#poetry like words

[fluffyydumplings]

Lone… Ly

My heart is a lock engraved with a poet’s last words,

It beats, but the silver that runs deep in place of my veins,

It diminishes into a pile of ashes,

It beats, but the gold that runs deep in place of my arteries,

It scalds into a pellet of red

Angina tapping at the corner of my coronary artery that has gone far beyond shrivelled up,

Perhaps, that is the significance of the stigma of the nonsensical eyes that plaque my walls

I clench my fists, and reach for the door to neverland,

But my peacemaker, it brings me no peace

I can feel it, my body giving up on me,

Even though I would kneel on a bed of thorns for it to not,

I cross my legs and pretend I can saunter even as the chains marring my limbs never resign

The lock of my heart, it slowly crumbles

But it prevails,

It’s left a lonely shadow of what it was,

Perhaps my heart is an exact reflection of who I am

My heart is a not a lock,

It’s a store with a door with a lock,

It has grown chambers, atriums and ventricles over time,

While I am lost in the loop of time

It’s crazy,

For it craves to thrive and belong,

Yet it refuses to be see-through, or easy to walk to,

When you want to get through its lock,

You’d have to knock

But, it’s just a loop that goes two ways,

You’d never stay where you want to,

You’d never stay where you believe you belong

My heart,

It doesn't want to lay lifeless and lonely,

Yet everything it does leads to this forsaken fate

If you take ly out of lonely,

Lonely really is lonely

My heart,

It is lonely,

My heart,

It is as lonely as I am..

[whendidmythoughtsgocrazy]

One day I will stop falling in love with you. Until I do, I'll be thinking of you.

k.b. // laufey, philharmonia orchestra - let you break my heart again

[fairydrowning]

"Days will pass, and you'll abandon things you were addicted to, and leave someone, and cancel a dream, and finally, accept a reality."

– Nizar Qabbani

[quesadillayuri]

has it really been three whole years? has it only been three years?

or: how to miss something that never really leaves and how to know when something is dead or dying or sleeping. happy three year anniversary dream smp, i hope it was worth it.

david foster wallace, infinite jest (via tiktok) / tumblr replies, @goosekid / "cheater, cheater" twitter, @/mangobaii / tumblr, @hiveswap / tiktok comments, @/ashmanathletics / aeschylus: the oresteia, aeschylus / road to hell (reprise), hadestown

[glasswaters]

AGAIN BECAUSE I FUCKED UP THE POLL DURATION

[orpheuslament]

isnt it amazing we live in a world where theres poetry. why is nobody else going insane about it

[star-girlfriend]

your survival is beautiful

cabindemos tumblr // miraclesandcrosses tiktok // unknown // sanegreen tumblr // wuntrum tumblr // bulldyke-rider tumblr // unknown // iamstillgentle tiktok

[weltonboys]

gastronomy - jessica poli / garden song - phoebe bridgers / growing sideways - noah kahan / nobody likes a secret - lizzy mcalpine

[moonlitfairytale]

Lidia Yuknavitch, from Letter to My Rage: An Evolution

[fairuzfan]

[fluffyydumplings]

Time

Time,

It’s hastily sweeping away everything I’ve ever known,

I feel it,

The tide of the moon that makes memories rise and fall,

The way of the waves that plunge me deep and fixed in remembrance,

Time,

It’s quickly washing away all the things I’m slowly becoming familiar with

Time,

It doesn’t strike me,

It doesn't bombard me with questions,

It doesn’t inform me,

Whether of its arrival,

Whether of its departure..

And as the moments of my life diverges from the deepest pits of my mind,

I cry,

While time.. it sighs at me,

Time,

It’s like a plane that sometimes silently takes off on time,

It’s like a plane that sometimes is late with no notice or remarks,

It’s like a plane that hasn’t landed but is already here

Time,

It’s like a plant that grows against the source of light,

It’s like a semicolon that keeps on flying forward even though I’ve already cut off one of its wings

Time,

I used to fold paper aeroplanes and pray they would fly further than I ever could,

Then one day.. I grew,

I laid down and the distance my paper plane flew was a quarter of the size of my dainty limbs,

My desk once filled with half-done assessments replaced with the half-empty visions of dreams I am yet to fulfil,

But this glass is full,

And as it tips over,

Time is cold,

Although sand is gold,

Stories unfold,

Memories untold,

I tuck my chin in and fold myself up into a ball,

For I am a crumpled piece of paper in the grasp of a puppeteer called time

Time,

It surrounds me,

Reaching the tip of my pelvis which would have been where my shoulders peaked at years ago,

I’m an electrode surrounded by molten liquid,

I’m a human in a field of tall grass ready to swallow me alive,

Time,

The last drop never comes,

The glass tips over again,

And the first drop begins again

Time,

So much of it has passed

Time

I’m now only semi-scared of you,

For what can I do,

Can’t stop a running man from running,

Can’t stop a colon that can no longer fly, from walking

Time,

Even if I strip you off of your wings,

Leave you with no limbs,

You’d still crawl your way to me somehow

Time,

You’re cruel,

But I’m no fool,

It’s already pass noon again,

It’ll be nighttime soon,

I guess,

I’ll just have to walk while you crawl

Time,

I shouldn’t be scared of you,

Nor will I be scared of you

[fairydrowning]

Ohh, to braid the hair of the person you love.

[luthienne]

Jack Gilbert, Collected Poems; "Tear it Down"

[ivynightshade]

fatima aamer bilal, from moony moonless sky’s ‘shame sighs in my chest like a spare set of lungs, i. the humiliation of being intolerable devours me.’

[text id: i never got to be a child. / i had a childhood, but i was never a kid; a worrying spine bending in a little body. / i was such a plotter with my schemes, trying to get everyone to like me. / to appear interesting, i always had a deck of cards on me. a hidden plea; play with me please? / i was so busy making up for my inadequate looks by trying to adapt new skills. / JACK OF ALL TRADES, MASTER OF NONE. JACK OF ALL TRADES, MASTER OF NONE. JACK OF ALL TRADES, MASTER OF NONE. JACK OF ALL TRADES, MASTER OF NONE. JACK OF ALL TRADES, MASTER OF NONE. JACK OF ALL TRADES, MASTER OF NONE. JACK OF ALL TRADES, MASTER OF NONE. / so caught up in, shaving skin and swallowing flaws. / i avoid looking into a mirror to an extent where my reflection takes me by surprise sometimes. / i thought it would be easier if i just forget. / i have borrowed this skin from my mother, and not once has she asked for it back. / around her, there's always an apology lodged up my throat: mother, i haven't made you very proud, have i? / being out in the open feels like canines tearing through my back. / i can't look into anyone's eyes, i fear i'll find the resentment that's surely there. / the biting ache of recognizing, 'unwanted' as my second name, birthed a hungry mouth, waiting for a hand. / so i wear different skins to be out in public and shed it like a snake between the walls of my room. / shame sighs in my chest like a spare set of lungs. the humiliation of being intolerable devours me. / a better punching bag than a person, and i try to make sure that i get the best punch out of everyone else. / it hurts less that way. / "every vacant seat is taken until you pass by. so was the space on the merry-go-round in the playground. must you be always this unbearable?" / and i wonder if my shadow wasn't tied to my feet, would it leave me? / burning for so long. / my fate is not a star, neither are ashes. just a fire that keeps flaring and blazes everything in its wake. / had barbed wires for nerves; never was easy to touch. / standing jagged under the withering sun, it's laughable how the only body that has grazed my own has the capacity to burn a million worlds. / but i must confess; i might just be the smoke. suffocating everything. / and i might just be a delightful creature. dressing up as an open wound in see-through gauze and expecting vultures to not pounce. / terrifyingly, i would be disappointed if they didn't and host a dinner for them. / hosting dinner for the vultures: an offering is an offering. be it made on an altar, a slaughterhouse, or to a kid in the playground. / what is the need of being wanted if not begging to be ripped open, in hopes of being found desirable? / the utensil to my misery: my hands. /and even if i were to cut them off, i would still be left with all the blood that is coursing through my veins.]

[dontforgetaboutgeorgie]

a small excerpt from my most recent love story. a tender take on butch4femme love

[orpheuslament]

Little International Waltz, after Federico García Lorca, Dante Émile