#i can't write poems

[atomicbell]

Your art is so gorgeous! I love how dynamic the colors and shadows feel! How long have you been practicing art? Do you have any methods?

I really love art and I dream of getting better but I'm always hitting some kind or road, don't have energy or lose track of time lol, and sometimes I fear I might never make a complete piece. I often practice specific things but never come close to doing a complete piece at all, and you have so many art pieces that are fully rendered and aaa beautiful

If u don't want to answer it's okay, u seem to be very cool too, dayum I am also trying to learn Italian rn hehe

Aaaa omg thank you so much!! ;v; I am still very insecure about my art but reading this made me feel a lot more confident!

I have been drawing my whole life actually! (I'm not exaggerating jskjsk) I don't really have any methods; the only thing I can suggest is to practice as frequently as you can and try out different things! YouTube/Drawing tutorials helped me improve as well!

Just don't push yourself, work at your own pace and do not compare yourself to others. We have all started somewhere, after all. <3 I even found some of my old art asdfjhf- I'll just,,,, leave it here,,, (Ages from left to right: 6, 8 and 13) this is so embarassing ohmygod 😭

I wish I could say anything cool in Italian but I forgot almost everything lmao

BUT GOOD LUCK WITH LEARNING <3

[fandom-trash-goblin]

Let me tell you a story. It goes like this: my father is the worst man alive, and i am his favourite daughter

— on fathers, mirrors, and unwanted inheritances.

twitter user @/yesindeeder // Doomed From The Beginning - written by @/veniennes on tiktok // in image // I Would Leave Me If I Could- Halsey // in image // in image //nimmieamee on ao3 // Ptolemea, Ethel Cain // Benjamin Alire Sáenz - Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe // in image // evansville from tumblr user filmnoirsbian // Snow and Dirty Rain - Richard Siken // Someday I’ll Love Ocean Vuong, Ocean Vuong

[heyimnotnew]

I don’t know how to write poems; I am with my whole being and existence suck at writing poems. They are pretty romantic and a classic for non-flourished affections, for me to give you. I wish I could write poems just for you and no one else. Are these big words? I can swallow them with my long-gone pride and honor, don’t worry your pretty head about me.

[stinglesswasp]

Fanart of all that's said in the low light by headlocket

This fic will make you cry the most cathartic tears ever. Be sure to also check out the epilogue, in lieu of the bells 🥹🧡🧡

[softiedingo]

*look* dear god *sighs intensely*

[welcometogrouchland]

I understand that literature nerd Jason Todd is kind of overblown in fanon compared to it's actual presence in canon (a few issues during his pre (and post?)crisis Robin tenure that highlight it) BUT consider that I think it's hilarious if the unhinged gun toting criminal has strong opinions on poetry

[revenantghost]

You know, I've read a lot of fics where Vash can say "I love you" to Wolfwood and Wolfwood can't, but what about the other way around?

A Vash that hasn't allowed himself that word in 150 years?

A Vash that doesn't know if he can even feel love?

A Vash that knows he doesn't deserve it, doesn't even want it?

(But oh, he does he does he does, he wants it more than anything.

And that's why he can never give it the power of a spoken word.)

[judas-redeemed]

groundhog day grief ─ judas h. image ID in alt

[filmnoirsbian]

Spilled inktober day 1: The Summoning (part one)

[inutaffy]

happy pride from a closeted transmasc 💕🏳️‍⚧️

image descriptions below!

[ID: a collection of 7 panels with a white background drawn messily and mostly in black

panel 1 is a box with text inside that reads "do you remember who you were?" in all caps. the first "you" is blue, and the second "you" is pink.

panel 2 shows a simple silhouette of a person standing, with negative space around them and scribbles on the outside, contained in a box. text above them says "i think…" with blue accents on the dot of the first i and the ellipsis.

panel 3 is an eye and an eyebrow, with a pink star drawn in the eye. text below says "i was bright-eyed."

panel 4 shows the tip of a nose and an open mouth, showing teeth, with a gap between the two front teeth. text below says "i had a gap" with a pink bracket under the word gap.

panel 5 illustrates lungs with pink and black scribbles inside. the text beside reads "and bad lungs." there is a cigarette with pink smoke and an inhaler with the cap and medicine colored in pink below the text.

panel 6 is a young girl with long hair tied up with a pink hair tie and smiling with her gap showing. text to the side says "i was a girl."

panel 7 shows a box scribbled in pink. to the right it shows a different view of the same box, with one side colored pink and the rest outlined in perspective, showing blue scribbles inside. top text says "and now," bottom text says "i'm much more complicated than that." /End ID]

thank u @yearninginblue for helping me :)!

[peacockrulz]

tessa and j angst?

I loved my friend

She went away from me

There's nothing more to say

The poem ends,

Soft as it began-

I loved my friend.

[request are closed]

[unclewaynemunson]

Tadaaaa here is the sequel to this post, which came from an ask that got me in a chokehold for days now so kudos to the lovely anon who sent that prompt to me! You can also read the whole thing on ao3 :)

As soon as Eddie got into the passenger seat of his Wayne's truck, he saw the whole world go blurry. He tried to blink away his tears, but it was no use – nothing ever escaped his uncle's notice anyway.

'Wanna tell me what's wrong, boy?' he asked while he started the car.

Eddie grimaced. 'You know how they say you should never meet your heroes?'

'Hm?'

'Well, I met mine. On the fucking train. Just yet.'

Wayne shot him an incredulous glance.

'What was the Black Sabbath guy doin' on a train?'

'What? No, it wasn't... No.'

'The Hobbits guy?'

'Jesus Christ, Wayne, Tolkien died like fifteen years ago, keep up.'

'You want me to keep guessin' or you gonna tell me?'

Eddie rolled his eyes.

'Yeah, no, you wouldn't guess it right anyway. It's this poet.'

'Don't think I ever heard you talk 'bout poetry before,' Wayne remarked.

And that was exactly the thing. Ronan Right had been something... private. Something between Eddie and the faceless blob in his mind that embodied Right – and maybe Jeff. Okay, and Jeff's mom. But it wasn't someone he'd talk people's ears off about on any occasion he got, like he did with plenty of other musicians or writers that he'd get all obsessive about.

Until Steve, that was. Steve, who had been casually listening to his music. Steve, who had recognized the book in his hands and effortlessly opened the floodgates of his obsession. Steve, who had said the most beautiful things about Corroded Coffin without even knowing who Eddie was. Steve, who had talked with him about their shared passions for hours. Steve, who he now somehow had to merge with Right in his mind.

Steve, who seemed so perfect that it made all of Eddie's alarm bells go off at the loudest possible volume. Because this couldn't be real. This was something straight from a disgustingly sweet romcom scenario, and if there was anything Eddie could be certain about, it was that his life was no romcom.

So during the short walk from the station to Wayne's car, Eddie's head had already come up with a dozen scenarios that were completely spiraling out of control – even though they'd all make for great songs, no doubt about that. Steve would die some kind of tragic death on his way to their first date. Steve was secretly addicted to crack. Steve was a stalkerish fan who had lied to him about being Ronan Right to get close to him. Steve would cheat on him on their wedding day.

The list of possibilities was endless and terrifying – while the list of possibilities for this having a happy ending, on the other hand, was exceptionally short.

'Was it that bad?' asked Wayne while they headed out of the city.

Usually, Eddie enjoyed amping up his dramatics to a maximum around Wayne, providing the much-needed balance to his uncle's calm and steady demeanor. But right now, Eddie felt himself deflate in his seat. He couldn't bring himself to make a show out of it.

'No,' he said, quietly. 'He was perfect.'

And Wayne must've heard it in his voice, must've picked up right away that this wasn't Eddie being dramatic, that something serious was going on here, because he gave him this look that was cutting way too deep into his heart.

'Nobody can be that perfect, you know,' Eddie continued. 'It's impossible. And he – he gave me his number. And I just know that if I call it, and we get to know each other better, I'll get crushingly disappointed sooner rather than later. Because something has to be, like, disturbingly wrong with this guy.'

Anyone else than Wayne would probably tell Eddie that he was being ridiculous, that he should get over himself and call Steve; that he should allow himself to let good things happen to him or some shit. But Wayne wasn't just anyone. Wayne was the one person who knew exactly what Eddie meant. The one person who had seen from up-close the shitshow that Eddie's life had been, who had retained a front row seat through all of it. And he had had his own fair share of misery himself, Eddie knew that much. He was too old and had gotten punched down too many times to still hold naive illusions of the possibility of good things.

So he didn't give him some bullshit advice. He merely patted Eddie's knee and turned up the radio.

---

Ever since Eddie had left Hawkins, it had become a habit of him to stay with Wayne for a couple of weeks every now and then. For all his desires to get the hell out of that town when he was younger, he still spent way too much time at his uncle's trailer. But it wasn't Hawkins that he came back for, it was uncle Wayne.

It was home. And it helped him breathe whenever the city got too intense. Helped him get detached from everything that distracted him from the shit that actually mattered. Helped him get his head right when Chicago was threatening to make him lose it.

Time seemed to move differently in Hawkins than in the city. Slower. More naturally, too, somehow. Maybe it was because of the lack of nightlife and flashing neon signs when the world was supposed to be wrapped in darkness. The fact that he could still see the stars when he stepped out of the trailer at nighttime. Maybe it was the quiet, which allowed him to actually hear himself think. Or maybe it was the predictability of it all: Wayne waking him up with a cup of coffee in the morning, the two of them sharing cigarettes on the porch, Eddie helping Wayne with some chores and then trying to write new songs until well into the night, when the world was his and his alone.

He kept reading Right almost religiously, but it was different, now. Now that he could hear Steve's voice say those words, now that he could envision the way in which the sun shone on his hair through the dirty train window and the shape of his hands clutching a walkman that had Eddie's music in it. It was all different.

After a week, Eddie had a whole album worth of songs about the deception of things that seemed perfect. He hadn't been able to write even one song about things ending well, about things working out. That wasn't his life. Things never worked out. Why would they, for a boy born in a household where the trifecta of poverty, addiction and violence was all he had ever known? In the five albums he had produced so far, he'd never experienced a lack of demons to write about.

So no, he wouldn't be calling Steve, even though he had read the number that was written down on the sleeve of his own album so often that it'd probably be impossible to ever erase it from his mind again. He'd protect himself, this time. He'd cherish the hours he got to spend with Ronan Right, the memories that were already starting to feel like a fever dream, and not let his heart break any further. Not this time. Not again.

---

'Got mail for ya.'

An envelope landed in Eddie's lap.

'What's this?'

'I dunno, 's your mail,' Wayne answered.

Eddie didn't recognize the handwriting and the Indianapolis post stamp didn't give him much of a clue either. It didn't make sense that someone would send him a letter at his uncle's place.

He frowned, roughly tore open the envelope and pulled a single sheet of paper out of it. It was neither directed at nor signed by anyone, but that wasn't necessary for Eddie to know who sent it.

'What is it, boy?' Wayne asked, a worried edge to his voice upon hearing the choked sob that freed itself from Eddie's throat.

Eddie knew that the words were only meant for him. But he and Wayne were a unit, always had been, ever since Eddie moved into Forest Hills. So he wordlessly handed the paper to his uncle, roughly wiping the tears from his eyes.

Wayne assessed the text with a wrinkled forehead, holding the paper at an arm's-length in order to read it.

'That from the boy you met on the train?'

Eddie nodded.

When his uncle looked up from the letter, Eddie caught an almost unfamiliar look in his eyes. It was soft, hopeful. Optimistic.

'You know I ain't any good with words, like you, or this – this poet,' Wayne said. 'But this...' He pressed the letter back into Eddie's hand. 'This looks like he knows you, Ed. Like he sees you. For all that you are.'

He didn't tell Eddie what to do; that wasn't his style, never had been. But what he did say kept bouncing through Eddie's head unceasingly, making him unable to sleep, unable to write, unable to think about anything else.

---

Eddie desperately wanted to say something meaningful when Steve picked up the phone. He wanted to thank him for reaching out, to apologize for being too much of a coward to call earlier – but what came out of his mouth instead was, 'How did you know where to find me?'

'Eddie, is that you?' It sounded like Steve didn't quite believe it.

'Yeah – yeah, it's me,' was the only thing he managed to get out of his mouth.

'Look, I'm sorry if I overstepped,' Steve told him. 'I just – I couldn't get you out of my head and it all felt so right, you know, like fate or some shit, so I just had to... I needed to try. And I knew your name, and that you were staying with your uncle, so I got help from some friends and they managed to find your uncle's address.'

And as if Eddie hadn't been enough of an emotional wreck over the past week, his vision got blurry with tears yet again.

'Sorry, was it – did I go too far?' Steve sounded nervous.

Eddie could perfectly envision the way he would be frowning and anxiously running a hand through his hair; as if they had already shared a whole lifetime of getting to know all about each other's mannerisms instead of a few stolen hours on a train.

He hated the idea of Steve thinking he had done something wrong when all he ever did was so fucking right, so he determinedly shook his head, then realized Steve wouldn't be able to see that, and started scraping for words.

'No, Steve, you... You're perfect. And that scared the shit out of me, because so far, my life hasn't really done perfect. Most of our songs, they're – well – creative retellings of my own shit.' Now that he started talking, the words actually came a lot easier. 'They're all real, at the core, when you peel away the layers of, like, monster slaying and fantasy imagery. Like, everything underneath all that, it's all... me. Damage, betrayal, fear, violence – all that shit is true. Life hasn't been kind to me, Steve. And I was convinced that you'd only become an addition to that long list of crap, because you seemed way too perfect. I never thought I could have something good. And you're good, Steve, you're so fucking good. So I couldn't believe it.'

A long silence ensued at the other side of the line. Then, a sigh.

Then, 'Eddie,' in the softest voice possible, like his name was something breakable. Eddie didn't remember ever having heard his name said like that.

'I think that was exactly what I heard in your songs. Why I kept listening to them. Why they inspired me so much.'

Eddie tried to swallow away the lump in his throat, suffocated by the emotions bubbling up inside of him.

'I wish I could hold you, right now.'

Eddie's breath caught. He knew exactly what he needed to do: he needed to stop running. He needed to trust that Steve could be right, for him. That Steve could be something good.

'I mean, you could come over to Hawkins and do just that, you know,' he suggested.

'D'you want me to?'

He nodded, again forgetting that Steve couldn't see him.

'Yeah, I'd like that. Probably still got half that cookie somewhere in my pocket, y'know. Maybe we could share it.'

Credit where credit is due: the line “He sees you, for all that you are” isn't mine, it's one of my favorite quotes from Schitt's Creek and I really wanted Wayne to say that to Eddie about Steve, so here we have it <3

@ My beloved 🥐 anon: I hope you like this ending, and that I came close enough to your suggestion to have Steve make Eddie a character in his next poem <3

Taglist: @kathorakiryu @goodolefashionedloverboi @undreaming-rambles @fangirlycupcake @ghouligans-central @henderdads @dolphincliffs @anglhrts @ajamlessbaby @yearningagain @vampireinthesun @xxbottlecapx @kissaphobic-kas @mad-h-w @booksandsience @obsessivlyme @ppunkpuppyy @barnes-bestgirl @capital-p-platonic​ @eddiemunsonmeltdowns @callme-keys​​

[fandom-trash-goblin]

i'm sorry in advance

for @shesnotthatserious , your commentary on this post of mine possessed me.

[foaming-sea]

I really want to tell you, darling.

Tell you I'm not doing well. Tell you I can't make sense of my dreams. Or comprehend my nightmares. Tell you I can't shake off this missing feeling. Let go of this void. Leave all of it behind. You know, I tried. I thought it all went away. But some nights, I still feel broken inside. Something hurts, I can make sense of half of it, The rest is a blur.

I really want to say to you, love. I think I might be falling apart, again.

But I don't think I can burden you with that. Or maybe, I don't think I can find the right words to say.

-11/03/2023

[thegirlhoodtheory]

ode to 52 blue, 3/17/24

"The 52-hertz whale, colloquially referred to as 52 Blue, is an individual whale of unidentified species that calls at the unusual frequency of 52 hertz. This pitch is at a higher frequency than that of the other whale species with migration patterns most closely resembling the 52-hertz whale's... ts call has been detected regularly in many locations since the late 1980s and appears to be the only individual emitting a whale call at this frequency."

[fictionadventurer]

NaPoWriMo #15: A poem of at least ten lines where all lines start with the same word

Because

Because man doubted God, he ate the apple. Because man sinned, the garden gates were barred. Because Abram showed faith, God promised glory Because his sons would outnumber the stars.

Because they cried, God led them out of Egypt. Because He swept the sea, they passed dry-shod. Because they sinned, He gave them the commandments Because the Law helps man relate to God.

Because they feared the giant, God sent David. Because the shepherd trusted, he was king. Because the kingdom fell, God vowed salvation Because a savior from this stump would spring.

Because the virgin loved, she gave her fiat. Because she did, the Word became a man. Because she asked, her son made wine from water Because it was a sign of God's great plan.

Because the crowds were lost, He came and taught them. Because they starved, He gave them holy bread. Because the sick believed in Him, He healed them. Because they died, He raised them from the dead.

Because He was betrayed, He was arrested. Because He claimed God's name, they struck Him down. Because He claimed to be a king, they scourged Him. Because they mocked, He wore a thorn-filled crown.

Because the crowds demanded it, they hung Him. Because He loved, He offered no complaint. Because it was the will of God, He suffered Because it would atone for Adam's taint.

Because He died, the world did shake and darken. Because He died, they laid Him in a grave. Because all hope seemed lost, his friends all sorrowed Because it seemed He'd lost his chance to save.

Because He was God's Son, He rose victorious Because He had defeated death's domain. Because the women came, they found Him risen. Because He rose, He will forever reign.

Because of all Your faithfulness I praise You Because You showed Your Love through years of strife. Because You rose, I sing with great rejoicing Because You give your people lasting life.