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#spilled words

I’d like to think that you haven’t fully moved on from me and that my name is still prominent in your vocabulary. That you think of me when you see my favorite movie or when you’re listening to one of my favorite songs. Maybe your heart still misses a beat when someone asks about me. And maybe I’m not the only one whose mind wanders back in time over and over again.

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I write poetry in anger.

Amidst the fires of my fury,

Rage so hot it burns in blue and white,

I write poetry in the first invisible damp

Burst of space that blooms as gasoline meets

The bonfire’s red and orange light.

I write poetry as firebombs, my words

Each an instinctive Molotov cocktail

Hurled in pain, in wrath, in heat

To smash, to burn against the skin,

Against the ears, of the bombmakers

Who lit the spark in me.

I write poetry in anger.


I write poetry in grief.

Locked inside the hollow ocean shell,

Empty save the weight of years and tears.

I write poetry in that first choking swell

Of confusion and quiet hurt of the wave

Which washes away the paintings in the sand.

I write poetry as boxes of debris, each line

Packaged in the salt and silt and grit of loss

And buried in the shifting sands,

Until they can be unearthed by more forgiving hands,

Older hands, wiser ones, the ones unstained

By the severing of strings.

I write poetry in grief.


I write poetry in laughter.

On that bird swirl of air to the heavens,

Lightness and weight in one feathered bundle,

I write poetry in that first gold stomach-lurch

Of flight and falling of wings flickering in and out

Which twist and curl and rise on currents of our mirth.

I write poetry as gannets throwing and rising, each stanza

Bundled in that mania of fear and joy and discovery,

And caught by shadows of storms.

Storms which may or may not come to pass

Which cup and hurl yellow-threads

And throw us higher towards the sun.

I write poetry in laughter.


I write poetry instead of feeling,

Because how can I place these emotions

Into words which you understand?

Can you feel what I do? The gas

And the spray and the lightness

Of white and blue and gold and grey?

Can you feel the grit of the sand or

The call of the wind in your chest,

In your throat, or the bloom in your

Collarbone just over your heart?

I write poetry instead of feeling,

I write poetry in place of emotions,

I write you poetry instead of speech.

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Random~ 🌖🌑🌔

Two random types of ‘human’ interaction :


- Person : I am the moon…

- Person’ : what kind of nonsense is this ?


- Person : I am the moon…

- Person : me too… I love you.

— pinkesmeralda 🍓

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Random #163

“I’m going for a walk.”

“It’s raining.”

“Let me rephrase that. I’m going to get food.”

“Didn’t you just witness those holy water slapped my face the moment I open this damn door?”

“No one will ever get between me and my food. Now move.”

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Lamentation for Those Lost at Sea

In the ocean depths, in secret caves

Hidden fathoms beneath the sparkling waves,

There is a city truly fantastic, surreal,

Where dwell the seahorse, squid and eel.

But it isn’t the countless fish alone

That inhabit that realm of coral and stone.

The great Poseidon, Sea God and King -

So elusive and strange and mighty a being -

Resides there also in the murky gloom,

Within a vast and resplendent throne room,

From which he governs the oceans wide,

Including the spirits of those who died

While within the sea’s cold grip -

A terrible, ancient and remorseless crypt.

That aquatic city is glorious indeed,

Bedecked with streamers of green seaweed,

And adorned with oysters opened wide

To reveal the pearls stored inside.

Spires arise from their coral bases

Like mammoth, exotic Greek vases,

Striated with glittering precious gems,

And colorful urchins on glassy stems.

Monstrously odd fish swim amid the shells,

Casting dazzling, mystical spells,

Their bodies able to create light,

And thus stave off the endless night,

While above the city, where it remains dark,

Constantly patrols the shark.

The mermaids there sing their song

With wailing voices, amongst the throng,

While kelpies listen, mesmerized,

By the eerie melodies hypnotized.

Resting scattered all around that place

Are ships that vanished without a trace,

Their ribbed hulls mostly overgrown,

Where they sank and died alone -

Claimed forever by the briny deep,

Where mermaids sing, and the Sea God sleeps.

The treasures within those sunken galleys spread

Are the couches of the dead,

Whose spirits eternally sing

Lamentations before the great Sea King,

Whose heartless laughter like thunder rolls

Over those melancholy, hopeless souls.

And the mermaids pause and wonder why

All living things must suffer and die,

But not one spirit within that city

Is touched or comforted by their pity.

The poetry of another Tumblr inspired this one. Haven’t penned a thanatopsis often, but this one I actually enjoyed creating.

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the ignorance of not knowing
exactly why we are here for
is an inner violence
we are not aware of
as though we are walking
in the middle of nowhere
dying with thirst
while the sun heat
burns our passion
that is still unknown

- purpose

M // 244

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