#god that needs to be a poem now

[mothprincess]

i luv luv your new username serena! it reminds me of florence’s song mermaids! xxxxxxx

aaa, ty mimi <333 that is the absolute energy that i'm going for. an ocean that is ours to conquer 🌊

[trickstersaint]

elegy in which you are the creator in the laboratory // october 29 2023

[gatzbright]

“you are my sun, my moon, and all my stars” — e.e. cummings

[msue0027]

Martha Jones - Jesus Christ parallels (never thought i'd write a sentence like this)

there's the other one who has sent me

For I did not speak on my own, but the Father who sent me commanded me to say all that I have spoken. I know that his command leads to eternal life. So whatever I say is just what the Father has told me to say. (John 12:49-50)

Very truly I tell you, whoever hears my word and believes him who sent me has eternal life and will not be judged but has crossed over from death to life. (John 5:24)

I judge only as I hear, and my judgment is just, for I seek not to please myself but him who sent me. (John 5:30b)

I have much to say in judgment of you. But he who sent me is trustworthy, and what I have heard from him I tell the world. They did not understand that he was telling them about his Father. So Jesus said, “When you have lifted up the Son of Man, then you will know that I am he and that I do nothing on my own but speak just what the Father has taught me. The one who sent me is with me; he has not left me alone, for I always do what pleases him. (John 8:26-29)

[...] for I have come here from God. I have not come on my own; God sent me. (John 8:42b)

etc., and so on...

[crossbackpoke-check]

Substance, Shadow, and Spirit [remixed, abridged] by Tao Yuanming

[extraclwnporeal]

Steve Harrington's relationship with love.

All the loving, all the lack of it. All the being loved in the end.

The Harrington's house was big and warm, at first, and their little Steven was welcomed with anticipation and want. The little one had warm food, plenty of toys, frequent visits of family's friends, and bedtime stories that ended with forehead kisses for some good years, all mostly from the hands of his mother. His smile was frequent and it felt like love. And of course, it didn't last — but, God, it was good once.

When Mr. Harrington's job stopped demanding for frequent flights, the house quickly changed. His low and scary voice was new to Steve — that only knew his mommy's melodic tone and her friends high pitched voices —, and it was used to say some new things to him, too. Things that made he think that maybe his hair wasn't so beautiful, or that the bad grades he got sometimes meant he didn't deserve good ones at all.

Once he was old enough to notice bad patterns, his parent's relationship didn't look like love either. It sounded and looked and even smelled wrong. The time Mrs. Harrington spent in the bathroom so she didn't have to talk to her husband, her beautiful confident voice fading and giving place to a shy voice that didn't sound like her at all. The frequent arguing, the way they glared at each other with nothing other than disdain and ressentment, and how they hated each other with such intensity there was no more space to love their son — it was all wrong.

When Steve got into high school, things seemed to change a little. From other eyes he discovered he could be a new person, just a handsome and charming jock who's easy to love. There were hands to hold, mouths to kiss and eyes glued on his back anywhere he went, and it almost felt like love. He called it love — with his hope disguised as certainty and experience.

He was sure it was love, yeah, sure, it must be. So, when Carol Perkins broke up with Tommy H. for the first time, Steve was sure of what do to, what to say. Steve got him into his car and drove him to Lover's Lake to clear his mind, already planning on taking him to parties and finding somebody new — even though he would miss Carol too. But Tommy started talking, confessing things he never thought he would. Steve listened to his best friend talk about how his relationship was flawed — how it lacked something so bitter to say they just acknowledged it without putting into words. His friend went silent, trying to muffle a cry, and so did Steve, thus their pain was shared in a weird bond. Then Tommy — a disheveled and exasperated Tommy — put his put his hands on Steve's shoulders and his mouth oh-so-close to Steve's mouth for a minute, a solid minute the seemed to make the noise of tiny waves of the lake go silent. But Tommy just let Steve go, mumbling a low "love is shitty, man".

Then Steve understood. God, he changed his mind for good. He knew nothing about love.

A lot of other girls happened, and it was not love. Some boys happened, and it was not love, but sure it was new. Nancy happened, and it was almost love. Yeah, but love, raw and bare love, was still far from showing up.

Out of high school and out of his peak as King Steve, he was a little lost — if not completely. He started working, gaining some money, planning a future, thinking about living his life rather than thinking about love.

Patiently, love showed itself. There was Dustin, whose smile was also Steve's smile. He was the one to first make his old persona crumble, "cause popularity was always a dumb and limitating concept anyways". Steve gave Dustin his best advices and haircare routine, and in return, Dustin gave Steve brotherhood, with it's secret handshakes and a spot kept with love at the Henderson's dinner table.

Then there was Robin, and rather than a girlfriend, Steve met his sister, half of his soul. His dawns were placed at the side of his telephone in the kitchen, telling her secrets and hearing her laugh. His closet had drawers and a whole door filled with her baggy clothes, so she'd have them in their sleepover nights — even though she's used to steal Steve's clothes by now.

Then Steve met — the correct way this time, because high school Steve was a jerk — Eddie, and it was easy to love him. At first, sure, there was jealousy. Well, all his friends loved Eddie, and he wanted to know what was all that fuss about. He was met with crooked smiles, beautiful brown eyes and a guy that was so unapologetically himself it was scary. Then, the nerdy jokes and rambles and his always flirtatious tone showed up. And with some more time, you couldn't spot Eddie without his Steve. Eddie threw himself at Steve's heart like there was a spot there with his name written on it the whole time. Maybe it was, who knows.

Steve said he didn't know love, but it was only until he was able to look at his once empty house — that his parents left for him when they left Hawkins for good —, now full of laughter and good memories, and call it a home.

Love came to him as if it was the easiest thing in the world, as if it was bound to happen. Steve figured, love is driving teenagers around even though their high pitched voices give you headaches and they leave your car a mess. Love is listening to their problems when they need you to. Love is finally learning how to make proper meals cause now you have lots of mouths to feed. Love is listening to your best friend talk about the same problems over and over and give her the same advices she gave you over and over, just cause she needed you to say it. Love is driving her everywhere because you're both scared of losing that routine, and love is still driving her everywhere even though she has a license now. Love is having company for crying sessions just like you had when you were laughing. Love is never spending birthdays alone again. Love is having a hand that will caress your back to help you sleep, with it's cold rings that always makes you shiver. Love is looking at his face and thinking about making it work, thinking about a bright, happy future. Love is forgetting what privacy is in the sweetest way possible, cause you have company in the bathroom even when you're pissing at night. Love is giving up the last piece of apple pie even though it's your favorite, because it's your best friend's favorite too. Love is receiving gifts for mothers days, birthdays, christmas, thanksgivings, or just because they felt like giving you something. Love is listening to your brother talk about his interests nonstop even though you don't understand a word of it, just because it makes him smile. Love is the stack of D&D handbooks on your nightstand with their bookmarks near the end.

[toyota-supra]

Sheep, Dog and Wolf

I am born and I have died And I will do it like I must I have fought and purified Meat and bone, blade and trust

I tread the path of danger To life and death I am your shield Your assassin, knight and ranger Servitudes that I wield

I howl above poisoned ground Blood and thunder falls me ill Death remains, devoted hound Again for you I die and kill

[deathbyvalentine]

this year, i am reliving all my old traumas christ, do we ever really stop being teenagers? is part of me always stuck in that room, that hospital, that body, that me?

maybe i was an adult, once when i was fifteen.

maybe the only difference between her and me that matters is that she still wished upon stars.

[that-was-anticlimactic]

lol my student teaching supervisor sent me my feedback video because he observed me friday and it was twenty minutes long and he essentially said that he was disappointed in me and that i did a disservice to american poetry so i'm feeling pretty good about myself

[bujorulgalben]

să-l ia dracu pe ăla care se culcă pe o inimă de sârb. n-o să doarmă nici o secundă.

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yet another declaration of love for anica maria mihăescu and slavoljub s. vukašinović (@sivisoko)

[kqluckity]

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[elytrafemme]

“I’m twenty years old and don’t know who I am / going to lose because of the ways I’m going to stay / the same, then later because of the ways I’m going / to change too much. I mean, my god is gonna change. / My pronouns are gonna change. My body is going to change / not because of my DNA but because a tick is gonna bite me / and that little monster is gonna mess with my life / more than a parade of homophobes could ever dream of / but love will still throw me over her shoulder and carry me up” - the test of time, andrea gibson

[snowshinobi]

you text me back and i have no clue what time it is. could be 3 minutes later, could be 3 weeks. that's the nature of this conversation, these arrows buried in sun-soaked underbrush. i'll crash through the leaves to find them, pull them up, unfurl their muddy messages, scratch my reply, fit it to my bow, shoot it back.

good night, your arrow says. i blink away the light. there are no clocks in this golden woods, in the sunset glow of talking with you. but it was night when you thought of me, and suddenly i want to know what a walk through your forest feels like. brush the needles with the backs of my hands. watch the darkness climb up my body. catch patterns in the stars twinkling through the branches.

good morning, i scratch in. pale light laps at my shoulders. it's morning as i think of you, feathers pressed to my cheek.

i let go.

[astro-inthestars]

SINCE ITS WORLD POETRY DAY (according to Tumblr) i would like to say how i adore poetry and how it can portray emotions with words and rhymes and metaphors, how it can tell a story in the most convoluted yet simplest way possible <3

To celebrate, here's a poem I wrote a while back!

Hopeless

Look at the mess you've done,

what a tragedy!

The muddle of trouble this puts us upon,

oh can't you see??

It's spilt on the walls, the floor, the chairs!

Why, it's just everywhere!

It's terrible how easy the mess clings on

to any surface tidy enough to con

And the worst part, is that it does no harm!

How can a mess, be so soft and warm?

No, it hurts none of the beautiful surfaces it takes

But still, it's a mess, and I must fix this mistake

Was it because of you? No, it must have been me.

It's my fault, for the surfaces are so shiny.

And only a fool like me would stare and stare

And then trip over myself and spill everywhere

Oh alas! Such a sin is not easy to cleanse,

for the mess and the process is horrifically dense,

And it hurts.

It hurts to try to get rid of.

But of course, no one wants to see a mess,

And I don't want to bother you any longer

So I'll slave to get it off your surface,

And I'll get rid my hopeless mess of a heart.

[alliwanttodoiscollectpoetry]

we need a god who bleeds now

a god whose wounds are not

some small male vengeance

some pitiful concession to humility

a desert swept with dryin marrow in honor of the lor

Ntozake Shange ~ We need a god who bleeds now

[wabblebees]

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