#writeblrcafe

[echo-temporis]

Lullaby It holds you down. It makes you sleep. To drown the mind, till all's forgot.

[world-of-iridensia]

You know who you are

*read with the most threatening tone you can*

reblog if you have skilled writer friends and you're damn proud of them

[ginadope]

to be gentle

I love you You can write with me   An old friend of light — My shadow ran around the world It now matches yours  How I wished to be gentle Stronger than fear! 

I want to catch you with your hair loose Tell you how much I like your chin  (A butterfly lands on my forehead) Behind me, the body of my body — Its peace a sincerity  It bears suns and sins —  They read like a prayer that reaches higher Than the River's poems; in truth They step hand in hand  How beautiful your palms are!

[robertjw4688]

The mountain at which

I've been gazing with

exhausted fear

becomes the wormhole

into which I

swipe my worries.

My arms rise

with frail strings, snapping.

They stay skyward

despite the ringing

of gravity.

I manage to crack

a vagabond smile;

I hope

I follow this time.

Robert J. W.

[palladiumfragments]

my fingerprint was in the things i didn't say

all the things i didn't say is a tortured poet whose pockets i filled with stones and coaxed into walking into a lake down, down she goes never to be seen again. deep within, you know i, too, struck a match that led us to this precipice but without a body, mystery shrouds it like a story the townspeople think they know until you ask them about it.

so say the hard things one last time, your heart in your throat words hesitantly falling like a light summer rain. at the same moment, i was staring at the crash playing over your face like a see-through film scene. necessary lies filled the spaces where it could have been i tell myself, "better that than asking for forgiveness" i was already mad enough to let it haunt me it's these hands i can't stain.

soon, this case will turn cold confined in polaroids collecting dust in an evidence room fleeting, but in a way, timeless. i'll never speak of it again but nostalgia is the god i believe in so forgive me if i would still hear it in songs feel it in the shadows, bleed it into poems but darling if i spilled my guts you'll be the last to know.

[alaskaisnothere]

isn't it funny how life is wonderful and messy and hard like one day you are crying your eyes out because you feel lost and the next day you are packing your stuff ready to leave your worries behind and start a new chapter in a different country and then you find all these people who love and support you and you still feel lost and you still have no idea what your life is supposed to look like but you're enjoying pink sunset and book dates at the park and overpriced coffees and maybe you just have to enjoy the breeze without expecting a storm

[pawkimishra]

When we are closer

I’d kiss you

And take you as an antidote

For all things sad and miserable

I would look in your eyes

Meaning to drown

Without frenzy or windstorm

Just my love for you gathered gentle

between two mouths that found home

[unmondefou]

she asked me how I feel,

I told her I was fine.

and after a while

with a tender insistence

she asked the same question again,

and this time, my eyes filled with tears

as soon as my heart let out a deep sigh.

but this wasn't my scream,

it belonged to my wounded soul.

the soul that kept bleeding while

I blinded its suffering so that

it would remain hidden.

was I being selfish for not bringing

its vulnerabilities to the surface?

but the truth is,

I was not taught to be gentle

for in my world,

a man should only cry in the dark.

And she melted my ice age with her tenderness.

--- h.harouche

[liminalgardens]

A tile bathtub reminds us not to get too comfortable when the water's warm ~

Holy is the bedrock that reminds us life is hard where we lay our heads

. . .

[betweenthetimeandsound]

Awake

White noise comes in first, before the sunlight, before the sound of a siren blaring and alerting me to greater things beyond the bay.

I betrayed her, a lady with red hair, who held a match and a lighter at hand. She has the killing thing, but does she go for the slaughter?

No-- i land on a cloud, made of sugary strands and butterfly wings, and slip back down onto glistening moss. The god of sleep kisses me with supple lips, before transmuting into a monarch butterfly, migrating to warmer lands. --Elda Mengisto

Author's note: A belated birthday present to @lexiklecksi, who's been fascinated by sleep and dreams these days. I hope you had a wonderful day and continue to be awesome!

[innocentlymacabre]

Being a short fiction writer is hard. We painstakingly craft entire narratives, distilled to perfection, and when we're finally ready to publish...we slam face-first into a brick wall.

Rejections are par for the course, but we can't even get rejections if we don't know where to submit. There are so many wonderful magazines out there who are just waiting to read our work, but finding them can be difficult.

As a short fiction writer myself, I know the pain well.

So, I decided to try and help. I've compiled a list of 140 magazines and counting, with information on the genres they accept, if they accept excerpts from longer works, word count limit, pay scale, simultaneous/republished/multiple acceptance status, and their response timeframes.

And the best bit? It's free. All I ask is that you give me a commission on what you make share this with other writers so getting published can be easier for us all.

Grab the database right hereeee.

[echo-temporis]

You Remember a Door

[Text ID:

You remember a door. Or the idea of a door. You never walked through it.

You wanted to be the ocean, but you're just the river. A river running nowhere. This is the ache that lives behind your teeth, in the hollow of your throat. The one that says, You could have. You should have.

There was a life. A different life. It walked away from you, wearing your best dress, smoking your last cigarette. And you let it. You just watched. And the watching was a kind of dying. A slow, deliberate, beautiful death.]

[dg-fragments]

Here's my heart, with all it's apparent glory, or absence thereof, but with intentions pure, for you to keep within the magnificence of your own, and if, for some reason, it were to slip, unknowingly even, keep it intact, in your remembrance at the very least, for within your memory, could it still flourish, otherwise it shall perish, with no trace of it's own.

- DG

[ginadope]

spring stars

Flowers dream of answers Wait for someone to notice Wither, and then hope again It took me a lifetime  To notice myself

My white irises - they know better than to worry  If not this spring, then the next one  Petals will turn into eyelashes  I will count yours and you will count mine The meticulous has always been simple - simple, and right by my palm

[robertjw4688]

I met my depression

for a drink.

We discussed

fate

and inspiration

as our veins warmed.

Drunk, we stumbled

to the graveyard

and mourned

the adolescence

he stole from me.

He apologized

with eyes welling

in stomach acid

and I

forgave him

for he didn't know better.

Robert J. W.

[nikithathampy]

I want to see that part of you no one knows. Not a soul. Not even a whisper of the wind. I want to hear all your stories. I want to see you the way you don't like to show. Bare. Real. All parts of you that shy away, all bits of you that is scared, I want a share of it all. I need the silences as much as the words. I need the smile and the anger. I want all raw places you keep hidden beneath your plain kindness, your witty banter. I want a part in the whole of you. Yes, you let me peek; then you hastily withdraw. You deflect and laugh it off as if you can't bear being seen, as if afraid that I might not get the weight behind it. What you don't know is this: That what you haven't had the courage to ask for from life, I had already asked in your stead. I want you to want more from life. Whether with me in it or not, I want you to want to hope for more. I have never cared to do anything as such before, for anyone. But then I heard your voice for the first time, and something in me settled to just listen. All thoughts brought to rest by just your sound. Your laughter reached my ears- a sound so lovely and bright; yet there, I heard the echoes of your pain instead. In a fire we both helped built, we sat side by side, and it felt to me as if, before the light had yet had a chance to reach my eyes, I saw you for you. Before there ever was a flicker for it to all unfold, I met you in the darkness we helped dispell. So, show me. Show me all of you, because there's nothing you could show that would now have me walk away from you.

~nt