#'there will be poems—' always makes me cry

[untildawnss]

random imagines/headcanons #1

ashley

ash would definitely try different kinds of drugs

she hates everything AI because she loves the artists she finds online (one of them might also be sam

beth

she's 1000% a board game enthusiast

always googles the place she wants to otder from to see if they have their own page

chris

loves bitch-ass takes on characters

reads fanfic, 10000%, he's so down bad for the characters

emily

she paints her nails to sad songs

she wants to cry all the time

hannah

writes diaries/journals canonically

writes poems

she writes fanfic and includes her poems 100%

jess

cries all the time

sad movie/show/sad whatever, she cries and she bookmarks the saddest bullshit for whenever she wants to cry real bad (she just like me fr)

josh

probably cries at commercials, but would never buy whatever he cried at

crying at something makes him hate the thing

matt

is very into romcoms

likes flowers a lot

likes to pretend he's in a romcom sometimes

mike

he actually writes poems on purpose and hates it every time

he feels better after writing but wouldn't even let his therapist read his poems

sam

she draws everything

she processes things by drawing them

copes by making an account to draw whatever's on her mind

copes even more by making an account to challenge herself by asking people to send her inspiration for her drawings

might become a tattoo artist or the invisible artist behind the visible tattoo artist

[cinematicnomad]

THE TERROR ▸ 1.09 the c, the c, the open c

[citycrows]

But tonight he is alive. And as he stares up at the sky, there are twice as many stars as usual.

(The two headed calf by Laura Gilpin)

[mumblesplash]

man i’ve had pretty serious art block before in the past but it was always more a lack of inspiration/irl stuff draining all my energy, currently Not having art block but getting hit by my first bout EVER of feeling like i just straight up can’t make anything that’s good enough and oh my god how do people deal with this

[riemmetric]

Hurricane by Mary Oliver

[bitsbyt3s]

[fallenclan]

SLAMONMOOSE KITS JAYCALL + BEEFRECKLE MATES & WARRIOR CEREMONY!!!!!! YES.... YES!!!

WAILS abt the kits firstly they are tremendously cute and the little bicolour being named Shrew is wonderfully heartbreaking. And HELL YEAH JAYCALL & BEEFRECKLE MOMENTS... Enjoy them both greatly I'm gnawing on them about it.

Why I'm here, though. Ohhhghh... Cinderstone has the same trait Grassroot did. Do you think Yewberry or Ivybounce are ever reminded of her, when they look at Cinders? It makes me think of the poem "A Drink of Water" by Jeffery Harrison...

(- 🐈‍⬛)

OHHH GOD I DIDNT EVEN THINK ABT THE CINDERSTONE THING.... SHE DOES HAVE THE SAME TRAIT AS GRASSROOT god thats so heartbreaking,,, bro the POEM????? wailing sobbing eating drywall

[thatone-churro]

maybe i’m just feeling really sad and stuff right now (i am, at least when this is queued, but that’s not the point) but i really REALLY wanna write something that just. makes someone sob. like yeah i joke that “i can never write happy stuff if it’s not upsetting it’s not mine sorry” but i feel like i never nail the raw emotion. i feel like i either lean too much or not enough into the “cliches” for it to work right. i wanna write something that just hits in the chest so hard so naturally, like i’m reading you perfectly at your worst. i want the sob to be genuine. and i wanna make it worth it. does that make sense??? idk. i know i’m still a “beginner” (haven’t been dedicated to writing poetry for even a year yet tbh; it was a hobby until my first class last semester) but like. this is my ultimate goal tbh. if i write something that resonates so strongly with someone that they cry and/or carry it for the rest of their life in a way that either hurts or haunts or relieves or maybe all of the above, then i guess i was a good poet.

or smthn idk

[dearestgojo]

Not me crying at 10 am over mommy issues

[monomorphilogical]

Pearl handled Colt .45

God knows I would've let it go beside of me

getting nauseated in the land of the forgotten and free

and I always cry when I leave 'cause the sight is just too much

wet-teethed and undressed with nothing you can touch —

and it splits through the sound of my sneakers hitting concrete

echoes my promise to meet you at the end of the street

never knowing when to ride or die so I let you take me for a drive

and we'll go around the bend of that familiar I-65

there's an angel waiting for me there and I know he hates me

no matter what I'll do it makes everybody fucking angry

I'm sorry for saying I'd do my best for you — I swear I tried

watching the lowlight bleeding into all of my cop out

like a rubber to blacktop mirage in a real good summer drought

always saying the only time I'll open up is when I'm firing

and you want me to put on a show and show you that I'm trying

forever praying this is the end when I know it’s not

I'm getting lost in a vacant parking lot

talking about jacking the car like bonnie and clyde

find some backroad drive and let it take us through the night

but the black and white never gives up a good fight

and heaven knows we'd never make it to the border up ahead

through a highway car chase they'll shoot us both through the head

you keep your hands off the wheel and say to get in the backseat

all of my tailgate shoot-out dies in the moment of heat

— keep it steady until we're consumed by the sound

with my back against the driver's seat for another round

but there's no silver lining on my pearl handled .45 and I'm sorry

all my empty bodied promises always go off before me

and I could be better — it wouldn't matter

can't help the way I'm already soaking red through the leather

they've got me good like I already knew they would

while you're making me out to be a fever dream misunderstood

only slowing to a stop when my body's all torn up with gunfire

but when I die it'll be because I'm burning up by all your live-wire

I knew I'd never live past the time of my life in your hit and run

we've lasted a while — we'll never outlast the shotgun

consequences of an outgunning fate better off dead

even at my best I'll always show through every shade of red

calling it a game — you're all the fucking same

can't keep me warm so long all your colors blue run the vein

we're already closing in the line I’ve walked once before

on some leeway byway where you heard me begging for more

giving up all my backseat guts and glory — red and blue

until the morning breaks with knuckles to the stained rearview

there's nothing left to forgive me over my dead body

we all dig our own graves in the places where we feel most free

God knows I've smoked the tailgate grave there before

so I'll light one up in the name of another closed screen door

go on and tell me I did it to myself in hindsight

dreamt about you pressing me face-down against the headlight

haven't been on this side of the road conversations in a while

where I keep missing the tin can target by a goddamn mile

and when you asked me when and where I want it

I made you wait while I took out my handholding and shot it

'cause I'd always hold the gun if you asked me to

but if you know me like you say you do would you still ask me to?

when you're still gunning for a bonnie and clyde highway drive

but you won't take me out of that pearl handled colt .45

told me you're a good shot and that you give it all you got

God — I wish you'd never dreamt about the end of a parking lot

saying you get off on willingness as long as I give it to you

and I loved it until you took a turn so different to how I view you

no stranger to the turn away and I've always told you that

but you want me to put on a show — now you ruined all of that

the way you pictured me faceless through a broken up dirt street

you told it like it didn't matter who you'll drag into the backseat

I don't want anyone holding me when they don't want me

and you don't get why I never let anyone put their hands on me

I've only been good for the bend and break of my body

and I keep soaking through with all my color red — I'm sorry

laying in the middle of the street and letting the moment pass me by

I won't hold the .45 — I'm not going for your joy ride or die

[wickershells]

Feeling very jittery + strange + dissociated it is notttt going to be a good day

[mechieonu]

"You can be an angel!" and it's double meanings currently make me go insane bc for crowley, it sounds like an invitation he should want bc he's "good enough" for it and someone's deigning to give it to him, (but we ALL know that's the last thing aziraphale could MEAN it as) but to AZIRAPHALE it's the chance to do something that's never been done before. it's not about bringing crowley back into the fold as a former disgraced prince of heaven but to make the place perfect for the both of them and for everyone, bc it's clear that heaven has an institutional problem, and wouldn't it be perfect if they could be happy together in a place they made their own? but i don't think he realizes that they already have a place like that

[mivones]

If I had a wish I could wish for you, I’d make a wish for sunshine all the while.

[caruliaa]

reading my own poetry. starting to think this bitch has some traumas and mental problems

[orchidbreezefc]

ive heard that dogs know theyre different from humans and cats think humans are just weird cats. but the crucial thing is that's the direction it goes! cats don't turn that confusion inward like a human raised on individualism and in group/out group mechanics might. cats know they are cats. cats are good at being cats and they do not stop to doubt whether they should be doing the cat thing.

does anybody have that cat poem, you know the one. not mary oliver's poem. the one about a cat growing up with you like brothers but him still being small whereas you've grown tall. i need a good cry

[lilacthebooklover]

why are james blunt songs making me sob, this was supposed to be nostalgic and cathartic hhjkjghfkg