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WHO ARE WE

The Squid and I would like to cordially and officially welcome all of you to Fridge Blog! We write dumb things on our fridge. Attractive, no? I honestly have no idea how we managed to convince all of you to follow us without explaining our goals, etc., but somehow it happened! Thanks for your support! —The Fridge Poet

FAQ

Who are you? 

Good question. Still working on that, really. I’m The Fridge Poet. Occasionally, Holmes. I live with Squid. Squid requests squid pronouns, please.

[—I’m Squid. I chronicle the works of the Fridge Poet, and in that sense you may consider me the John Watson to my compatriot’s Sherlock Holmes. We live and work and play and worry one day at a time, and maybe eventually there will come a day when we are able to answer that question for you with certainty. -Squid.]

Fridge challenge? What’s the deal? 

We have poetry magnets on our fridge (okay, really, if you haven’t figured that one out by now…) [I SWEAR THEY’RE NOT THE DIRTY SET WE CHECKED] [—Seriously, there’s an entirely separate dirty set. Neither one of us owns it. -Squid.] and Squid has given me a FRIDGE CHALLENGE to write poetry about whatever themes squid sets forth for me using only the words in the set.

Only the words in the set? 

It’s unbelievably frustrating because I want to use bigger words than we have and there are some really stupid and useless words mixed in (in my opinion), and for a long time we didn’t even have the word “out.” 

We currently have the original kit, the little box of hope, and the poet kit. [—Names edited in for you. -Squid.]

Tags?

I currently tag the thematic material of the writing, but if anyone has any triggers they’d specifically like for me to tag or anything, go for it. 

Submissions/Asks?

PLEASE DEAR GOD SUBMIT THEMES AND SUCH YOU’D LIKE TO SEE DONE. It can be as simple as one word or an entire song (see: the one I did from Above & Beyond) or another poem (ff: for the one about midnight, I was thinking about Lord Byron’s “She Walks in Beauty”) or even a picture. I DON’T CARE. SUBMIT THINGS YOU’D LIKE TO SEE DONE. 

There’s a reason we call this the fridge CHALLENGE— I can write poetry straight out of my own head any day (and I do, often. Sometimes it even shows up on here.), but I really appreciate the creative challenge of having to write a poem from the inner workings of someone else’s mind. 

I am 98.9% not sorry at all for the ask box.

Squid is in charge of responding to any and all inquiries unless you specifically request otherwise (in which case it’s kind of a crap shoot as to who will respond).

We’re just getting started, everyone. Please tell people about us and don’t just like, reblog your favorites! ✿ﾉ◡‿��)ﾉ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

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Crying in class isn't productive in the least But I don't know how else to soothe this hurt Sometimes I want to tell you things I know would scare you They sound like suicide notes to me And you don't even know the context Can I call you In the middle of the night My voice laced with tears [Promise me you won't freak out] And tell you I hope my existence has mattered To you Especially [I'm terrified my being hasn't meant a thing, Why would it, I'm a lump of atoms in space] I think in my philosophy The only thing that matters Is how we treat each other [So I tell people when the little ways they react to the world make my day more bearable] I once had a friend tell me I was like sunshine [Just the thought makes me want to cry] In an elevator-- we were alone I'm glad [but scared?] to be a warmth I don't feel in the world

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Blood from a Stone

I am flesh and blood and water And if you crush me I will bleed You profess that when coal is subjected To extreme heat And extreme pressure It becomes diamond. I am suffocating in the one atmosphere over my head. Do diamonds need to breathe? My screaming voice rings silently I carry the weight On my shoulders On my chest On my stomach On my tongue And my eyes grow accustomed to the dark of the night. You bury me in the ground with your garbage And I sweat from the heat And I groan from the pressure Awaiting my metamorphosis. I tell you there is nothing wrong with the luster of coal. Do diamonds need to burn? I will not cry, "More weight!" But you stack And you stack And you stack And you stack And I cannot remember the texture of the sky. I am stone and earth and water But if you crush me I will bleed

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by the board

Some days the words don’t flow

and silence echoes in my head unnervingly; 

I know it cannot last. 

Other days I live my life in macro,

a wave seen from afar that appears to be a line. 

Too many words and sounds rushing through my mind. 

I can’t find a balance between the two extremes;

I can only try to hold on to my sense of self

as I’m bashed against the docks. 

Neither can I moor nor can I set sail

with this battered ship. 

But maybe with help 

or time

I might sink

or float, 

and finally my fight 

might be over. 

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Why can't I pass your house

Without wanting to stop by?

It's been years since I walked out

On you 

On us

On myself

But even when my own house

Doesn't feel like Home

And makes me want to run

From here

From her

From me

There's only one place I want to go

Even though I am not welcome

Home is a warmth I turned down

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