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[they-write-sometimes]

If I were able to write my own destiny,

I would simply write your name

and break the pen.

Super quick doodle of me and my love 💞

I’m the luckiest girl in the fucking world

[they-write-sometimes]

In another life, maybe I’d try to be the bigger person

But in this one

I’m already

5 inches taller

At least 6 times smarter

And going make it 7 times farther

Than you ever will

So understand,

The ‘high road’ is any path I choose to take

Because I could walk the road to the depths of hell

And you’d still have to crane your neck upwards just to catch a glimpse of my face!

Maybe I am petty

Maybe I am looking to make you hurt and draw some blood

But you know what?

At least I can love!

And despite my better judgment

And the advice from all my friends

About how I’m out of your league

About how we were bound to end

I did love you

Which is more than you could ever say

— My thoughts when told by my psycho ex’s psycho friends that I should “be the bigger person” and stop talking about what happened.

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—Franz Kafka

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— Arthur Miller, The Crucible

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TW⚠️: contains themes of SA

God should have made me lethal

When he made a monster of you

He could have made me fire

And you would have burned to ash when you touched me

Or maybe sharpened me into a blade

So that I might’ve slit your throat as you tried to grab mine

If he had made me ice

Your tongue would still be stuck as you licked my skin

But I was not gifted savage beauty

I have no poison coursing through me

Should you decide to take a bite…again

Ever unbalanced, it seems

Unnaturally selected

Or perhaps, evolution has failed me

Maybe this is my extinction event

Because I am not lethal

And still, a monster was made of you

— Inspired by my experiences and something I saw on Pinterest

[they-write-sometimes]

In the silent pleas to some god I don’t believe in

And to myself, in whom I also do not believe,

It dawns on me that I don’t hate the world as much

Not with you in it

Not with our hands intertwined

That maybe I am human, or something close at least

When I’m with you.

— An excerpt of a poem I wrote

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— C.T. Salazar; Headless John The Baptist Hitchhiking

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These two have ALSO done wonders for my writing 🤭

(If I don’t have what David Tenant and Michael Sheen have, I don’t want it)

Some of my Good Omens sketches!! 🐍🪽

(Inspired by Pins I saw on Pinterest)

I love these gay freaks with every fiber of my being.

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GODDAMMIT

-Roland Barthes

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I feel like this would just be an awesome foundation for a fictional society.

it reminds me of asimov's rules of robotics:

A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm.

A robot must obey orders given it by human beings except where such orders would conflict with the First Law.

A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Law.

Common Frank Bidart banger (from "In the Ruins," in Half-Light: Collected Poems 1965-2016)

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This is sick, I am unwell.

AUGHH.

[they-write-sometimes]

Altruistic Suicide.  

(another og poem I wrote after having an existential moment over my clumsiness):

I am a pair of shaky hands quivering relentlessly

Knocking over any glass vases in their reach

Hands that immediately scramble to the ground to pick up the pieces

But end up cutting themselves and bleeding all over the expensive hairy rug lining the floors 

I am the eyes that rain with the guilt of the growing red stain permeating the white fur

Salty rain turns to downpour

Do not think I cry because I am in pain,

Because I tore open my hands

I am grieving the damage I have caused: the carpet, the glass

What a sadistic thing it is, to be laced with soft destruction!

To decimate everything in my wake, whilst wearing pretty pink tutus and glittery temporary tattoos 

Every step I take, in hindsight, trampled over something alive

It seems that from silent, silly violence I am derived!

Is it selfish then 

to keep on living if I know that were I gone, the world would be better for it?

Would my suicide be altruistic in that it is sacrifice?

If, embedded in my being, are a million little deaths

Should it not be me then, who now draws a final breath? 

[they-write-sometimes]

The Red Rising Trilogy has fueled so much of the random crap I write it's not even funny

How am I supposed to be normal when she lies down to be lashed and the only thought in his mind is her goosebumps and regret that his blood did not do enough to warm the metal for her

[they-write-sometimes]

An original poem I wrote inspired by random shit I saw on Pinterest (in no way related to my current relationship with my partner who I love more than life itself and am very happy with lol):

It seems you’ve planted flowers in my lungs

And though they are beautiful

I cannot breathe anymore

It seems you love me

And though that is more than I could ever ask of you

Perhaps it is not enough

Maybe, your flowers would be better spent on someone with a garden

And my rain on someone in a drought–

For this to work

I need you to love me in a language I can speak.

Your love is divine

Its roots entrenched in my soul

Vines climbing up my spine

Petals blooming where my voice was supposed to be

I have never been more beautiful

But I cannot breathe anymore

I cannot breathe anymore

I must let time wither them away

These flowers, I mean

So that I may breathe again

If only, I could stop watering them with my tears.

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Andrea Gibson, The Madness Vase