#poetry/prose tag

[xavixax]

I am my mother's daughter. I might love you to the point of insanity, to the point of anger, to the point of destruction. But I am also my father's child, and I'll stay silent—silent in my suffocated anger and silent in my love for you.

[peaceishim]

I found this on twitter.

(Not mine)

[moonstoast]

[considerablecolors]

Despite the explicit instruction not to, Orpheus looks back. He needs to know if Eurydice will follow him anywhere, and so, he turns- And he finds her standing in place, unmoving.

We, the audience, find this sad for a few reasons:

1. We know there was a time when Eurydice would have followed him to the ends of the earth and straight into hell- but now, she watches Orpheus ascend to heaven alone. We know there was a time when she would have followed. We know what has changed between the then and the now.

2. Orpheus does not know what has changed. Orpheus does not know Eurydice stays because of how badly she loves. Orpheus thinks Eurydice has stayed behind because she does not love him enough.

3. Eurydice thinks the same thing. We know this, but we cannot tell them. They have both gone to places we cannot go.

4. By looking back, Orpheus has doomed them both, thinking he was saving them. If given the chance, he would do it again.

5. At some point, Orpheus believed the world was good, and Eurydice believed the world was evil. At some point, their love was powerful enough to change each other's minds.

6. Now, both see what the world could be. Orpheus reveres it. Eurydice fears it. Both are wrong. We don't know if their love can become powerful enough to change their minds again.

7. Eurydice does not follow, but she waits to see if Orpheus will turn around again. She cannot resist one last look.

8. We, the audience, know what has happened, and we know why- Orpheus and Eurydice are not gods. Their mistakes are human. We watch the scene again and again, denying what has transpired, longing for a deeper reason- coffees, lies, a higher power- but the story of Orpheus and Eurydice plays out the way it always does, for the reason it always has- love.

9. These two know the story of Orpheus and Eurydice well. Perhaps they watched it play out. Perhaps they greeted Eurydice at death's door. Perhaps they sat in a tavern and heard Orpheus play. Aziraphale thinks the story is about the inevitably of fate, the inability to resist the higher-ups- a god's will is ineffable. Crowley thinks the story is about the inevitably of leaving, the inability to have a happy ending- a god is always cruel. Neither have gotten this story quite right.

10. Once again, Aziraphale and Crowley have forgotten to focus on the love.

[junehart]

holding my own hand by judas h. ( @judas-redeemed ) image id in alt

[sunflorall]

Oh to be loved in a way you understand

[crystaletters]

"Don't bend; don't water it down; don't try to make it logical; don't edit your own soul according to the fashion. Rather, follow your most intense obsessions mercilessly".

— Franz Kafka

[chand-ki-priyatama]

Have you ever hated yourself to an extent where you end up blaming yourself for the miseries and destiny of other's.... To a point where you can't stand yourself , where you want to skin your own self alive , where you despise yourself so much that you can't stand your own presence....

Have you ever tried keeping people in your life - the ones you love and cherish , but you watch them slowly slipping from your own hand like sand.... It's like I am always the sea - vast with infinite depths and musings and people are always like shoreline always I am lingering but never in my stars to finally kiss my shoreline....

I always thought finding love for me was like catching a butterfly , the more I try to go near it , the more it flies away from me.... Love was like chasing stars , I could see them yes but whenever I extended my hand to catch them I ended up with nothing....

[hopeworth]

dick & jason; bones of my bones, flesh of my flesh

[richard siken, 'you are jeff', Crush // nightwing (1996) #106 // emily jungmin yoon, a cruelty to our species // marie howe, 'the grave', what the living do // new teen titans (1984) #55 // andrew kozma, 'song of the insensible' // josé saramango, cain]

[anirregularperson]

It's all about that one person who still waits for you,

It's all about that one face who always smile while talking to you,

It's all about those eyes who always look for you,

It's all about those hands who are always in search of your hands

And,

It's always about that one heart who care for you..

[poemsonmars]

she thinks it's silly

when i call her

the light of my life

but i swear to god,

it's like she puts

the whole sun in my chest.

i feel like i'm

swallowing daylight

whenever she kisses me.

do you see these freckles

on my shoulders, darling?

can you feel how warm

my skin is under your touch?

it is all you, my love. all you.

-mars

[silence-between-seconds]

I'm Sirius and this is my attempt at an intro post. you can call me siri ;)

pick any pronouns from: he/she/they || I'm genderfluid || INFJ

Things I love:

your mum, singing, marauders era, any and all kinds of art, poetry, books, fanfiction, the harry potter fandom (jkr can piss off tho), hozier, chappell roan, arctic monkeys, k-pop (bts, txt, svt, skz, treasure and a few more bands), renne rapp, conan gray, plushies, the moon, the stars, basically space, chai, biking, CHOCOLATE, nature, writing, badminton, musical instruments and a million little nothings

currently listening to:

Naked In Manhattan by Chappell Roan

fav authors/books:

good omens, simon vs the homo sapiens agenda, books by ruskin bond, the alchemist, the zahir, ronald dahl, to kill a mockingbird, memoirs of sherlock holmes- (ok look i love reading but the last thing i read was definitely on ao3)

movies/shows:

The Owl House, Studio Ghibli, Heartstopper, Red white and royal blue, Loki, hazbin hotel, helluva boss, Night at the Museum, Marvel (not sucha fan of mcu), highschool musical (2 is my fav), Luca (2021) and most other pixar and disney movies, (i love animated movies so much)

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this is my ao3 acc

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@her-midas-touch is a poet and wrote this for me hehe:

Run out of metaphors great enough, my fingers paint a wraith

To faint to capture essence, mere shimmery traces of feelings

Every cheshire cat smile, every whirlwind idea, every leap of faith for every apathetic eye, missing the moment, is a soul

that sings

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have some me core images:

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lovely mutuals:

@good-oldfashioned-lover @her-midas-touch@daydream-of-a-wallflower@hermioneswifeee

@literallytoogaytofunction@lilbeanz@reisbackinblack@dementorfromazkaban@deprivedofbraincellsandsleep

@starryrain@lizluvscupcakes@urbanflorals @accio-sriracha@siriusly-remu

@werewolfenthusiast@none-of-it-was-accidental@feelin-sad-and-gay@jaylienpotter@illustratinglaura

@nothingtoseeherebyeexx @silverscreenlipstick @moonysversion @mochami-mochi @sleepinginmygrave

@icarus-last-fall @a-beautiful-fool @shuhuaspookie @xi-phos @here-for-a-good-time-hopefully

@stars-over-ice-cream @kaaaaaaarf @re-is-back-in-black @rookofthekingom @not-rab

@toxik-angel @marylily-my-beloved @good-oldfashioned-lover-girl @strawberryapologist @m0st-ard3ntly

@cressthebest @starcrossedmoony

(i hope i got everyone?)

feel free to interact<3

mess with my friends and I will hurt you :)

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DNIs don't work so I guess I'll just say: fuck around and find out ig

[peaceishim]

Aur phir jab pasand ki cheez hi na mile?

To, phir kuch bhi mil jaye , kya farak padta hai

[angleofmusings]

HELLO JEWISH PEOPLE. what shoes do you wear on yom kippur. pick the option that’s closest and feel free to elaborate in the tags!

also feel free to share if you go to shul on yom kippur and what your observance looks like!

[khwxbeeda]

At the age of eight, I first learnt jealousy. I learnt it by feeling it, by grabbing it with both hands and tugging it close to my heart; my mother kissed my baby sister's forehead, but not mine. Never mine.

At ten, I learnt betrayal. Someone I though would be a true friend turned her back on me in the blink of an eye, and I spent the days alone, no one to hold hands and laugh with. She walked with the popular crowd, and I walked between the shelves of the library; maybe the books would be better friends.

By the time I turned twelve, I had learnt loneliness. I sat alone at lunch tables in school, I sat alone at the dinner table in my home. My sister was six and a monster for taking away all my parents' love, and my classmates were thirteen or fourteen and monsters for trying to take away my books. It was better to be away than suffer, I decided, and I didn't mind the loneliness much.

Thirteen was the age that taught me sadness. I went to school, studied, came back home, studied, ate, and went to bed. I buried tears and suffocated my crying with my pillows, and woke up with red-rimmed eyes that I ran to hide from my mother, as if she would care enough to ask if she did see them. I cried in the bathroom, my head bent over the sink so I didn't have to look in the mirror and my teeth digging into my bottom lip to stop the sounds from coming out. I learnt to cry silently that year.

Fourteen... was an empty year. There were no more tears left. No more crying. No more sadness or jealousy or anything. I did what I was told to do with a book in one hand and my schoolbag in the other, lips sealed shut and face cast in marble. No one wanted to know what I had to say, I did not want to say anything to anyone. (A few years later, I came across an article describing dissociation.)

Fifteen was anger. So much anger. I was angry at everything and everyone; at the world, at my classmates, at my teachers, my parents, my sister. At myself. An eternal fire burned in the back of my throat and in the pits of my heart and it refused to be extinguished: I wanted to scream, wanted to rage, wanted to throw things and destroy everything in my path. I was so so angry, all the time. I read, somewhere, that fifteen was the worst age to be. I pushed the fireball of anger deeper down, and agreed.

At sixteen, I was good at ignoring my thoughts. I looked at the ledge of the roof and turned away; I refused to step within twenty feet of it. I looked at the shine of the knife blade and put it down; I refused to cut fruit and vegetable. I looked at the rope in the corner of the balcony and stepped back into the house; I would not set the laundry out to dry. I buried myself in my textbooks— Physics, Chemistry, Biology, Mathematics, English, Hindi. I got higher marks than I'd ever gotten. My mother ran a hand over my head and smiled at me in a way she hadn't in the last ten years. I flinched away from her touch.

Seventeen... I was in bed. Surgery was nasty business, and throughout the seventeeth year of my life I went through seven of them. I laid in bed, a bandage over my left eye and tears rolling down my right cheek. I'd studied. I'd studied till I collapsed when I was sixteen, but I didn't get to sit for my 12th boards. All my efforts were in vain. At seventeen, I was in bed, and I languished.

Eighteen. Eighteen was the whirlwind year. I sat for my 12th boards but didn't get the marks I hoped for. I forgot that I'd registered for PCM and PCB CET until I got the emails, and then gave up on studying. The results were 95% for both exams. I changed my trajectory, and was granted admission in Fergusson. I yelled at my parents with tears in my eyes and kissed my sister on her forehead with a smile on my face. I made friends. I smiled, I laughed, I talked more and more with each passing month. Eighteen was a whirlwind. Eighteen was good to me.

Now, I am nineteen. Let's see how this year goes, shall we?

Tag list: @orgasming-caterpillar @musaafir-hun-yaaron @hum-suffer @h0bg0blin-meat @yehsahihai @blushlilyyy @budugu

[junehart]

i want to learn to look at myself the way i've come to look at the world. i get my breath taken away at the ever-constant, ever-changing sky. feel tears well in my eyes at the distant sound of children's laughter. but i can barely muster a smile at my own reflection. i have learned to love this world. to take the awful and the awe-inspiring and hold it close to my heart. one day, i will find space there for me too. i will wipe my own tears. tuck myself into bed. believe the good things about myself. smile at my reflection and mean it. i will hold myself in my arms, like the crying child i tried so hard not to be, and wonder: how could i have ever wanted to leave you?