#poetry on tumblr

[seraphinesaintclair]

“Sanctuary of Nautilus” by Seraphine Saintclair

[milfisapawg]

Why We Speak

To triumph, all the wicked need is our silence as they pursue their tyranny.

For in that silence, we will sadly find that our path lies beside complicity.

True courage stands and speaks its mind; it is undaunted, damn the cost–

It knows the power held in every voice and just how much could still be lost.

This is why, in these times, we must all speak–loud and proud and clear;

Why we must have faith in one another and why we cannot give in to fear.

Why we must stand firm in the face of hate, even when it feels we must move the heavens;

Remembering, always, the simple, eternal truth that from our lips leap weapons!

--@thoughtsfromb4

[moonkissedletters]

-Pablo Neruda, 100 Love Sonnets

[janeepoetry]

[cowboy-heart]

'we shower together for the first time'

Ko-Fi (Commissions Open!) Instagram

(ID in read more) please do not repost without credit!

[Image ID: an original poem titled 'we shower together for the first time. poem is in a paragraph format. poem begins:

Don’t use soap on your face! / Okay, hold onto me tight while I squeeze around you / Shit, I almost slipped / Turn around, I’ll get your back / I didn’t know you had a birthmark there / I didn’t know you had keloids here / Pass the shampoo? / Move over! / Your eyelashes look so pretty when they’re all wet / You can only see my scar in the shower, for some reason / Close your eyes while I exfoliate your face / Better than soap, right? / I have water in my eyes! / I’ll grab the towel / Smell my bodywash, isn’t it so sweet? / I love it on you – very pretty and feminine / Smell my shower gel, isn’t it so good? / It’s sexy on you – very masculine / Here, I’ll wash your legs / We’re gonna be late! / Okay, I’ll get out first / I put your clothes on the radiator so they’d be toasty for you / Ready? / Step out into my arms / Into the warm towel / Let’s bring the water with us.

end poem. writer is credited as 'Ren H.' End ID].

[sleepwxlk]

“The Good Still Finds Me”

I used to think healing meant feeling nothing—

no ache, no fear,

just clean slates and steady hands.

But healing, I’ve learned,

isn’t quiet.

It’s crying in the shower

and still showing up.

It’s being afraid

and doing it anyway.

It’s doubting yourself

and choosing to try again.

Sometimes,

it’s laughing so hard you forget

why you were hurting.

Other times,

it’s getting through the day

and calling that enough.

I still stumble.

I still carry the weight.

But life keeps showing up

in little ways—

a stranger’s kindness,

a song I forgot I loved,

sunlight that lands on me

like it meant to.

I used to search for signs

that things would fall apart.

Now I look for proof

that I’m still becoming.

And I find it—

in my softness,

in my strength,

in how I keep going

even when it’s hard.

No, I’m not fully healed.

But I’ve stopped calling myself broken.

The good still finds me.

And this time—

I let it stay.

- DK

[litbowl]

From Jasmine Mans's book, Black Girl, Call Home. (Berkley Publishing Group)

[boycritter]

i didn't apply anywhere in-state — thoughts about leaving

[alanaeen]

maybe if my dreams were long enough we could've been forever

[petrichor-poet]

I wasn't made for flings or situationships. I was made for falling head over heels in love with someone who loves me.

[seraphinesaintclair]

“Fairy Tale Song” by Seraphine Saintclair

[thoughtsfromb4]

The Angel On My Shoulder Goes By The Name Of Death

Preface: For the last day of mental health month, I wanted to share something I wrote that deals with some rather dark struggles. Struggles that I know others face as well. Struggles that I hope might be eased for just one person who reads this, even if only in the smallest way.

There is an angel who sits upon my shoulder who goes by the name of Death,

And though I cannot always see him, upon my neck I always feel his breath

As he whispers to me relentlessly, deftly using my soul’s own Shibboleth.

He is my phantasmagorical companion from which there has thus far been no escape,

One who has no single voice nor form yet is somehow always horrific in his shape

When my mind’s eye sees him lying in the darkest shadows of my brain's path-illogical landscape.

For while it may be hidden, we are locked in eternal battle, one to which we both are bound,

And though the clashes rage on deep within, the fighting furious and yet without a sound,

The hardest part is not the fighting, it is not knowing if there will be any respite to be found.

This war is one without casualties but still with victims–its battles waged within the mind–

But even having entreated aid from all my demons with any values I could trade in kind,

I have yet to even dream of any type of peace accords to which we would both agree to bind.

But what I have paid in pain to learn in this seemingly Sisyphean struggle is that one cannot sit idly by,

That every new assault of his is an opportunity for me to learn new tactics which I can in future then apply.

Thus I have vowed: Whatever new mental munitions he has in store for me, nor what deadly schemes I must yet defy–

Though I know, like you, I too will one day meet my end, it shall be he who will be the first of us to die.

-- @thoughtsfromb4

[moonkissedletters]

-Franz Kafka, from Letters to Felice

[song-of-paradijah]

Jesus is queer: Poor, homeless, and dark, With a smile and a bleeding heart. Mary is his Mother: Poverty Queen of Refugees 'Cross both river and sea Joseph is his father - And also the One enthroned above: They both shower him with their love. Our Most Holy Boy - Our Suffering Slave - Our Black Lamb of God - On the Cross of the States.

Christ in America (For Langston Hughes)

[martyrborne]

Longing: A persistent and wistful craving for someone or something that is distant, unattainable, or lost.

To miss something so much it’s painful. To want.