#original poetry
poetic-child-of-night · 3 days ago
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Hold me tight and don’t let go
Pour me one last cup of tea
and stay with me in
the dying candlelight.
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Your time has come
yet here I stay.
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Wrap me in your endless warmth
and shut my eyes to the eternal night.
May I offer you a final kiss?
One last blanket for the road?
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Return to me please,
and tell me of your epic journey.
You’ve left the door open,
yet your shadow still lingers.
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May I follow you out into that desolate path
where even moonlight hardly dares to idle?
The candle falters and my vision slips,
yet I seem to see you out there
just a wisp.
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Let me hold you, one more time,
and maybe then, I’ll say goodbye.
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Let me love you, one more time,
and if you wish, I'll say goodbye
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- nocturne
Taglist: @hungerbf @bazizinga @ajab-si-gf @ma-douce-souffrance @a-really-hot-caterpillar @navaratna @gopikanyari @hailraykin @bluebeadss @chaand-sithaare @emikadreams @chrisevanstrash @just-existin-and-vibin @clandestinial @svapnakalpa-mareechi @silver-de-vonne
if you wanna be added into taglist lmk.
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prasannawrites · 2 days ago
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repetition. click for better quality + transcript under cut.
“…and the wound was a place of shelter for you, wasn’t it?” 
You sincerely ask. You speak the grief I’ve been anxious to admit.
I want to admit to you, here & now—that I am a wounded thing,
there's a certain tenderness in the sadness / I’m not apathetic,
I still feel, and therein lies the root of the problem.
I want to admit to you, softness does not come natural to me,
I must shepherd it; I don’t know whether it’s my inclination
or a trauma-response, but cruelty tends to draw first blood.
Do you still think of me the same?  
I want to admit to you, I’m a carefully crafted attempt at a human being,
but I think part of you knows this. In between the lulls of the mundane,
you’ve peered into my void and saw a reflection.
I know this because I saw a reflection in yours.
Maybe there’s a certain gravity / a certain sickness,
when it comes to people like us.
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internalearthquake · 2 days ago
Every time you rise to face a challenge and overcome an obstacle, Your eyes reflect the strength and wisdom you gained Eventually you will perceive the world through that reinforced lens, Scarcely noticing what you’re doing you once believed impossible
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goneahead · 2 days ago
Dear Diary,
There were no survivors. That was the summer when I was struggling frantically towards nineteen, and the summer too, when the engines stopped. A week later, another plane went down in those same mountains we had hung over for a few heart-churning minutes. As for me, I made it to nineteen, but even now, I can’t quite shake how beautifully vast were those green mountains below, or the sky-blue silence as I almost touched forever… ~~~~ @writerscreed prompt: dear diary
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soulwr1ter · a day ago
Do you understand 
that there is only 
one you in this whole 
entire universe and 
that you in yourself 
are a beautiful world 
with the breath of life 
running in every kiss 
of your gaze that 
lights whatever it 
touches? There is 
nobody in this world 
that can dream as 
you dream, love as 
you love, say as you 
say, and do that which 
only you can do in 
the specific way that 
you were made divinely 
to because there is
only one you, and 
that my dear, is your 
brightest light, your 
purpose. It is not a 
matter of whether or 
not love will find you 
because you are love 
and so it will always 
rest its head on the 
beat of its source of life, 
your soul. It's not about 
being perfect, it is about 
being candid about what is. 
It's not about what 
you cannot give, but 
all that you do give and 
that is what makes 
you more than enough 
and worthy of every 
beautiful thing that could 
ever find you. There is no 
way to measure the 
perfection you are 
because you are perfectly 
you the way you were 
always made to be. 
Clear your heart, 
sweeten your soul,and 
brighten your eyes, 
my dear, to see that 
no matter what, you are 
always more than enough.
-J.Wool, Always Enough , Soul Whispers
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jordynhaiku · 19 hours ago
My bookshelf holds ghosts.
Despite this, I feel the same
feelings they once felt.
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jrambles · a day ago
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People used to tell me, “That’s not very nice,” and I’d look them in the eye and say “I know.” I never concerned myself with niceness, with formality. If my path to hell was a road, I’d be going 75 down it. I’m no longer that person, but I still don’t know what to believe. Call it a hangover.
-my poem
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poppiesandpromises · 2 days ago
Loss does not count
In minutes, it laughs
As the years drift like
Snow on a closed door—
If you open it the cold
Will drown you, a specter
Waiting— inside your
Cavernous chest pounds
A riverine regret pulsing
How to stay afloat as
You collapse into grief
The current flows too
Fast, your lungs become
The sea, a saltwater grave
You don't feel
Much like swimming now
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aaronawbra · a day ago
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belovedbi · 5 days ago
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a very short poem for august (s.r.m.)
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lovelornnn · a month ago
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orpheuslament · 4 months ago
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12.03.22, Dante Émile
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elluno · 2 months ago
And what can be said
of the jewel covered lady?
When the deaf man appeared
And tore her scale for scale,
left her bloodied -
Dead -
She lived to give him sound
And she screamed until his soul bled
For mercy.
(inspired by Jibaro)
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sweatermuppet · 5 months ago
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cis people ask boring & stupid questions pt ii by silas denver melvin (@sweatermuppet) click for better quality (tip me) (buy my book)
[Text ID: why did you choose to be trans?
bird roosting in a place where birds are not permitted to fly. shot from sky like a clay pigeon. puff of feathers then red then inevitable thump. seems so standard to us. we forget birds cannot read the signs. birds will fly above barbed wire to dangers twice as excellent & think nothing of it.
do your parents know?
a plate shattering to shreds in the kitchen. my mother, knelt in her flour white apron, picking up the pieces. pricked by a sliver of glass so small & clean, it can't be seen until it is outlined by her blood. her blood. her blood. her blood.
do they love you?
vernix wax veil. brown-eyed babe crowning. homicidal crow on the window still looking in. what is family, if not a well of blood we dip bread into? a rusted bucket we explain to lovers. a pack of mongrels eating the runt. a bird splintering into asphalt.
does your name have any meaning?
dusty book cover. bastard son. forest swallowing boy cast out. silence. silken. simple as a bent thimble. obedient dog coughing up bird bones.
have you had the surgery?
a clot plume caught on the apron tail. impolite mess. dog teeth pinching the licked stitches. tea cup an inch from the edge. the bird preens until the feathers fall out in fat clumps. strange little wreckage. isn't it?
don't you think it's too soon to decide?
all the bird knew was a good spot to roost. all the plate knew was reaction: how to be an obedient victim to gravity.
i have a friend who is trans. do you know them?
we all want to give things veins. make the stupid human, or otherwise monster. paint rivers into open mouths. we all want to find a love that is warmer than it is wet. a hole in the fence we can slip right through. this magic escape that allows us the illusion of freedom, for at least a moment. congregating like ejected bullet casings. touch hands or break bread to distract from the cities burning in the next room. & in the doorway, every time, my mother. her blood. her blood. her blood. /End ID]
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in-my-attic · 18 days ago
When I was eight, I read that the ancient Egyptians removed the brains of mummies, along with most other organs, but left the heart, because they believed memories, emotions, and knowledge were stored in the heart. Essentially, they believed the heart was the brain. 
It’s easy now to look back and say they were wrong, but to me that statement rings of hypocrisy. Look around- we’re surrounded by endless heart imagery. Still we associate the heart with love, when in reality, it merely pumps our blood, and has no bearing on our affections. We wear wedding rings on our left ring finger because of the mistaken belief there is a vein there that runs directly to the heart. There isn’t.
(I learned that when I was eight, as well. Perhaps I learned too young to be cynical about matters of the heart.)
Did you know that the amygdala is the emotional center of the brain? Perhaps Valentines’ chocolates should be shaped like amygdalas, rather than heart designs that aren’t even close to accurate. The amygdala gets an unjustified bad reputation. Type “amygdala” into a search bar, and not far down the suggestion list is the phrase “amygdala hijack”. We learn about how the amygdala is responsible for our fear and anger, but not how it is also the reason we feel joy and love.
The reason, I think, that we have not embraced the amygdala as a more accurate symbol of romance is that it is not purely responsible for love. It controls negative emotions as well as positive ones, as opposed to the idea of the heart we’ve created. Popular perception of the heart connects it with love and nothing else. This allows us to venerate love as the ideal human emotion, rather than forcing us to accept that it is just one of a plethora, and that no emotion makes us more or less human than any other.
People tend to take offense at this theory of mine. They call me heartless, or cold-hearted, or say I must have a heart of stone. But this misses the point. My heart has no effect on my opinions of love.
Sometimes, though, I wonder if they are right. If everyone else’s heart pumps more than mere blood. If maybe there is something wrong with mine, and that is why I do not feel as they do. If perhaps my heart is that of a mummy, shriveled and shrunken and dead. Crack open my chest and see; old, withered flesh swathed in layer upon layer of sticky, tangled cobwebs.
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soulwr1ter · 2 days ago
It is okay
For you
To rest
Your hope
On my wings
I will
Hold you 
With the warmth
That is within me
It does not matter
How heavy
You carry is
I will
You lift it
It is not
A burden
To me 
I am happy
To be
And my
Heart is simply happy
To walk
With you 
On this journey 
Called life
I feel
To know 
That you entrust me
Your vulnerability
I won’t ever take
That for granted
You are and will
Always be safe
With me 
-J.Wool, Safe
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jordynhaiku · a day ago
Sad Poems
Everything I write,
until those memories fade,
will be tinted blue.
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