doing it/ do you know how does it feel to be the fourteen year kid who said no for the first time to a boy who fucked you (not your body) for the fourteenth time without your consent/ the guilty gorges the gala as the galaxy starts to fall apart with gall/

13.

do you believe that the appreciating the folds you have within learns to internalise the hate you give it; so much that it no more hates you for the thirteen cuts you gave it while 'accidents'/ is there a one in three chance of dating someone who will understand the suffocation you carry in regard to how much you hated your body before and do now/ spiralling through the sought services, slithered through the sovereignty of self/

12.

why does twelve feel like the aspirational size of a person who tried too many different clothes and people never doubted them for having a eating disorder/ how does it feel to be the one who took two pills and thought it was enough to gorge the twelve pukes you did last night/ alas the album arrived at the altar and apologised the artist that abased it/

11. the moment you start making the calculation one plus one is equal to eleven is when you realise that your sense of self got very lost in the ditch you thought would kill your body/ how does your body learn to forgive you when you haven't learnt to forgive yourself/ originality lost the opportunity in the opera's opus due to the onset of obliterate obstruction/

10.

i think the day i turned ten was the day i thought i was the happiest with the way i looked; until i realised it wasn't/ when you understand that the ten people who want to buy you dresses can't do so because you're not the normal size is one of the reasons why you fell down your bicycle because you can't let go of the fear of never fitting in; in clothes and the world/ callings of the caught caused the culprit to cage the cupid's chyme out of the C-shaped container/

9.

a stich in time saves nine but when nine looks like the extended zero where you made a fool of yourself in ninth grade by falling in love with someone who wasn't a body but your soul/ how does it feel to be the body that never thought wrong of the soul it inhibits/

8.

how do you be the forgiver, the eight kilogram piece of mass from the body that the soul doesn't want anymore because they never felt happy nor will be with you/ how do you learn to understand the soul's desperation to leave because of the fat-phobic world it tries to survive in, every day/ how do you learn to understand the eight times the soul had been frustrated and angry on the world and not on you/

7.

when was the last time you were actually happy with the way you look/ how does the body deal with the fact that no one will ever call it pretty but always beautiful/ when was the last time you felt the oversized shirt be oversized on your body/ the seventh moment when you noticed that your fingers and wrists started getting fat is the day you begin to detest the sight of your body because they were the only parts of which were ever thin and you loved them so dearly/

6.

why does no one ever understand that we know that we are fat and thick and curvy and you loath us when we are happy with someone or something; we already know it because you never let us not feel it/ my body says that it doesn't want your toxic positivity; what it wants is to exist, whichever way it is/ how does one stop abusing the body six to the power six times when it can't learn to stop abusing itself/

5.

when a five-year-old realises that fat is not an adjective but a substitute for the word ugly is when they learn to internalise how the world isn't gonna give them flowers and chocolates for them being themselves/ what hurts the most is when your body doesn't have any choice but to forgive your abusers and bullies; no matter how much they don't want to, because you even know that your soul is one of them and your soul hurt you the most than what others did/

4.

how do you make people understand the four by four times you said that words cut deeper because they come back each and every time your body gets triggered by that one word that echos four times into your brain during the time when you're not your best/ how do you unlearn the hate your body gave you and vice versa

3.

when you're three years into this journey and you realise that people don't seem to like you is the day you start blaming your body more than you should because nothing else seems to come to your mind/ how do you learn to exist in this body because you are trying to prioritise your body's wishes over yourself because that's all you have ever seemed to have learnt/

2.

how do you learn to distinguish between hate and concern that lingers through every fiber of your body because someone said that one phrase that made you lose your mind two into two to the power of two into two times each day/ can you ever try to exist as whole without anyone ever trying to not say that you are the promoter of obesity/

1.

how do i learn to distinguish between my internalized fatphobia or the need to not have my breasts because that was what my abuser loved the most and i don't love my abuser anymore/ how do i learn to sort my identity when i can't seem to learn to sort myself/

0.

please help me how to learn to exist because i can't anymore for my body/ please let me survive/ please let me live, oh soul that wishes so much not to exist/ the body whispers to the soul ‘is this ode not enough'/

#body #body neutrality #internalised fatphobia #existing #ode #poems #long poems

[whisper-in-the-dark]

the aftermath of grief

how long does it take for grief to heal? months, weeks, years? no specific time, no nothing. grief comes personalized with your life and with your being. well after a year, after such a long time, after trying to heal, after feeling a smile, what happens then? what happens before? the aftermath of grief is a lot and is much more. the aftermath of grief, this bitter taste in your mouth, the shock a bit calmed, but never really gone. after a year i just freeze, whenever it hits me again. after a year i still can't stand, "may her soul rest in peace". but let's go back to the first months and first weeks. what's the short aftermath of grief? this feeling you can't shake off, that's sitting on your heart. those heavy words with echos so hard to let out. this storm of question marks all piled up in your head. you're sad mad and angry, but is that grief itself? you're drained, you're tired, smiles only short-lived. the majority of the time, you just wanna get away. you wanna lock yourself out of the world, you wanna escape, run away. you can't get sad a bit, everything irritates you, you can't get angry a bit, every bad feeling floods through. see, at least for me, grief feels like a bubble with all the negative stuff inside, any little contact with any random spike, just leads to an explosion, perhaps some might feel numb. grief feels so empty and whole all at once. and you can't really word it, whatever you feel inside, you might feel like you wanna talk, but you don't know how to reach out. how can you speak of the unspeakable pain? how can you share what people try to escape? how can you stay resilient on your feet, expected to go on, not allowed to take defeat, expected to stay strong? HOW IN THE WORLD CAN I BE STRONG, is what you wanna scream. people try to help but oh it really isn't helping. these old people at funerals with their words sharp as knives. "stay strong, for your family", well who will be strong for i? screw that i don't even want someone to be strong for me. what if i wanna cry with loved ones around me. what if right now i don't really wanna be happy? what if life isn't about who stands through death and victory. and then grief has its effects, it's not just the person you lost. it's the remaining disasters of that nuclear atomic bomb. it's the drop in your guts, when you finally realize, the person you're dying to talk to, is just the one who died. and then the dynamics change, and people try not to bring them up. and it kills you and it hurts cause you don't want them to be lost. you don't want them to be a hard memory, people dread to recall. you wanna talk about them, you wanna say it all. cause remembering a laugh, or just remembering them, for a second for a moment, they feel so close you can hold their hand. and then you go to sleep at night, wishing to dream their face, and when you do it feels like such a beautiful small break. the aftermath of grief, or rather its different stages, not 5 hell nah, those i don't believe. the aftermath of grief, and everything that comes with it, it's hard and it's weird, and we all just try to get through it.

claire k - stars

#poetry #poems #honesty #long poems #paragraph poems #paragraph #writing #grief #five stages of grief #5 stages of grief #tw grief mention #poems about grief #poems about pain #poetry lines #hope #sadness #the aftermath of grief #losing a parent #losing a loved one #being lost #lost

[kairos-thehumanpoet]

is this butterfly feeling

that flutters through me

anxiety, or is it some

untamed longing in me

when i hear

your name?

(perhaps, it

is both.)

((oh, how terrifying

love can be.))

~kairos 💛

#poetry #poem #tumblr poetry #poems #writing #prose #kairos #love #short poems #long poems #purpose #creative #instapoetry #kairos thehumanpoet #kairos the human poet #young writer #aspiring authors #aspiring to be more #poetblr #dailypoetry #drunk poetry #deep poetry #deep #original content #original poetry #poetry lovers #linguistics #sad #sad poems #lost love