#poems i found in my drafts

[how-the-feathers-have-fallen]

you're so fucking welcome to cry in my bathroom. you hear me?

steal the spare key from under the doormat or the key under the shoe rack or the key in the flower vase or the kitchen drawer or my favorite candle-

or steal it right out of my pocket.

(what do you mean why do i have so many house keys? ask this house why it has so many ghosts and why they keep leaving me)

break in at 3 am and make yourself at home

cry in my doorway if you can't make it any further

I'll get out of bed and carry you up. we'll sit on the floor of my tiny dilapidated bath stall, going through the box of shitty make-up I never bought and try to laugh

or throw plastic potted plants out the window onto the rusty pile of baby bikes I never rode if you need to scream and watch something shatter. I'd trade a million styrofoam sunflowers for your laughter

or we'll just curl up in a tight ball and lay in the ancient tub, turn on the shower and weep and wail and sob and shout till we're floating in a salt water ocean

who cares if the tile floor's cold. I've got a dozen fluffy robes hooked on the door. We'll build a soft nest to crash on and a fort to protect us. we'll find the old paperbacks I hid in the the laundry basket and read till the sun rises and sets and explodes.

who cares about those stupid lumps of porcelain plastic. they're ugly and I never wanted them. I think I'd rather have you break them than the world break you.

who cares if the tub's a little rickety and the water's cold and the boiler's old and loud and slow and we'll get soaked to the bone.

I'll hold you till you stop crying. and then I'll hold you after. when you need to come back from where you left to. back to my senior citizen tub in my decrepit water closet in the house you're welcome to. back to me and all my goddamn keys for the same empty lock.

[gracebriarwoodwrites]

STOP ASKING ME TO BURY MYSELF I KNOW YOU BELIEVE BURYING MYSELF IS IN FACT UNBURYING MYSELF BUT YOU ARE WRONG YOU DON'T KNOW THE SHAPE OF MY GRAVE

[ecoamerica]

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[ragewrites]

last poems of 2023, both holiday gifts meant for the same friend.

[sleepinginmygrave]

nothing makes me sadder than thinking about spiders

[seravph]

spring is my least favorite season

[coquelicoq]

i NEED to write a poem like i will go certified cuckoo bananas if i do not create some poetry at this very instant.

[ecoamerica]

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[aielylois]

dust motes enraptured by sun in an empty room- movement in still life

Prompt: sun in an empty room - @nosebleedclub

[chaos-has-theories]

Alecto and Annabel Lee, Cristabel Oct and Christabel, Commander Wake and The Sleeper - but has anyone mentioned Tennyson's "The Princess" in the context of Coronabeth Tridentarius?

So alright, I've only read a synopsis, but the titular character is literally called Princess Ida. It's about said princess refusing to get married and instead founding a feminist women's college.

I don't have fully formed thoughts about this, but they're all tied to the cavalier gender essay. Something about... Corona always trying to portray a necromancer, the way her father wanted her to be - while also training herself to be a cavalier, and always serve her sister or another necro - but now she's with Blood of Eden, who hate necromancers and value her fighting abilities - but at the same time she's still very much in star-crossed love with Judith...

idk. There's just something there, and I don't think it's a coincidence. In any case, I'm kind of glad to see one parallel narrative for Jodybeth in which they don't have to kill each other and actually end up happy together :D

[crossbackpoke-check]

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

[gracebriarwoodwrites]

Promises wither like the weeds in winter. With the green lost, they glow gold in the sunlight, and I believe them as they wave in the wind. My heart will be buried beneath ice and snow again and again before I stop believing in you.

[romancefairy]

my thoughts are all consumed by the terrifying idea that you might stop disturbing my peace one day,

that you might leave me.

[drill1000000]

Some of Us would squeal others would fall to their knees in Tears but Me I’m just Being so Calm and nonchalant about it..

[ittybittybeastiebuddy]

Someday the aching will ease and the blood beneath my nails will dry, and I will finally be able to pretend I have not been wearing the corpse of my youth like a funeral shroud, nestled in the ashes of the pyre.

You know what they say about witches, how people will find a space to house the blame.

(I housed it in my body, in the shell of a child who died with their father. How guilt and shame make heavy, hollow hearts)

I am trying now to pour the bile out of me, to empty my pockets and mind of the words you said. I don't want to carry the weight any longer, let me shed this shroud, this second solemn skin. Let me leave behind this bed of embers, there are gentler ways to find warmth.

(There are arms that hold me as if I am something holy and a love that sees what I am. No church has brought me such peace as this; so tell me, is love not religion?)

I will flee this smokey memory for a kinder place to sleep. Teach my darkened lungs to breathe,

I rise no longer burning from these embers.

— The Witch Survives the Fire, Soul Still Burning

[anxi]

anger

[dropthedemiurge]

Clench your bleeding fist and try to swing – this wall is not the thickest, yet not thin. Spit the fire from your lungs and smile again, because the world does not deserve to break you, it just can't. Your soul have been through time and space, it grew like vine with thorns, and it's unstoppable in drying heat, unstoppable in freezing storms. You're fragile, holding on a thread of fate so red. You think the verge of death is fun to dance on. Still not dead, but skies are unforgivable, and yet if you cannot fly up, you'll crawl instead. You have a lot of burns, and scars, and messy mind – but every thing of it is what you are. And I would never have it any other way, you hear? Just show me what is in your eyes, reveal your fear, and then look forward once again. Just know that every single one of thoughts you have are dear to me. Just go, and live this life another day, and know that if you fall – you will be written in the history in any way. A diary of someone who's been here, who bravely smiled and fought. I look into the mirror, face you once again and nod.

Man in the mirror – 131 // 13.06.23

[brown-little-robin]

Homesick

Home is something you somehow haven’t to deserve

Edmund Pevensie clinging to Aslan’s mane

pale green flowers around his bare knees

Thad Thawne sobbing in Max’s arms

Jason Todd sleeping in the Manor again

Even death does not separate forever

Home is heaven, love forever even in separation, home is time, home is knowing other people with the deep intimacy of ten thousand breakfasts

you always have time you always come back

Laurelin and Kaylie are sitting under a jlanket (jean blanket) miles and miles away and improbably together and I am so happy for them

I will sit under a blanket with them someday

Love is learning that Elle eats light and grows wings and sleeps in the hollow of a tree and understanding only one of those metaphors bone-deep

Love is learning that Rebekah’s favorite color is that exact shade of red and thinking: if I ever meet her I will give her something that shade of red

Thinking: when I meet her

A bedroom, blanket messy, heavy sunlight melting in it

Love is learning that Laurelin is reading the book I recommended for her miles and miles away

She is reading it under the jlanket

Heaven knows that time can’t separate forever

Heaven knows we won’t be homesick forever

Heaven knows we won’t be homesick for each other any more