poeztry

[poeztry]

Reblog this post to ask mutuals to tell you their weirdest theory about u

EDIT: Fair warning this post is cursed and predictions are 7/10 times correct, play at own risk

[poeztry]

this house will fall apart and it will take you with it. the foundation is cracking and giving in. the home you live in is falling into a deep dark recess of the earth that you could not possibly survive in. and you are going down with it.

why wouldnt you? the house that built you is falling into disrepair. your loyalties lie with it. this house holds all of your firsts — should it not hold all of your lasts, too?

where does love end? where does obligation begin? was there love to begin with? all i can remember are endless days in a hot, damp room all alone, staring at the popcorn ceiling, waiting for the asbestos to bring me the sweet, soft embrace of death. was there ever anything in this house that i could call love? like paint, i have slowly softened into the background while you hang your obnoxious posters upon my surface, you smother me with everything ive never wanted.

i cant stay in this house forever. you cant keep me here. a fish in a birdcage will in time suffocate. i cannot breathe in this house — i cannot breathe with you around. the more i fade into silence, the more it kills me. i need to speak and be listened to. i refuse to sing to ears unwilling to hear.

i see the foundation cracking and in time i will pack my bags and i will leave this house. and i will watch as it caves in and takes you with it. and i will cry for you, mother.

i will leave and i will catch my plane and i will build my own house; vibrant, loving, alive. i will forget the chronic horrors of the house you brought me up in.

[poeztry]

im listening to the rain outside. its storming pretty hard and the occasional crash of thunder reminds me i exist. the gentle pitter patter on the roof reminds me of when you used to call me once the rain on your roof was loud enough to cover your sweet voice, saying all those lovely gentle things youd say to me. if i listen hard enough i can hear you in the wind, my darling dove. i adore you. you never could quite understand how much those stormy nights meant to me — how my heart pounded when youd said you loved me — the way it still does. i called you today while your parents were in the store. you looked simply beautiful wearing your sunshine smile. your hair looked soft, and i was convinced i could reach out and touch it. you have a glow about you, dove. gorgeous and enticing, safe, loving, warm. you are the cozy cabin with a fire going in the woodstove that i long to come back to after hours hunting in the snow. youre a beautiful creature, my darling. your eyes encapsulated me from the moment i first saw them. the way you speak is so endearing and the sound of your laugh could raise me from any rut or hole id been trapped in. my beautiful angel, my world. the world met you on earth day, the symbolism has never been lost on me, with your blue and green and brown eyes. youre the center of my solar system, my sun, my planet, and i relish in the fact that i get to be a green plant, basking in your light, lucky enough to have your help to photosynthesize.

[poeztry]

in a world devoid of love, it becomes harder and harder to breathe.

it is easier to lose sight of everything you used to be, than to grasp for your life onto everything you stand for.

bloody fingernails and clenched jaw, scratched skin, broken bones and all:

do you want to live, or will you keep surviving?

[poeztry]

life is cruel and i am a deer caught up in the headlights as the car races towards me at speeds that will surely change the trajectory of my life forever.

is this the consequence of my actions or the affection of my inaction?

the lights look like angels through my streaky vision and i am inclined to let them come towards me as they so desire even though i can feel in my gut that i need to run.

i look at everyone i want to be and i feel sick to my fucking stomach. i can feel my organs move and wriggle around as i lie in my bed and stare at my walls, plastered in images of everything i love so much it makes me nauseous, cardboard cutouts of people i wish i was, album covers i dedicate time i will never get back to painting at least once a week. my own art.

to be an artist surrounded by hys own art is to be a butcher surrounded by animal entrails, all the time. perhaps, i will rip my own heart out and pin it up to the wall next to all of my drawings of anatomical hearts and critique every little detail i got wrong — until the tunnel vision hits me and i bleed out.

my skeleton could hang around in the corner as a fucking door stopper and itd be more purposeful than it has been the past entire year. my bones creak and ache and beg to escape the wretched body that i imprison them in as a source of some sick self satisfaction.

i will never escape the hole ive dug myself into, im much too scared of the dirt getting underneath my fingernails as i scratch and grasp and fight for my fucking life pulling myself back up to the grass above. i couldnt dare because while yes it is stuffy down in this hole and it smells of dirt and rotting corpses and no one bothers to say hello when i scream and cry, what happens if i get out and the grass gives me rashes? i would surely be much too weak to pull myself up onto my feet and walk and walk and walk to safer grounds.

[poeztry]

there's a special place in my head where i go to be alone.

it looks a lot like my old bedroom, adorned with posters of bands i used to like, and torn up wallpaper from the 1970s. tacky, filthy carpet covered in dog fur and dust, and the suffocating stink of age.

its so silently loud, blaring the music i adore so loudly into my ears that i dont notice it at all. my step-sisters bed is in there, too, but shes never home. shes off sneaking around with her friends, like she used to do when we were younger; getting high, loitering in store parking lots, never answering my anxious texts, questioning whether or not she needed me to lie to our parents about her whereabouts again.

and theres a special place in hell for my overworked, underpaid heart. the big men in charge tell me so.

i used to rent my heart out to make ends meet, atriums and ventricles remodeled into apartments, for my blood, like neighbors, to live in and argue over loud music and the musky, earthy smell of marijuana — the scent of my childhood — seeping through the walls and windows, clinging for dear life onto the wallpaper.

i was not a bad landlord. i fixed what needed fixing, turned a blind eye to new and colourful walls, and put my headphones in when things got loud at night. i would give and give and give as a good landlord should. my tenants had always been friends of mine. they did not pay rent, and i bought their food — roommates. they were my roommates. i grew to understand over time, that i was not the one in power, the gracious one, or a friend. i was a provider. i would give and give and give and never take.

i grew bitter. i would leave wounds elsewhere to chase my so called friends from the building to repair what they had the motivation to. i repainted their walls. i enforced ridiculous rules. i became what id loathed.

the silence while they were gone was something i used to savour. now ive chased out the inhabitants from my stale off-white apartment complex heart, and the dust has settled. for so long it sat, empty, numb, soulless.

when she came knocking at the door, id expected her to leave quickly after seeing the holes in the drywall and the graffitied ceilings, covered in slurs and deadly sentiments.

i opened up for her and let her in, watching her eyes dart all across the entrance hall before flicking back to me. she grabbed my hand and held it tight all throughout my jumbled tour of my cold abandoned heart. smiling kindly through all of my stories, showing empathy and cursing those whod broken in through my windows.

as she took a final look around and walked out the door, the warmth left the building entirely, and id convinced myself i was a doomed to be alone forever, hardly noticing her walking back in with her bags.

as she unpacked, the circulation returned to my body. she painted the walls her favourite shade of orange — marigold — and hung up her posters and newspaper clippings. she helped me repaint my room, too, and listened to me ramble about the bands on the posters shed given me the courage to hang back up.

she came with her own luggage, too. pictures and paintings of unsavory memories. shed find the deep dark broom closets of my building, which id locked away unpleasant experiences in. together, we learned how to replace the lights, and put flowers where her pictures were.

now my heart is a home, and when shes gone i sit in what was once her room, turned ours, and stare at her clothes on the floor and the indent from her head on her pillow, and smile, remembering how much happier id been since shed filled the hallways with all her favourite colours.

[poeztry]

i like to watch deer in the woods, as they prance

'that could be my life,' i think to myself.

if i could ease the ache in my soul, id learn their dance.

but the world tells me i should put it on the shelf.

its all i can do, to gaze

watch and admire through the foggy haze

while they live the life i desire so desperately

id love to leave my human body behind, lying so desolately

maybe id grow antlers, and run on thin legs, solid and hooved

rather than walk on my two down the street, where im pushed and shoved.

[poeztry]

one day god will come back

and he'll see all i lack

and ill hang my head low like a dog

that got caught eating food off the table,

cuz i said heaven is just a fable

n he'll tell me im a dumb, dumb mutt

dumb mutt, down on my luck

and ill say im sorry god

youre the man, im just a dog

only doing what i thought was right

i promise i truly meant no spite

but he'll see through my lies

death stare my big wet eyes

and he'll hit me on the nose

'thats not how it goes'

he says

'these days

everyone is a nonbeliever

or devout in hate of the dreamer.

every child is full of hate,

indoctrinated in my name

such a wretched fate,

with their parents only to blame.'

[poeztry]

ezra

16

he/hymn

transmasc

alt poetry account of @bagelofchaos

i write a lot about religious trauma and indoctrination. im exmormon, and hold a firm belief that mormonism, in most cases, is a cult.

i am not quite alterhuman, not quite therian, but have similar experiences and behaviors to that of those respective communities. this reflects in my poetry.

i use #poeztry to tag all of my posts and any pieces that require trigger warnings will be tagged accordingly, with cw, and tw.

welcome to my blog, i hope you enjoy my work.