#poets on instagram

[theartoffresco]

[abrighterspark]

your back is broad and bears burdens bigger than i know

but i swear to you, i'll take them first before the strain begins to show

[victormalonso]

just reflections | victor m. alonso

[forever-deep-in-thought]

Life hasn't always gone my way, but it's always given me a reason to stay.

[whoreshippingbooks]

He said, everytime i shape my cotton candy in a flower it keeps shape-shifting into one of your intestine and i chew on it, everytime. I have a cannibalistic motive and i am not going to make you a simple victim because assassination was our foreplay.

What happens when in a family of a sheep the wolf is born?. This is when hunger grows hands, i bear you in my belly— such women feed on the suns and has a crooked digestive system. But honey, in this tradition of being on the edge of madness, having one toe against the knife like it is ribbon of fiendish waiting to be cut, to only be welcomed by lavish exposure of perishment.

This boy i knew in sixth grade, his father was a butcher when he slaughtered lamb he begin with taking off her eyeballs. Was it mercy to not let her see how her organs are being prepared for the trade. Or was it shame he saved himself from, did her eyes made him count his own sins and weight of the lives he is going carry. Or perhaps it was guilt?.

Later when i was twenty-one and boy i knew in sixth grade is now a butcher, this boy too, butchered lamb’s eyeballs first like his father but he turned them around, perhaps not all son’s become their fathers some become their father’s revelation.

Oh honey said the boy, because assassination was our foreplay. When your rookie sword will turn up against my butcher knife mine will already have your blood. I think when sons inherit their father’s violence they don’t inherit their vulnerabilities.

If assassination was our foreplay, who is eating who?. In this story if i am writing the epilogue why are you the wolf and i look like a sheep?. Why am i haunted and you the haunting?.

— Because assassination was our foreplay, he said.

— muffinsincoffin on instagram

[bloodintoink-blog]

"What did he do to make you hate him so much?"

What did he do to make me love him at all?

—𝓓, from ‘Wish he understood’

[marigoldjesus]

SLUTPOP available to purchase below

[yusha-rizvi12]

" I have seen many falls, when will I see my first snowfall? "

Yusha Rizvi

[kyvl]

8-11-23

i scream and cry and claw as it slips through my fingertips, as your face fades like the worn canvas of my shoes and the love dries like the morning due at midday. when the feeling fizzles out like an opened beer left on the mantle and the silence spills over me like the light that bleeds through the half-closed curtains as the dawn creeps over the hillside and greets me with a warm welcome sigh. and i remember the earth still turns and the sun still shines and the clothes i put in the wash will smell like mildew if i don't move them to dry. so i get up and do laundry as my heart beats in another room, trying to call for you with every thump.

[heartofmuse]

Are you on Instagram?

I just love your poetry…

🥀🖤🥀

Hi! Thank you so much for reaching out and for all the love for my poetry. Yes, I have an Instagram account, and you can follow me there

https://instagram.com/heart_ofmuse?igshid=ZDdkNTZiNTM=

But I must confess I kind of suck at posting over there. I am trying to get more consistent at it, but I must say Tumblr is my first love. Thank you for your kind inquiry. Much love and peace to you.

e.v.e.

[theartoffresco]

[abrighterspark]

settle down, soldier sink with the dying soil into summer's heated debate:

to linger on its pondered purpose, or muddle through stages of seasonal exchanges?

make puzzles out of puddles formed from leaves drooping with weighted tears and learn to see the life in places where dead things grow... where birds and bees and possums know to hide, and thrive;

where flora dies, fauna can survive.

so settle down, soldier and take a note from nature:

regroup, regrow, reuse.

[victormalonso]

take me to heaven | victor m. alonso

[forever-deep-in-thought]

They wonder why I have a deep soul, but it was my monsters who dug the hole.

[rainbow-0bsidian]

‘Undivided’ by David Gate on Insta

[adlettres]

i want quiet erosion, i want poetry born out of fat rocks, an avalanche from your touch– destructive– yet, O sweet intellectual, lure me, lure me, lure me;

admer balingan, excerpt from name your fist after tenderness, “touch me not”