cornerinthestone

[cornerinthestone]

me as a writer

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"If you use em dash in your works, it makes them look AI generated. No real human uses em dash."

Imaging thinking actual human writers are Not Real because they use... professional writing in their works.

Imagine thinking millions of people who have been using em dash way before AI becomes a thing are all robots.

REBLOG IF YOU'RE A HUMAN AND YOU USE EM DASH

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H.M.B | City lights blink awake prompt by laurenmaerie, @thepathetickind

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Love at First Kiss

Small occasion, big words For the love of Love, Let me lay my eyes upon you again, Let me feel my lips against yours again, and again. Something so electric occurred, less tangible than your hands against my face, but far realer than the metaphorical butterflies bursting in my stomach every hour, when the memory of you resurfaces. I feel insane. One night, a few hours, a timeless encounter. I dare not describe this thing that might be ending before it's even truly begun. What is this feeling? One night, a few hours, an encounter so fleeting I'm starting to question if it was even real. Hooked on the memory, you distract me even from my most-numbing, foolproof distractions. I told you about my greatest passion, one you rekindled. I can't remember the last time my fingers slid so smoothly across the keyboard, trying to catch the thoughts, the ideas, the feelings; Trying to find the right words before they run away. Urgency. The fire in my loins and the rhythm my heart pumps to underwent the same treatment, despite being two things I've been focusing on quieting, out of benevolence, for me. Self-preservation. I would say we're as good as strangers, but that couldn't be less true, and I wouldn't want it to. Is it the booze or my intuition speaking? To me, they are closer in nature than we seem to think. Surrealist. Delusional? Call me names, call me crazy, call me hasty, but please, Just call me. Time hadn't grown wings with someone like it did with you for months, I couldn't believe myself when I was bummed to go home, when I know I love nothing more than my comfy, empty bed. Let's converse. On the phone, via carrier pigeons, with our mouths, Face to face or nose to nose. With our bodies, Silent, or lewdly loud. I would give this poem your name, but I haven't called it enough (yet). Time. I've been tame, I've been guiding my heart, body, and mind at Calm's doorstep, Only to find out I am not welcome in her abode. I thought she'd protect me from a cruel world, full of situations where my self-esteem would plummet and the only thing I would think of myself is "stupid". This time, I blame it all on the Universe. Because I feel stupidly and helplessly and probably very falsely In love. Lana Del Rey once sang: "When you know, you know." I honestly wish I did. Confusion. I feel naïve, maybe like I've bared too much, like, for once, my clairsentience might've let me down. But I felt safe enough to do so. Curious how we can be so sure of feeling things that might not have been there after all. Defeat and Hope can coexist; I am living proof of it. So if you will not find me, I hope Peace will.

k.ehb ♡ (@cornerinthestone)

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sometimes, i mindlessly scroll waiting for my metro ride to end. sometimes, a compilation that makes me contemplate things will pop up on my feed.

sometimes i'm grateful for scrolling.

[cornerinthestone]

“A search for love”

I read for what I don’t know

I long for what I haven’t been able to feel,

A love,

A love intense and consuming but oh so beautiful,

To feel complete and full,

To find my person in this chaos,

To find my solace and home,

Not a love that causes Deos,

But a love that is a sigh of relief when approached,

My lover to embrace me and hold me tight,

To whisper me love and warmth,

A love that even the moon, that is every night embraced by the sun, would envy.

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Sometimes, I go to the store at night, just because the streets are empty and there’s a kind of loneliness that feels almost comforting. But sometimes I’ll see girls, laughing, glitter in their hair sparkling as they spill out of pubs, all bright-eyed, all full of life. It hits me hard, that ache in my chest, that longing for something I can’t quite name. I wonder what it’s like, to have a group of people, to drink and laugh and feel part of something.

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When love turns into heartbreak

Getting up turns into snoozing and turning over because you can't find sleep nor the rest in it anymore.

Winding down turns into might as well dissect your heart since it's already broken,

And with the help of your mind poke the wrong places and wound it deeper.

Taking a bite turns into a refuge, a hobby that keeps you distracted, an impulse that reinforces the repulsion you've built as scar tissue.

When washing up you turn the knob all the way to the left because hell has nothing left to show you ; you're already burning from the inside.

The pen in your hand seems to finally serve its purpose and you start turning the pages without realizing, chasing the right metaphors to embellish the rot that has nestled itself where love used to live,

Within your body, the body that turned weak and crooked and ugly and unbearable to live in or look at or think about.

Because when the heart breaks, everything follows.

Minutes turn into hours that turn into months that you only realize have passed after years.

Time turns into a friend and it returns as a foe,

When love turns into heartbreak,

A coin is flipped and suddenly your whole soul is being ripped apart without a break.

k.ehb ♡ (@cornerinthestone)

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i made a lot of mistakes

i made a lot of mistakes

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A girl I am dating is reading my palm Tracing her finger Over my life line She furrows her brow

"Do you like evergreen trees?" she asks She doesn't look up and I nod "But you are deciduous," she meets my eyes

I shrug, pulling my hand back But she holds my wrist Firmly and keeps tracing I'm staring at her curiously

"You are nineteen?" it's currently January I nod again, February on the horizon "You will be nineteen for a very long time"

I don't like her reading I don't like her mysticism I break up with her later Then I meet you And I am nineteen for the rest of my life

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I wrote this poem returning home from an evening out with a friend. When she got off the train, my attention panned to a couple and their child sitting diagonally from me.

It was particularly the father playing with his baby girl that struck me. I've always had a special relationship to hands as a body part. I think they hold and convey such special and authentic energy.

Two minutes of observing the scene sufficed to bring tears to my eyes.

My head hung low as I silently cried. I whipped out my phone and did what I do best.

I wrote away.

I still don't know why I put myself in the father's skin. Maybe it's because i do not want children. Maybe this was my gateway to parenthood.

The baby's squeals and her father's uncaring smile awakened something dormant and undefinable within me. I couldn't have written this from my point of view, not without bringing feelings and thoughts to life that carried immense guilt.

I did not want to taint this purest and most beautiful scene with the unpleasantness of a personal relationship I only define when i'm inebriated.

If you have a father that loves you, love him back.

Hands

I can't wait for your hands to grow

So i can properly slip my fingers between yours

For now, i mindfully i stretch them out to flatten your palm,

And put it against mine as people get off the train.

I only see you,

I only feel you.

The eyes on me and the tender smiles of other passengers could never rival with the way you render me;

So soft,

Like your tiny hands.

You giggle when i play with your knuckles;

One by one i roll them with my thumb,

And watch your eyes crinkle and your feet kick.

The stroller starts to annoy you

You rock in place to get free, get closer, get farther.

I could try for days and still fail

To describe this feeling of being a father;

My lungs open up, my eyes widen and my heart flutters.

You're worth all the blood sweat and tears,

And a million more things.

I love you

Now until forever.

k.ehb ♡ (@cornerinthestone)

[cornerinthestone]

Hands

I can't wait for your hands to grow

So I can properly slip my fingers between yours

For now, I mindfully stretch them out to flatten your palm,

And put it against mine as people get off the train.

I only see you,

I only feel you.

The eyes on me and the tender smiles of other passengers could never rival with the way you render me;

So soft,

Like your tiny hands.

You giggle when I play with your knuckles;

One by one, I roll them with my thumb,

And watch your eyes crinkle and your feet kick.

The stroller starts to annoy you

You rock in place to get free, get closer, get farther.

I could try for days and still fail

To describe this feeling of being a father;

My lungs open up, my eyes widen and my heart flutters.

You're worth all the blood sweat and tears,

And a million more things.

I love you

Now until forever.

k.ehb ♡ (@cornerinthestone)

[cornerinthestone]

Closeness

I question myself about the ways

your mood dyes my sky; how days

of opacity are worth a glimpse of

fierce proximity; the moment

your palms facing the heavens

reach out to me, you mutter:

hush, pages have ears...

I abide by the silence and

surreptitiously wrap my lips

around your pen.

✒️ F. J.

[cornerinthestone]

bring back tumblr ask culture let me. bother you with questions and statements

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Ode to the Airport, Dante Émile

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Every time is the first time

Every good poet will write a line that evokes how bad of a poet they are. I think it's my turn. I find myself often forgetting that I have this gift, this ability to hold a quill and make it cry gold, this right to criticize notes' app poets while being one of them, this duty to tell the world how it is and transform it so you and I can find refuge. All of that I forget. Perhaps because I'm not supposed to remember. Perhaps writing is better off without me.

Doubt is human, Inspiration is divine. I'm afraid that even if I am bad, I will never be able to stop putting one word in front of the other until my fingers are sore and my mind is on fire and my eyes are swollen and my sobs overpower the sound of the music that has your name written all over it. If doubt is human but Alchemy is magical then a witch is exactly what I am.

k.ehb ♡ (@cornerinthestone)

[cornerinthestone]

Poetry

Hiyaa, here are all my poems compiled (because I love reblogging stuff so they might get lost).

Listen to your heart and pick one, maybe it has something you need to read :)

Untitled

The Other Woman

Shakespeare

Every Time is the First Time

When Love Turns into Heartbreak

Love poems:

The Charonne's Amorous Love

Alchemy (Untitled)

The Greatest Loss

The Warmth of Blue

Hands

Love at First Kiss