#first poetry post

[pertinentpostmortem]

i am always the poet, never the poem.

i want to be loved as i love others:

all the way, filling their cups to the brim.

but they just take,

and take, and take,

and don’t bother to pour into mine—

i am taken for granted

time and time again.

i love selflessly, never asking for more

than what they give.

i have made them my reality

in every world i weave

with words, with imagination;

but to them, i am just a dot of an i—

the cross of a t;

i am nothing but a quick line

in the sea of letters and words.

i am always the poet, never the poem.

[nnothingnesss]

soft warm jazz

in those words you speak

its melody is alcohol

the keys and notes, the tones and pitch

your voice is its own instrument

of mass destruction

the crashing cymbals and the singing strings

the thing is, i want you

to destroy me

[writings-ofthe-heart]

i'm a greedy dog

i don't bite

but your hand outstretches

raw, soaking meat in the palm of your hand

beating life

affection mistaken for intrusion

i bite off more than i can chew

i'm a greedy, selfish dog

I don't mean to bite

[quisyop]

Wrote poetry (more word vomit) formatted like House of Leaves. It’s my first time writing long-form (ish) poetry. It’s entitled Basic Words. The formatting may not work on all devices- sorry? I might make a sequel that either works better or on desktop or just basic one. Enjoy!

Basic Words

I often try to write about perspective, and emotion, and my thoughts,

and

dreams and endless questions but I find my words, no matter the kind, are always

lacking. words firm in logic, or that flow like a river, words that dance with each other

crossed

like star lovers

or that

sit

solemnly

in

silence.

Words that that stay, that are colorful, that are

shift,

bland

that are

artistic,

that are basic,

The words I write now

fill me with anger, with

frustration,

with annoyance, because it’s not quite right.

I express the same hollow

words and desires on paper, on technology, in speech, in thought. They echo to myself

as distortions

of what I mean to put down. They are stable to others, perfectly normal,

but I see the rot that

shows its insecurity.

Words aren’t perfection despite what I want, they don’t reach perfection

despite what I want, they don’t cross all thought despite what I want

They are simple, meant only for simple meaning and conversations, not the colorful things I

think

or hear

or see.

They describe only the black and white photo

of an abstract

painting.

I continue to write the same useless words trying to express the

same useless

thoughts,

even though these things that are functional lies mean nothing to you

because you don’t recognize this black and white photo as the

same colorful

painting you see.

Words often feel cold and uncomfortable when I try to write . They feel

stiff

and rough

and angry.

Every word is angry and stiff, when my thoughts are loose

cloudy

and dreamy

happy and and l. d and and sudden.

i i

qu

Words are a science, and

thoughts are a mystery yet to be solved

I finish this poem, barely one at all, leaving unsatisfied and wanting for more.

More lines or stanzas about how I feel about how my paper doesn’t, how my

breathing

thoughts

are suffocated on the page.

The stanzas, the sentences,

the words,

the letters, the lines, they all mean nothing in the context of thought. Despite this I

push on as a writer and a thinker,

trying to connect the two in a useless attempt that

will never end.

I tried to finish this in a final paragraph of thought that summarized the

feelings I felt but it didn’t. Simple as that. I write these words again, still hollow,

still that black and white painting. I’ll probably never share these

words that

mean as

much as nothing,

that breathe as much as a corpse,

that express a void,

but it feels nice

to think that

I could one day show another.

For another to see what is blatantly

confusing and

nothing and useless and

a sad attempt to describe something

much more complex than

I’ll ever understand

feels comforting.

It gives me solace that one day someone will

have the words.

Written by ~Me~

[mayo-rose]

Loneliness

For a long time I’ve been on my own.

Family is the closest and yet the farthest.

Looking into people’s eyes brings me more pain and sorrows,

For love isn’t there.

Lies upon lies,

Fakes!

I am very young but old at heart

I am very weak but strong in mind

I am very strong but fragile

I am a lot of things but really nothing

I am tired,

All alone.

Keeping up the steady smiles,

I guess I have also learnt to fake it

Covering up till it comes

But when???

When shall the collector come?

I am tired,

All alone.

[backjack]

Stitches

My love pours to you from a wound

It’s gushing and is killing me

You begin to stitch

I worry that I won’t be able to love once you do

And yet once it’s stitched I love you more than I ever have

[ame1lia]

sigh

sometimes i want to to die

because no one seems to care

but maybe I just want to sigh

loudly and glare

why am I so alone

skinny like a bone

she’s so nice

nicer than I could ever be

and we can all agree

I cut me a slice

and it starts to well up

let’s go drink beer in a pub

ignore the problems laying before your eyes

telling me stupid lies

[samsleeps2much]

first poetry post :)

i don't know if i believe in god still  i don't know if i ever really did  i think i would just pray for something to save me something better than the people who were supposed to  i'll use him as a blanket  i'll sneak out at 3am i'll look for something greater than me greater than this life i'll never fulfill i'll ride my bike for hours  up and down this shitty little beach town  the only thing i'll find is the moon but as soon as i sit down to talk  she leaves so ill depart at 12 tonight  i'll ride to the pier  i'll pay 4 dollars for my ticket i'll go to the very edge and sit all the fishermen look at me crazy as i talk  i don't mind anymore it'll become a nightly routine  everynight i'll talk to her  i’ll tell her all my worries  how my days been how much i wish i could just drive away  never once she responded  never once she needed to  she slowly turned into a quilt  her light made all the  dark corners and shadows less scary she made them more beautiful than the sun could ever dream of and everynight i look for her i'll beg some would even say pray  for her to never let me end up like them  but sneaking out doesn't stop you from having to go back home and hiding under a blanket doesn't stop the bed bugs from biting  

little side note : this is the first time i've ever posted my writing on tumblr so id love to hear feedback (good or bad) about it!

[kingkatia]

I solemnly swear by KingKatia

I walked through trenches of utter despair,

Ive lived a life of total dominance,

The life I call mine I wish to repair,

Unfortunately my heart is bottomless.

I hunt for the one who can fix me,

Decades I searched high and low,

But I could never see,

I came across a beautiful crow,

Who said he knew my sorrow well

So I followed him far, far down below,

To find myself at the gates of hell.

He told me he would make me whole

If I just signed this I would revel,

I realized he wanted me to sell my soul,

I solemnly sell my soul to the devil.

The greatest price I ever paid

Was the cost of my entire existence

The euphoria began to fade

That was the gift of his insistence.

The regret I felt was unreal,

I watch as all my blood was drawn

I didn’t know that was part of the deal,

I forever will be his pawn.

I solemnly swear,

That all of me is yours to keep

This life I could no longer bear,

I have nothing left to weep.

Choose what you wish of me

I herby agree to be bound to you

With this contract you will see

I completely surrender myself to you.

[randumbness23-blog]

[nnothingnesss]

you talk as if

you’re already dead

but you are very much alive

[mooliel]

My heaven is the floor of her room.

She always had some mug or plate lying there, but I didn’t mind. Her mum would make us food, and I was always too scared to tell her I didn’t like the food she put out for us. Was it because I was scared she would think it was because it was polish? Or was I scared because she was too friendly towards me? It doesn’t matter anymore anyways. All that mattered was us. Sitting in her room, admiring her books and posters and bedsheets.

Sharing a monster, giggling over a video we wouldn’t remember fifteen minutes after, watching cringy romcoms at two am, finally falling asleep at five. None of what happened in those six nights I slept over matters anymore. All I remember is happiness. I was overjoyed to be in her presence, overjoyed she let me into a space so personal for her. I was just happy to spend time with her.

It took me a long time to realize I was in love with Nicole Polcyn. It shouldn’t’ve taken me that long to realize. I laid in her lap, got jealous whenever she called another girl her best friend, stared at her longingly any chance I got, we even kissed in the corner of the tennis courts. I invited her to a Tv girl concert. My dad paid for her ticket. I knew the way I felt towards her was unusual for just best friends, and I knew she would never feel the same way about me, but I just knew these feelings weren’t going away soon, so I let them linger. I think she knew, but never told me.

Looking back, she was never a good friend. Our old friends were nothing like me, but her personality melded in with theirs so perfectly. It made me want to die. Now I know that makes me sound like the bad friend but trust me, she was way worse. She celebrated when I started to become like those friends, always took others’ sides over mine, replaced me out of nowhere. She made me feel worthless, replaceable. The fact I was in love with her made it worse. I thought she also felt those butterflies when we kissed but apparently it was all a game with her.

Now other girls sit on her floor. But they don’t giggle over tiktoks and watch romcoms. No, they down vodka shots and talk shit. I guess that’s just what she’s always wanted out of a friend. My avoidance of alcohol apparently was one of the factors in our separation. However, no one will ever be able to fill the void she left in my heart. No one will ever laugh like her, smile like her like me like I liked her. I guess she was my first love. Its a lot to think about, having a first love, especially when she’s not in your life anymore. But, no matter where we both are, no matter how much hate I have for her, my paradise will always be the floor of her room.

[ra-2506]

I wanted to publish this poem of mine 😅that just came to me after thinking🤔 of all the things I have through at school this year💯.

So please be honest😁 about the poem and pls give me pointers👀 that can help me improve on future poems in the future 😁.

REGRETS ✨

Over my shoulder the shadow looms like humid air.

Much to my dismay the time I have can't spare-

A moment of truth, for a greedy gasp of air

I only hope for a better day for us my dear.

We wish to be free amongst the others,

To be normalized into the casual ordinary

Living as the best of the worst was momentary.

We have survived but not thrived.

Bright gleams kills the burdens,

Lifting off the weight of notes and appearances,

Our moment has arrived to be recognized.

Yes. I hope to be next to you

Yet the world has bigger things that are due-

I write to say goodbye to the past life,

I had in those corridors and lockers,

And wave "hi" to the start of a new beginnings.

[icryor]

Clockwork.

Poem written by me!! It's called clockwork. Not the best thing I have ever written but yk I just wanted to post smth...

So, without further adieu, Clockwork.:

I love the way she looks at me 

everyday,

Like clockwork. 

I love the way her ghost haunts my thoughts and the way

She fills my mind with cyanide. 

I hate the way I look at her

everyday, 

Like clockwork.

The way I drink my death drink, 

almost like,

Death would suffice. 

I hate the way she looks at me 

everyday, 

like clockwork.

Once, 

Twice, 

again.

They way she looks at me like 

ghosts never could.

A golden girl made of dust, 

Made of skin.

I hate the way 

the world works.

The way it spins.

The way the the sun comes up,

and the moon moves on,

everyday, 

Like clockwork. 

Once,

Twice, 

Three times,

Four times, 

again, again, and again. 

I hate it, the

way that monoxide kills, 

and the way I breathe it in regardless, 

and the way that ghost never die twice, and the way

I hate the golden girl with nothing 

but a head, 

and the way she’s the only one who doesn't kill me 

dearly, 

doesn't kill me at all, 

and doesn't count the days like I do. 

She just looks at me, from afar, 

everyday, 

Like clockwork. 

[bigbootbitch]

Night Trains

When summer has faded,

insects retreated and the leaves fallen,

I open my ears and listen.

I’ll start hearing it soon.

Metal on metal. Cold as ice.

A night train grinds on the rails tonight.

It’s clearest in winter

My old friend hides in the quiet calm

They are hot chocolate and spiced rum.

They smell of radiators and candle smoke

My sound a warm palm on a frosted pane.

How many nights have they accompanied me?

When the city’s ballad weaves,

my noise pierces it all.

Resonating warm in my chest

I cherish the interruption.

I often wonder if neighbors notice it,

Do they recognize the beauty of its harsh tone?

The rushing of our city’s veins

reminding us of other’s down the line.

The connections we share but never make.

Yes late at night

As I await the soothing screech of train brakes

I’ll remember a book in my hands,

a mug at my side, a blanket on my shoulders.

And when it sings it’s sirens song

I’m reminded of my citizen strangers listening

As the night train brings us home.

[indigostaresatthestars]

I can’t find a way to talk about grief. 

I try again and again to lay my soul bare.

But all I have learned is the monster has teeth. 

It stumbles and stutters, makes me shake like a leaf. 

I think again and again, “this isn’t fair.”

I can’t find a way to talk about grief. 

It comes at the worst times; the visits aren’t brief. 

Sometimes I think it’s best not to share. 

But all I have learned is the monster has teeth. 

It’s dark and it’s heavy; it’s a gruesome motif. 

It chaws and it chomps, leaving nothing to spare. 

I can’t find a way to talk about grief. 

The story I’d tell would leave you in disbelief. 

I’ve seen the fiends face, when it drags me to its fanged lair. 

But all I have learned is the monster has teeth. 

I curse and I cuss the monster, the thief. 

If I could just find the right words, I might find some relief. 

I can’t find a way to talk about grief,

But all I have learned is the monster has teeth.