I FOUND GOD
transcript under the cut
“I found god
but I think I lost him.
He must have rolled under the bed
into a dark, quiet corner
where no one will bother him.
I must have overwhelmed him
when I asked for guidance
and love, too.
I demanded and demanded until he hid.
I am more selfish than I realize.
The bruises on my hands
and the blood drip dripping down my nose
and the aching in my side
are my own burden to bear.
I found god
but I think I
drove him away
and I won’t see him
I found god
and I pushed him away
when I thought I was
pulling him in.
I suppose my cardinal sin
is my desperation” /end transcript]
Your face will fade from my mind one day.
But never the things you said.
Never the way it felt.
-the things we’re afraid to admit out loud
Are you alright? I always want to know.
Some part of me feels like the protector of your soul.
Could I be put on this earth just to love you this way?
Can I give you this, a love that forever stays?
Just some love on those tough days
Just some love on days that are far too cold.
- rj (@flowoverflowing)
“Only The Moon” by Amanda Sheehan
I do not understand sunflowers
How they grow tall, and do not fall
What makes them strong, muscular towers?
And are they smarter than me?
Drawn to the glare of that star in the air
Would they twist all the way to the 360th degree?
What I know is that squirrels delight
Finding a need to crack that scrumptious seed
But alas, I will let those squirrels partake, as I am sated by the sight
what is it with poetry these days. they’re not even poems anymore, they’re pinterest one-liners. pre-planned aesthetics content for your convenient consumption. punchy phrases for your instagram. it’s fast-food literature. sentences styled and divided up to look like poems. give me a break
Gnawing, clawing, a desire of belonging
ungrounded existence. collab with @sha-ms, click for better quality. text id under cut.
As strange as this February night is—it’s ripe with kindness,
the moon is tucked away behind our longing. There is an
unruly warmth radiating from the visible cracks in the veiled sky,
do you think we can attribute the pale light of the night to the
littered stars—do you take it as a sign that our dreams have
come to take root?
The memories are already fractured, and you watch me seep
through. I leave a trail behind just in case you might follow me.
The night speaks of coziness, so you make your way to the
hindered lights behind the vanilla scented clouds, tracing
constellations, seeking a parallel universe—
where our dreams are no longer on hold.
The wind washes away the fragments of the past from the wounds,
in this moment—there is momentum in breath, and I take respite
in the fact that, I am alive, buzzing with hope, with warmth,
with poetry that nudges me forward, how else would I cope with
the infiniteness of our existence? I find solace knowing our
collarbones were once the wings of an angel,
there is something holy in us all.
Words fail to describe our existence, so the universe takes a stance.
Now the void no longer feels empty, and we don’t need gravity
to hold us down. We’re made weightless the moment we let go
of fear—unearthing what we always left hidden.
the absence of suffering
is not wellness.
the absence of sadness
is not happiness.
the absence of rejection
is not acceptance.
absence is absence,
you've gone and measured everything
with the short side of the ruler.
oh, it's forgivable
of the drowning, who,
in the crush to breathe sky,
forget the stars.
love, love, love.
I'm nobody! Who are you? Are you nobody, too?Then there ’s a pair of us
— Emily Dickinson
For @nosebleedclub may prompt #2
transcript under the cut
the sweat drips down my back
and the loud beating of my heart
almost drowns out the buzzing
of the cicadas
the words are in my throat
if only I could push them out
if only I was brave enough
to be honest
if only I was enough.
the moon illuminates the sky
and you turn your face to the dark
to watch it
and I’m watching you
how the white of the moon washes
over your face
and somehow makes you
look more serene than before
and when you turn to look back at me
I pretend I was looking at the moon too
for once I’m glad for the cicadas
without them you would surely hear
my wild heart
and my heavy breathing” [/end]
i want to let go
let go of everything
that's keeping me closed.
i want to untie the knot and unravel the rope
wrapped tight around my body
everything that i am.
it tightens further,
squeezing my insides
until my feelings are stuffed into my organs
and my arteries threaten to burst
and bleed blue.
all the frustration tucked into
the nooks and crannies,
coerced out of my heart,
leaving the vessel hollow.
and now it just screams to be filled.
i want to let go and explode,
uncaring of the consequences.
i want to crush
under the soles of my shoes
the titles and expectations
like i did my dreams
for they were 'unrealistic'.
assurances of 'you're still young'
don't comfort me.
let me be young then.
let me be reckless like the rain
as i watch from the safety of my window.
let me live like a storm
that wreaks havoc in a few hours,
the aftermath echoing for years.
i want to be unpredictable
like the weeping clouds that turn
the clementine sky gunmetal grey.
i want to let go.
“Violet's Hidden Garden” by Amanda Sheehan
a widow's daughter
FORCED AND RAISED IN A CAGE
MY DULL EYES BEGGED FOR FREEDOM
I LOOKED UP TO MY MOTHER.
HOW CAN YOU ACCEPT THIS?
HOW CAN YOU SNUB IN THE FACE OF INEQUITY?
HAVE YOU NOT SUFFERED ENOUGH?
WHY MUST I SUFFER WITH YOU?
WHY WRITE ME INTO YOUR TRAGEDY?
DID YOU FEEL LONELY IN YOUR MISERY?
SHE DID NOT REPLY.
- "short poems about my mother
and the girl she used to be" - collection by me
my main: @edgyartkid
moments of anticipation
waiting in the wings
‘losing my mind’
as the music starts to swing
across the stage
i feel that ‘no one is alone’
as the orchestra turns the page
‘there won’t be trumpets’
as we take our final bows
we’re all just sad highschoolers
happy only here and now
we’re all fine ‘being alive,’
singing into the woods in the lunch
lines, belonging to a family,
a choir that can pack a punch,
and it’s ‘every day a little death’
when we can’t prance across
the stage-auditions and rehearsals
cannot compare, they’re at a loss.
Sondheim gave us words to sing,
Sondheim made us brave.
Sondheim made emotion dance
across the stage and stave.
theatre kids across the world
will throw their hands up now,
but we’ll know there’s ‘someone
waiting’ when we take our final bow.
i just want to take a minute to say that Stephen Sonheim's musicals and songs have helped me overcome a lot, and i know that this is true for so many people, especially those who do theatre. he's shown a lot of us a path through the woods, and we will be eternally grateful for everything he gave us. May his memory be a blessing.