#All I do is read poems and make art

[everyday-is-brighter-with-you]

WHY AM I SO USEELESS /vent

[averlym]

fairest of the fair

[laurelindebear]

Every now and then, in the summer when the heat makes the asphalt smell just so, or I stop into the mini-mart in the evening, I am suddenly nineteen in Paris, on my own away from home for the first time. I am young again, and I am old. I am another person who cannot be me yet. I am the one who knows who she will be. I am her and I am me, and in my mind's infinity mirror I am all of mes in between: floating in a memory forever, every now and every then.

[her-canine-teeth]

bad astrology by flower face

[acoldsovereign]

{{re-posting this beautiful piece of art done by my darling mutual Winslow/Spider @viopolis!! Sometimes when I get frustrated by self-inflicted issues or whatever, all I have to do is look at this and remember I am loved and cherished in this space, as is my girl, Maiz. I'm still highly emotional over this-- thank you, friendo!!! I appreciate your presence on my dash so much!!

[l0rd-0f-c0ws]

I frequently feel completely isolated no matter how much I talk to people. So that's fun

[gatheryepens]

So I did something new today…

[limpfisted]

also i saw the nice messages people sent me but im saving them…. theyre just for me….. im Evil Mode Now…….

[inkskinned]

at some point it's just like. do they even fucking like the thing they're asking AI to make? "oh we'll just use AI for all the scripts" "we'll just use AI for art" "no worries AI can write this book" "oh, AI could easily design this"

like... it's so clear they've never stood in the middle of an art museum and felt like crying, looking at a piece that somehow cuts into your marrow even though the artist and you are separated by space and time. they've never looked at a poem - once, twice, three times - just because the words feel like a fired gun, something too-close, clanging behind your eyes. they've never gotten to the end of the movie and had to arrive, blinking, back into their body, laughing a little because they were holding their breath without realizing.

"oh AI can mimic style" "AI can mimic emotion" "AI can mimic you and your job is almost gone, kid."

... how do i explain to you - you can make AI that does a perfect job of imitating me. you could disseminate it through the entire world and make so much money, using my works and my ideas and my everything.

and i'd still keep writing.

i don't know there's a word for it. in high school, we become aware that the way we feel about our artform is a cliche - it's like breathing. over and over, artists all feel the same thing. "i write because i need to" and "my music is how i speak" and "i make art because it's either that or i stop existing." it is such a common experience, the violence and immediacy we mean behind it is like breathing to me - comes out like a useless understatement. it's a cliche because we all feel it, not because the experience isn't actually persistent. so many of us have this ... fluttering urgency behind our ribs.

i'm not doing it for the money. for a star on the ground in some city i've never visited. i am doing it because when i was seven i started taking notebooks with me on walks. i am doing it because in second grade i wrote a poem and stood up in front of my whole class to read it out while i shook with nerves. i am doing it because i spent high school scribbling all my feelings down. i am doing it for the 16 year old me and the 18 year old me and the today-me, how we can never put the pen down. you can take me down to a subatomic layer, eviscerate me - and never find the source of it; it is of me. when i was 19 i named this blog inkskinned because i was dramatic and lonely and it felt like the only thing that was actually permanently-true about me was that this is what is inside of me, that the words come up over everything, coat everything, bloom their little twilight arias into every nook and corner and alley

"we're gonna replace you". that is okay. you think that i am writing to fill a space. that someone said JOB OPENING: Writer Needed, and i wrote to answer. you think one raindrop replaces another, and i think they're both just falling. you think art has a place, that is simply arrives on walls when it is needed, that is only ever on demand, perfect, easily requested. you see "audience spending" and "marketability" and "multi-line merch opportunity"

and i see a kid drowning. i am writing to make her a boat. i am writing because what used to be a river raft has long become a fully-rigged ship. i am writing because you can fucking rip this out of my cold dead clammy hands and i will still come back as a ghost and i will still be penning poems about it.

it isn't even love. the word we use the most i think is "passion". devotion, obsession, necessity. my favorite little fact about the magic of artists - "abracadabra" means i create as i speak. we make because it sluices out of us. because we look down and our hands are somehow already busy. because it was the first thing we knew and it is our backbone and heartbreak and everything. because we have given up well-paying jobs and a "real life" and the approval of our parents. we create because - the cliche again. it's like breathing. we create because we must.

you create because you're greedy.

[silhouettecrow]

365 Days of Writing Prompts: Day 258

Adjective: Scattered

Noun: World

Definitions for those who need/want them:

Scattered: occurring or found at intervals or various locations rather than all together; (informal) (of a person) distracted or disorganized; (physics) (of electromagnetic radiation or particles) deflected or diffused

World: the earth, together with all of its countries, peoples, and natural features; all of the people, societies, and institutions on the earth; denoting one of the most important or influential people or things of its class; another planet like the earth; the material universe or all that exists, or everything; a region or group of countries; a particular period of history; a group of living things; the people, places, and activities to do with a particular thing; a person's life and activities; human and social interaction; secular interests and affairs; a stage of human life, either mortal or after death

[literaryvein-reblogs]

yet another list of "beautiful" words

to try to include in your next poem/story

Book-bosomed - coined by Sir Walter Scott; means "carrying a book at all times." If you love books, certainly you've been book-bosomed at times in your life.

Caliginous - misty, dark

Dithyramb - a usually short poem in an inspired wild irregular strain. This word comes from the Greek word dithyrambos which was the name for a wild and irregular poem honoring Dionysus, the god of wine, who was often lauded throughout the year during festivals at which poems of this style were read.

Embonpoint - plumpness of person; stoutness

Farinaceous - having a mealy texture or surface

Farouche - marked by shyness and lack of social graces

Florilegium - a volume of writings; an anthology. The word was borrowed into English from a New Latin word that comes from Latin florilegus meaning "culling flowers." Think of a florilegium as a bouquet of writings, specially selected and arranged for your enjoyment.

Goety - black magic or witchcraft in which the assistance of evil spirits is invoked

Lachrymist - one given to weeping

Lamia - a female demon; vampire

Osseous - bony

Phantasmagoria - a bizarre or fantastic combination, collection, or assemblage

Stygian - extremely dark, gloomy, or forbidding

Tenebrous - shut off from the light

Theurgy - the art or technique of compelling or persuading a god or beneficent or supernatural power to do or refrain from doing something

If any of these words make their way into your next poem/story, please tag me, or leave a link in the replies. I would love to read them!

More: Lists of Beautiful Words

[astronicht]

Okay I'm almost done with Fellowship, here's an incomplete list of shit I noticed and thought was buck fucking wild on my first ever read-thru: medieval edition.

In literally the second line of the book, Tolkien implies that Bilbo Baggins wrote a story which was preserved alongside the in-universe version of the Mabinogion (aka the best-known collection of Welsh myths; I promise this is batshit). This is because The Hobbit has been preserved, in Tolkien's AU version of our world, in a "selection of the Red Book of Westmarch" (Prologue, Concerning Hobbits). If you're a medievalist and you see something called "The Red Book of" or "The Black Book of" etc it's a Thing. In this case, a cheeky reference to the Red Book of Hergest (Llyfr Coch Hergest). There are a few Red Books, but only Hergest has stories).

not a medieval thing but i did not expect one common theory among hobbits for the death of Frodo's parents to be A RUMORED MURDER-SUICIDE.

At the beginning of the book a few hobbits report seeing a moving elm tree up on the moors, heading west (thru or past the Shire). I mentioned this in another post, but another rule: if you see an elm tree, that's a Girl Tree. In Norse creation myth, the first people were carved from driftwood by the gods. Their names were Askr (Ash, as in the tree), the first man, and Embla (debated, but likely elm tree), the first woman. A lot of ppl have I think guessed that that was an ent-wife, but like. Literally that was a GIRL. TREE.

Medieval thing: I used to read the runes on the covers of The Hobbit and LOTR for fun when I worked in a bookshop. There's a mix of Old Norse (viking) and Old English runes in use, but all the ones I've noticed so far are real and readable if you know runes.

Tom Bombadil makes perfect sense if you once spent months of your life researching the early medieval art of galdor, which was the use of poems or songs to do a form of word-magic, often incorporating gibberish. If you think maybe Tolkien did not base the entirety of Fellowship so far around learning and using galdor and thus the power of words and stories, that is fine I cannot force you. He did personally translate "galdor" in Beowulf as "spell" (spell, amusingly, used to mean "story"). And also he named an elf Galdor. Like he very much did name an elf Galdor.

Tom Bombadil in fact does galdor from the moment we meet him. He arrives and fights the evil galdor (song) of the willow tree ("old gray willow-man, he's a mighty singer"), which is singing the hobbits to sleep and possibly eating them, with a galdor (song) of his own. Then he wanders off still singing, incorporating gibberish. I think it was at this point that I started clawing my face.

THEN Tom Bombadil makes perfect sense if you've read the description of the scop's songs in Beowulf (Beowulf again, but hey, Tolkien did famously a. translate it b. write a fanfiction about it called Sellic Spell where he gave Beowulf an arguably homoerotic Best Friend). The scop (pronounched shop) is a poet who sings about deeds on earth, but also by profession must know how to sing the song or tell the story of how the cosmos itself came to be. The wise-singer who knows the deep lore of the early universe is a standard trope in Old English literature, not just Beowulf! Anyway Tom Bombadil takes everyone home and tells them THE ENTIRE STORY OF ALL THE AGES OF THE EARTH BACKWARDS UNTIL JUST BEFORE THE MOMENT OF CREATION, THE BIG BANG ITSELF and then Frodo Baggins falls asleep.

Tom Bombadil knows about plate tectonics

This is sort of a lie, Tom Bombadil describes the oceans of old being in a different place, which works as a standard visual of Old English creation, which being Christian followed vaguely Genesis lines, and vaguely Christian Genesis involves a lot of water. TOLKIEN knew about plate tectonics though.

Actually I just checked whether Tolkien knew about plate tectonics because I know the advent of plate tectonics theory took forever bc people HATED it and Alfred Wegener suffered for like 50 years. So! actually while Tolkien was writing LOTR, the scientific community was literally still not sure plate tectonics existed. Tom Bombadil knew tho.

Remember that next time you (a geologist) are forced to look at the Middle Earth map.

I'm not even done with Tom Bombadil but I'm stopping here tonight. Plate tectonics got me. There's a great early (but almost high!) medieval treatise on cosmology and also volcanoes and i wonder if tolkien read it. oh my god. i'm going to bed.

edit: part II

[coyotesinew]

I don’t frequent the TikTok therian community much, but I really do enjoy the idea of a “therian summer camp” that I see posted about on there. There’s something so fun and sweet about it.

Cabins for housing all the kinds of animals that come, you could stay with your own species or be with all different kinds of animals you would’ve never met otherwise

Birds nesting in the top bunks, foxes and rabbits creating their dens in the bottom bunks

Activities that teach how to cook and add new species-appropriate dishes to your diet

Lots of hiking and time in nature, reflective meditation time out in the trees or water for those who want a peaceful activity

Being able to behave naturally without feeling bad or weird, because everyone there is an animal! Everyone would see it as normal when/if you were to respond with barks or squeaks or yips or meows or whatever your instinct is

Drawing and trading little portraits of your fellow camp mates, going to arts and crafts activities and making friendship bracelets and tie dye T-shirts or gear like masks and ears

Music and dance done by community members, poems read and art shared with each other

The last night could be held on a full moon, with everyone coming together for performances and food and play under the moonlight 🩶

It’s so fun to think about

[autistic-shaiapouf]

Continually sitting here like. wow I hope I'm being recognized on this site as one of the top people that talks about pouf + makes art of him, as if I haven't gotten multiple asks thanking me for my service

[nobrashfestivity]

Everyone Hates Poetry 2024

Rules

Write a poem before Feb.5th and submit it to me with the submit feature or in an ask.

Poems should be less than 500 words

You can use your real name or your blog name but they can't be completely anonymous.

Poems will be published at 9pm on Wednesdays and then a link to each poem will be added to the bottom of this pinned post so people can read them all.

I can't stop anyone from reblogging their own poems and generally sharing art is a wonderful thing, but don't turn it into some kind of social media campaign. because people with a small number of followers would be at a disadvantage. This is supposed to be fun. Please do reblog this post and tag people if you think you know someone on tumblr that might be interested. Since the post will contain links to the submissions, your poem will not be lost in the shuffle.

If I receive less than 10 entries I'll cancel the contest and consider it a failed experiment.

Public voting will begin after the 5th.and account for 50% of the vote

A panel of judges will also vote but will not submit poems themselves, and their votes will make up the other 50% of the final tally.

.There will be small prizes for the winner and runner up.

This is my art blog and will remain so, as it always has been. I'm doing this because poets here don't get much chance to get their stuff read and I have a fair number of followers. It's just a little thing to do if you want. I'm not turning this into a poetry blog or a contest blog or anything else.

Poems don't need to be finished. Due to the one month time frame I would suspect these would be first drafts, but please write something new. I want to encourage people to do something now, however imperfect, rather than showing work that's already done.

Updates will follow. Thank you!

Rule clarifications

-Please dont send poems anonymously if at all possible. I am happy to include a name that doesn't identify your blog directly but it's impossible to refer to or contact people who submit poems anonymously. I can't have anonymous poems considered without at least a name for you and if you were to win a prize, you'd need a name and address to claim it. I don't so much care about the latter part, that's for you, this becomes very disorganized and hard to regulate with anonymous messages floating in.

-Please put the title of your poem above it. If it is below it, I have no way of distinguishing with certainty if it's a title or a last line.

One poem per person please.

if you do not wish to see the poetry contest entries just filter the tag "everyone hates poetry 2024"

Due to the very high volume of submissions I am blogging them more gradually as to give more attention to each one. The same tag, "everyone hates poetry 2024", that you can filter if you do not want to see these can be used to find the submissions. If you follow this tag you'll get them all.

Please note that I am now publishing these as asks, previously I had to retype to keep the formatting and there are simply too many entries

Submissions are now closed, I will be publishing submissions all week and then when all have been posted we will start the voting (stay tuned as to how and when)

[pnutbutter-n-j-elyy]

When They Accidentally Bring Up an Insecurity| Jisung

(xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx)

You had always admired Han's loving spirit and his ability to find inspiration in the smallest things. He brought light into your life in ways you never thought possible. And he helped you see the world in a way most didn't. You loved that you had that in common with Han- an appreciation for things that breathed life into your creative works.

You had never been very good at drawing. Or writing. Or anything having to do with the fine arts. Rather your creativity came more in a problem solving way. But in order to connect with Jisung, you decided to take up sketching to connect with Han a little more, because you loved him.

But that just created a deep-rooted insecurity about your creative abilities. Surrounded by so many talented people - as you were around the kids -you often felt your own contributions paled in comparison, and it was a fear you kept to yourself.

One evening, Han was over at your place, working on some new lyrics while you attempted to write poetry. He was sprawled on the couch, notebook in hand, humming a melody under his breath. You sat at your desk, scribbling down words and then erasing them feeling increasingly frustrated with your lack of progress.

You had long given up drawing, and you thought it might be easier to write a poem, since it was words that described your feelings. You could easily write a poem about something you knew well right? It couldn't be that hard.

You scratched your head as you tried to think of rhymes.

"How's it going over there?" Han asked, glancing up from his notebook.

"Not great," you mumbled, trying to keep the disappointment out of your voice.

Han chuckled, not noticing your tone. "I figured."

His casual comment felt like a sting, a reminder of your perceived inadequacies. You forced a smile and nodded, but inside, you felt your confidence crumbling.

He got up and walked over to you, picking up your paper in his hands. He chuckled. "Poetry now huh?"

You felt your cheeks burn and tried to take it from him. "No-"

"No jagiya I want to read it." He said holding it above your head and reading it. "You make me laugh when I am sad, Your jokes are the best I've ever had. When you smile, my heart feels light, You make everything so bright." Han giggled again. "It's like one of those poems we had to write in elementary school."

That made your cheeks burn even more. "Jisung give it back-"

"Your hugs are warm, your eyes so kind, With you, I leave my worries behind. You're my sunshine, my best friend, With you, I hope the good times never end." He gives you a cute pouty face in a teasing manner. "Awww Y/N... it's such a cute little poem. It's like a little nursery rhyme."

"Jisung stop!" You called out again, feeling your eyes burn as you put your fists to your eyes, the embarrassment you had taking over.

"I know my poem's not that great, But loving you is my favorite fate. Thank you Jisung..." His smile fell and he swallowed. "Thank you...Jisung for...for being you. My love for you is always true." He looked up and seemed to realize what he was teasing you about and his lip trembled. "Y/N-"

"I want to be alone." You mumbled through your tears. Jisung wanted to reach out, but he knew he had hurt your feelings, but knowing you he also knew you needed space.

The next few days were a blur of self-doubt and creative blocks. You avoided drawing and writing, and found excuses to stay busy with other tasks. Han noticed your change in behavior and even if you guys had talked a couple hours after the incident, he still didn't think his apology was enough.

One afternoon, while you were both working on a puzzle together, Han brought up the subject again. "Hey, you know I'm really really sorry right?"

You nodded. "I know. I'm not mad anymore, Jisung."

Han frowned. "But you haven't been writing at all. Or drawing...I feel like it's my fault. No...I know it's my fault. I'm sorry I made fun of your poem- I loved it. I really did. It's the sweetest thing anyone has ever written me..."

You felt a pang in your chest, wishing you could believe him. "Thanks, but sometimes it feels like I'm just not good enough."

Han looked taken aback. "What do you mean? You're incredibly talented."

You sighed, finally letting out a bit of your frustration. "It's just… I see how talented everyone else is, including you, and I can't help but feel like my work doesn't measure up."

Han's expression softened, and he reached out to squeeze your hand. "You're amazing in your own right, and comparing yourself to others isn't fair to you. I wouldn't ever want you to compare yourself to me. That's like comparing a doctor to an actor. Both are genius in their own right, but do you expect an actor to be able to perform surgery like a doctor? Or the doctor to recite the entire second act of Hamlet? You have your talents that I could never even begin to measure up to, Y/N. Its the same with everyone who walks this planet..."

His words were kind, but they didn't fully reach the core of your insecurity. You forced a smile and nodded, hoping the conversation would end there.

A week later, Han invited himself over to your house, hoping to put an end to both of your guy's misery. You hated feeling like you had to walk on eggshells around him, and he hated thinking he was making you uncomfortable.

You guys ate dinner and started watching a drama. After the fourth episode Han pressed the pause button.

"Baby...can I show you something?"

You nodded, slightly confused as to why Jisung would pause your binge.

He grabbed his laptop from his bag and came back towards you, placing his headphones on your head.

He unlocked his laptop, clicked a few buttons and a soft melody filled your ears. Your eyes widened.

"Did you guys wrtie a new song?" You asked excitedly, but Jisung shushed you gently and motioned for you to listen.

You closed your eyes and let yourself go, embracing the music fully.

You felt your heart almost stop when you heard the words of your poem masterfully intricated into the song.

"Why did you show me that?" you asked, your voice trembling. You didn't dare open your eyes, or you were sure the tears you had would fall.

Han sounded puzzled. "Because it's great and I wanted to share it."

"But it's not great," you snapped, tears falling from your eyes as you opened them. "People will know you just used those words. You're so much more well versed and-"

Han stopped in his tracks, realization dawning on him. "I didn't mean to make you feel that way. I just wanted to show them how talented you are.” You shook your head.

"Ouch, Y/N..." Jisung chuckled, his voice breaking a little. You looked at Han, whose chubby cheeks were encompassed by his pout. His boba eyes sad.

"No- No baby I meant... I feel like my words are stupid. Not your voice. Your song was absolutely beautiful... I just feel like I made you waste such a good backtrack."

You wiped away a tear, feeling exposed and vulnerable. "It's not your fault. It's just… I can't help but feel like I'll never be as good as everyone else. And I feel like you did that to make me feel better..."

Han pulled you into a tight hug, his voice gentle and soothing. "I wish you could see yourself the way I see you. You're incredibly talented and creative, and your art is a reflection of who you are. It's unique and beautiful, just like you."

You clung to him, the sincerity in his words slowly breaking through your walls. "I just want to feel like I'm enough," you whispered.

Han held you at arm's length, looking into your eyes. "You are more than enough. Your worth isn't defined by how perfect your art or writing is or how you compare to others. It's about the passion and love you put into what you do."

His words resonated with you, and you felt a sense of comfort and reassurance. Han's unwavering support and belief in you made a difference, and you realized that your insecurities didn't define you.

"And I didn't make that song to make you feel better...I made it so you could see just how much inspiration I find from you. Y/N I love you more than anything. So, I was over the moon when I wrote this. And even more elated when I got to use the words the love of my life wrote. That's only the demo..." He grins sheepishly. "I was thinking...it would sound cool if you could leave that poem as a voicemail. I could make it the outro of the song..."

You looked at him with wide eyes. "You mean it?"

"Of course I mean it baby. I mean... I know Stay speculates I'm in a relationship...it's been a year now so I feel like this would be a fun way of confirming that. And I want the world to hear the beautiful voice of my baby." He coos, squishing your cheeks.

You giggle and nod, as Han peppers kisses all over your face.

One evening, as you both sat on the couch, Han handed you a sketchbook he had bought for you. "I got this for you. I want you to fill it with whatever makes you happy. No pressure, just pure creativity. It doesn't even have to be art. Maybe you could write me more poems..."

You smiled, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. "Thank you, Ji. For everything."

Han wrapped his arm around you, pulling you close. "I'm always here for you. And for inspiration. Because you're my inspiration." He says nuzzling his nose against yours.

You leaned into him, feeling a sense of peace and contentment.

His inspiration. You thought.

What an amazing thing to be...

@abovenyx @wolfs-archive @oddracha

@iyeeeverydee @parisanmorovati @seungmincenteric

@panbish-1209 @fxiry-vtt @sseawavee

@shuporanporang @amarecerasus @softkisshyunjin

@whoa-jo @meanergreener @rikibun

@ayyonoona @shinywombatcrusade @y4yayael

@skzstan12345 @mariteez @allys-reads

@jazziwritesthings @skzstannie @yongbokkiesworld

@kkkeopi @neverendingstay @moony-9

@minsungsthirdwheel