lowsunlight

[lowsunlight]

Is there anyway you could consider not deleting the blog as a whole? I understand if you don’t want to, but I would really love to be able to come back and read your writings- if you do plan on deleting however could you give us a little while so we can go through and reblog our favorites again before they’re gone?

I’m still not sure what I want to do tbh which is why I made that post.. I have a special document on my laptop with all the poetry that has been posted here so I might post that as a pdf on my main for anyone interested but idk I haven’t made any decisions

the main problem, honestly, is that this message is the first notification i’ve gotten from this blog in four days. and there’s a fifty day gap in notifications that i can find within the last ten total pieces of ‘activity’ in the counter

and i know there’s the whole ‘don’t blog/write/etc for notes’ but... the whole reason to have this blog is for that ephemeral concept of exposure, which I’m not getting, so it actually hurts my ability to ever get exposure to have this blog than it helps. 

[lowsunlight]

i’ll probably delete this blog soon/eventually bc it’s just... not a good venue for Sharing tbh

[lowsunlight]

something about endings

here’s the truth - we smoke out by the park or you smoke and then you drag me back to your basement to watch south park or lethal weapon and i wish that i could love you except that i don’t because it would be awful

i think about the girl i’m with, or was with - what’s ‘with’ anyway? partners in crime, partners in anything other than hurriedly making out while my parents sit upstairs.

i don’t love her and that’s the funny thing - i don’t think i want to, i don’t think that i can, anyway. there’s the bit; more love flowing out in all the wrong directions, as they say.

and i’m sorry that i didn’t try hard enough and that i ended it in a coffee shop and that i focused my time wrong, or at least wasn’t honest about it.

this isn’t what i meant to say; i mean, all conversations are the wrong one when you don’t know how to start.

[lowsunlight]

i can never add another pin to this board -

[lowsunlight]

Every Choice Is A New Reality

If I am alone then another version of me isn’t. If I am alone then you are or you aren’t; I’m not self-centered enough to assume.

In another reality I answer your text and I drive to your apartment and we lie on top of each other in your twin bed and watch the sky quickly turn to night and then slowly turn back to day again.

In another reality I tell you what I’m thinking and it’s a good or a bad thing and I either leave or I don’t.

There’s nothing wrong with my reality except when there is but no reality would be perfect except the one that is. Infinite possibilities and I hope I’m never always sad and I hope the me that’s always happy recognizes that as special and thinks about me sometimes

[lowsunlight]

Tag meme: get to know me

rules: answer all of the questions below, then tag 20 other people you would like to get to know better!

tagged by: @tubbie11 (can’t tag you i think ‘cause this is a sideblog?)

nickname: not a huge fan of them just call me raven.

gender: female

star sign: taurus

height: 

about 5′3″ so like 160cm

sexuality: lesbian

hogwarts house: ravenclaw

favorite animal: fish!! but also cats and dogs

average hours spent sleeping: about 6 or 7 on average, rarely more and often less.

dogs or cats: ..i can’t choose. i have a puppy but i love both

number of blankets I sleep with: two if you count a sheet, sometimes in the winter i have two duvets and a sheet.

dream trip:

the all-american roadtrip (i’m.. canadian) and/or a ‘backpacking in europe’ situation

dream job: writer probably or editor

when I made this account: i can’t rmbr when i set up this side blog but i’ve had tumblr since like 2011 

why I made this account: this side blog, to showcase writing. my main, to blog about abc’s castle lmao

number of followers: 276 on this blog, 2.8k on my main

tagging: no one bc i’m lazy

[lowsunlight]

time travelling

someone told me that trees experience time differently - it takes three minutes for messages from one tree to get to it's neighbour. seems like forever to be waiting for a simple "i'm alive" text but they live for hundreds of years so it must seem instant.

they process damage slowly process death slowly keep feeding dead stumps keep growing after forest fires

imagine being struck by lightening but it lasts three minutes. takes three minutes to get into your bloodstream and boil you, burn you, break you in two and it lasts for the rest of your life for what seems like eternity

i touch your skin and it's like lightening for hours; i run my hands through your hair and my heart beats out i'm alive, i'm alive, i'm alive, just waiting for you to reply. 

[lowsunlight]

prelude // a rewrite of this

there was a forest behind your house when you were growing up - the nature of the wound, scraped knees and broken arms from falling out of trees and into trouble.

here is the blood on her hands; even though you don’t remember her name, you know that it’s yours, that she was trying to help you - that something set her on fire, words in smoke, red hair falling over her shoulder and brushing your face.

“I know a path,” she said, and tried to lead you out of the forest, one-handed. it was morning when you left and it’s dark now; the eyes of the creatures peering out from behind the trees.

someone never made it out of the forest; someone made it out but was so different they weren’t recognized. do you remember the way it felt to fall?

[lowsunlight]

i thrive off compliments in the tags,,,, and in my inbox,,,,,, i thrive off validation

[lowsunlight]

Could you make a poem about a lost home by the sea?

when you think of homethere is an ocean -childhood is sand between your toesand the smell of salton your skin.

and everything was always brightand your mother was always smilingand you were never fully cleanbut you didn’t care; salt purifiesin the same way as fire.

and then the fire.

or not fire - one daythere is the ocean and the nextthere is a car and then you’re in the cityand you can’t smell the oceanand you don’t feel like yourself;too unsettled in your skin withoutsalt coating your hands.

you were sick all the winteror your brother was, or your father,or you all were and you never went backand you only saw the oceanwhen you closed your eyes.

and for years you thoughtif you wished hard enoughyou’d wake up in your old bed andyou’d hear the waves outside your door.

and you never learn to feel at homein the city; you never learn your placeor you do but it isn’t what you wantedand you grow up in a space too smalland too dry to hold you comfortably.

[lowsunlight]

you’re the only motherfucker in the city who can handle me

there’s nothing like waiting to get picked up from the airport even if you can’t figure out where you’re supposed to wait.

there’s nothing like the first hug, the welcome; the way it feels like no time has passed. sometimes a second meeting doesn’t feel like the second; sometimes a first meeting doesn’t feel like a first, and it’s like it’s always been like this, how it should have been from the start.

the thing about visiting a city bigger than the one you grew up in is that it’s always too much until you’re eating and laughing on the steps of the library, or whispering in the corners.

and everything ends too soon; it’s like we’ve barely settled before there’s no more time to walk down highlines or get brunch or see museums or get covered in glitter that you didn’t see coming.

and then there’s the promise of next time and airports that don’t sell coffee and near-missed flights and then we do it all again.

[lowsunlight]

also hidden heat? if you're feeling up to it :)

it’s the way she looks at me across the table at 11p.m.in a timmies in the middle of the pouring rain.

the way it feelswhen i take the first sip of hot chocolateafter getting soaked to the boneand left out in the cold.

the brush of her arm against minein a nearly empty movie theatrewhere we didn’t buy snacksand had no excuses.

[lowsunlight]

what she'd recorded on her old tapes

i found them in a boxthat ur aunt left on my doorstep;didnt knock, didnt say anythingdidnt even leave a note but the box saidmarie - bedroomin sharpee and i knew.

i had to buy something to play them -u owe me 31.63, if u ever show ur face again -and then i heard ur voicefor the first time in a year.

a few seconds of musicor an old book on tape; charlie in the chocolate factory,le petit prince, a variety of childrens storiesfrom a life u used to liveand then - u, loud and clear.

u told stories about ur parents,ur voice young and sad, and u told storiesabout me, young and happy then less youngand less happy in varying degrees

 i love her, u said, and i criedand i think u were crying too,b/c u said itll only get us in trouble.

[lowsunlight]

this poem isn’t about death (for anon)

last chance at a summer romance come and gone but left the heat; it was cold and rained from march til july so it’s hot and raining until october.

the first day i wore a sweater out of the house and regretted it; tied it up around the straps of my bag, carrying it around like a testament to my poor planning.

here’s the end of something living and the beginning of decay; you say you’ll keep hanging out like in summer but school, and work, and other friends coming back from out of town with stories to tell more interesting than sitting on the bleachers at 2 a.m.

here’s the last chance at adventure even though that left a long time ago but it’s the first chance at proving yourself against the cold; thriving in the summer isn’t hard, it’s contending with the dying leaves and frostbitten winds when it gets hard to breathe.

[lowsunlight]

the dead dnt have voices so she smiles w/o speaking. “u make ghosts of us,” i say when id like to ask why  the dead get off w/ carrying the least blame.

“

heavily inspired by @lowsunlight‘s (raven’s) chapbook voicemail 

(via driftlight)

[lowsunlight]

i’m laying on the floor of my friends basement and my blood is on fire. my mouth is a dessert, my head is an elastic band stretched too far. my skin feels like it will melt off my body at any moment.

my best friend sleeps on the couch next to me, snoring loudly but mumbling softly. i focus on her voice to tether me to reality. her hand is dangling off the couch, brushing against the fevered skin of my arm.

[lowsunlight]

i have always struggled with truth and honesty; what is raw and real when you’ve spent half your life holding yourself back? i write something honest and hide it because no one needs to know; no one wants to know; no one cares.

no one needs to know me better than i know myself but i’m your open book and so i have to hide things to keep you from connecting the dots, from finding something darker in my chest that would scare you away