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[vexeswriting]

[vexeswriting]

a poem about what love feels like

[vexeswriting]

i admire the phineas and ferb bts stan twitter au creator’s dedication to the craft

[vexeswriting]

a poem about being left to drown

[vexeswriting]

august

/ɑːˈɡʌst/

noun

if you know where to go, you can still hear remnants of the summers whispers 

love comes easy in august. it comes freely, spilling forth like song

time slips through my fingers like salt water 

the fruit is over ripe and rotting sweetly on the ground. the water rushes with content. the birds whistle an old tune

endure, it whispers. endure endure endure

[vexeswriting]

a poem about meeting grief and mistaking her for god

[vexeswriting]

a poem about love and teeth

[vexeswriting]

I weirdly love that there are crotchety fandom elders around who say shit like “in my day, (insert fandom term) meant this specifically, but now you kids just use it to mean any old thing.”

It seriously gives fandom such a sense of heritage and family, like yes grandma, tell me more about how you had to write fic uphill both ways in the snow when you were my age.

[vexeswriting]

{Words by José Olivarez from Citizen Illegal /@fatimaamerbilal , from even flesh eaters don't want me.}

[vexeswriting]

I look at her and see everything that was and could have been:

I see that moment together, on the docks, and we are holding hands as we run, our feet hitting the wooden planks below us in thuds that carry through the musky air that is dredged up by the river’s light current. Her laughter echos amongst the trees, sending the birds flying in a fit of anxious chitters, and I think it startles her as she trips and it sends me plummeting into the water and rocks below,

I see us lying in bed together when she asks, “Will you?” With her hand against my cheek I tell her no, in this moment of softness in my bed with the rain knocking on my bedroom window. She turns away from me and I turn towards her to gently place my arm over her waist, craving her touch, and when she refuses to respond I ask her, “What’s wrong?” and she tells me, “If you loved me, you would,” and I move carefully and dutifully because I do love her and this if this is how she wants me to show her, I will shower her with gentleness in these soft violent acts,

I see when she is sitting in the driver’s seat of her car, looking at me with something in her eyes that I can’t, won’t, place, after I said I love her. The wind pushes through my hair and I remember how soft hers is when I rake my fingers through it. My shirt blows up, slightly, exposing the vulnerable skin of my stomach and the soft line of hair that runs down the center, and I long to feel the gentleness of her palm against it instead of the full weight of her body. She drives away from me without another word and as she leaves, the air left behind is tinted with the scent of her perfume, just as lovely as her but sticking in my throat all the same,

I imagine her jumping into the water beside me, sending a wave across my body and stretching a smile over my face. I imagine her apology for stumbling and all I say in response is, “It’s okay, we’re in this together,” and that’s all we need to say,

I imagine her being satisfied after a long kiss, where our lips had melded together for a moment until we separated and we were separate but together. I imagine her pushing my hair from my face with a smile and reassuring me and all I tell her is, “How about tomorrow?” and we lay down to sleep with her nose pressed into my neck,

I imagine her staying, her eyes relaxing and her perfume lingering because she has lingered as well. I imagine her saying it back with the same tone before closing the window of her car with a wave, and when she pulls away, it’s with a smile on her face and a second glance back.

I look at her and see my heart in her hand and my flesh between her teeth and I cry. 

[vexeswriting]

you could swallow me whole

and i would still apologize

for putting up too much

of a fight on the way down.

watch how i curl into myself,

trying to keep my sharp parts

away from the inside of your throat.

i'm sorry if i make you bleed.

i've never been very good

at just letting things happen.

i've never been a natural

when it comes to being soft.

-mars

[vexeswriting]

social skills training, solmaz sharif

[vexeswriting]

To The Substitute Art Teacher - Jordan Bolton

[vexeswriting]

[vexeswriting]

@stvksn on ig

[vexeswriting]

@fairycosmos / Comic by @shhhitsfine / Comic by @incendavery

[vexeswriting]

i love finding out how big this world is. my girlfriend has only visited boston a handful of times, but i grew up here. i told her we'd be going to do the tourist traps in salem, and she said - which salem?

to be fair to her, there are a lot of other states that have a town named "salem." and i think there's some evidence that the witch trials actually happened in what is now called Danvers. but the thing is - she thought "salem" was like, a made-up thing. there wasn't actually a salem, massachusetts - like there isn't a gotham city.

they don't talk about it that much where she grew up, is the thing! and this made me laugh. a week ago she was talking about her hometown and said something akin to "well the museum's kinda like the one in richmond," and i had to explain i still had no frame of reference for what the hell this museum was like.

i love finding out what knowledge i take for granted. i used to live with 5 other women. 3 of them were from south korea. they had to take, like, a solid fifteen minutes to explain their birthday system to my gay math-blind ass, laughing as they did.

that same month, our roommate from denmark taught me the danish word for wreath by accident - she'd been talking about decorations, used krans, and i'd been able to figure it out through context. i just picked it up and kept talking. our entire house used krans as the word. she came home and slammed the door one evening, mock-angry, shouting: you motherfuckers! it's a - a wreath!

and how often do you use certain words, anyway! i am cuban, so i was raised with certain spanish words sort of sprinkled in there; but never how you'd think. in middle school i asked someone to pass me the recogedor - in a completely american accent, like i was speaking english. i hadn't registered it as a spanish word. i mean, how often in school do you actually use the word "dustpan" - i'd only ever heard it in the context of cleaning my house.

there are places that you grew up that you, just, like, know. that you assume everyone knows. there are things and people and "common knowledge" that you have that, just, like. doesn't exist for me. i don't know what you call your public transportation system, but in boston we call it "the T". our train cards are called charlie cards because of a song where a father accidentally abandons his family, which was written because our system of transportation. in boston, most people would snort and say everyone knows that, kid.

i think you and i should go on a long walk - it's getting dark early these days and we need any sun we can manage. tell me about the first time you saw snow. tell me about the stuff everyone knows about your home. tell me about the cities "everyone's been to," about the food "everyone's already tried." who knows. maybe it will feel nice to you - watching someone learn about it for the very first time.