#Free verse poetry

[johnnyslittleanimalblog]

Some People Dream in Abstract (Great Smoky Mountains National Park) by Mark Stevens Via Flickr: Some People Dream in Abstract Thoughts Like an Expressionist's Painting While other are bizarre, almost seemingly surreal Mine have been both, and sometimes in red But right now, I only dream wonderment for what stands in front Another work of short poetry or prose to complement the image captured one afternoon in the Cades Cove area of Great Smoky Mountains National Park. This was at a roadside pullout along the main park road with a view looking to the north-northwest to a group of black bears (momma bear and three cubs) who happened to be crossing this asphalt road. I captured quite a few images at this location, but this is one of the few that I really liked of the group because the momma bear happened to be looking in my general direction while her cub continued on.

[wenumsmol]

Ma-whore-aga

Arch your back, chest pressed in the sheets. Toot that ass upright and let Mahoraga beat it.

I know its big. I know its hefty. Cock veined, heavily hanging leftly.

It's too much but he assumes you'll adapt with his hand on your waist and your pussy in his lap.

#But I'm not a rapper.

[visionsofaselfmademan]

[trans-writes]

Transcript under the cut

Letter to my mother’s second son:

Dear freak, dear idiot, dear asshole,

Dear blood of my blood,

Dear baby brother,

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry for the unwelcome, 

I’m sorry for the hostility,

I’m sorry for seeing your visits as invasions.

I’m sorry for the bitterness when your home became my prison,

I’m sorry for casting you, scrawny and skittish and scared, as my jailer.

I’m sorry for Our Father, who art in jail,

I’m sorry that he loved me, or at least,

I’m sorry that you thought he did.

I’m sorry for mom’s ex boyfriend and the hole in the wall and the cracks in the tile,

I’m sorry for the locked door and the empty stomach and the silence or the screaming,

I’m sorry for the little boy in the corner learning nuclear fusion, melting fear and hunger into 

anger, into energy,

I’m sorry no one came to save you.

I’m sorry for our grandfather, his apathy, his old-fashion, his misunderstanding,

I’m sorry you don’t know how to stand down in peacetime,

I’m sorry he’s always up in arms.

I’m sorry for your dead friend,

I’m sorry I don’t know what to say, 

I’m sorry no one else is saying anything but go do the dishes.

I’m sorry for this stupid fucking town and how everyone here has something rotting in the 

cupboard,

I’m sorry for your stupid fucking friends,

I’m sorry there’s little better to be found here.

I’m sorry for trauma, for tragedy, for being unable to hold it all,

I’m sorry the doctor won’t help you,

I’m sorry you’re stuck here.

I’m sorry,

I’m sorry,

I love you.

— r.a.b. // 05-19-2024

[3amfanfiction]

You pull guns not fire extinguishers

When someone is burning in front of you.

You pull guns not fire extinguishers

When a mother takes what isn’t hers,

She can’t feed her children when she’s the only one.

When she asked you for help you told her, “get a job, go to school, don’t have kids”

As the food made its way into her bag when she knew her card was empty,

You pull guns not fire extinguishers.

You pull guns not fire extinguishers

and then are surprised when no one will ask for help.

Surprised when people get nervous if they see you even looking at them.

You pull guns not fire extinguishers

When you see a hijab.

Whenever prayer rugs are pulled out,

And thoughts turn inward,

You pull guns not fire extinguishers

You pull guns not fire extinguishers

Then you ask ‘why don’t they like me?’

‘Can’t they see I’m doing what’s right?’

‘Can’t they see the respect I deserve?’

Your fingers wouldn’t be able to find the pin, your hands don’t know how to work a nozzle you’ve never held.

You pull guns not fire extinguishers

When a man cries for help.

His mind works a bit differently than yours, whether from birth or use.

When he asked you for help you told him, “figure it out, stop sleeping here, don’t bother the people walking by”

Then when he screams and disrupts and is in your way,

You pull guns not fire extinguishers.

You pull guns not fire extinguishers

When a boy holds a phone,

An oak tree drops it’s acorn,

A man tries to breathe.

You pull guns not fire extinguishers

Because you’re not here to help.

[cybereucharist]

Wrote this in 15 minutes at a café listening to DELIRIO DE GRANDEZA by Rosalía.

[maggotslove]

To be someone’s muse

To be the ink they use when they write their poems and rhymes, and be written as nothing but divine

To be studied and worshipped on paper, a new use of your life a new way to be alive

being watched with want and seen as life

so incredibly bright, all will want a bite

[urdeepestdesire]

Rapunzel,

who has been letting down

her words

out of her life,

had no one could see it

or getting close

to holding them.

she is now astonished;

for i am standing

in her own mind.

Morning Light Beam, Nick Alm

[roberttaylorsleeps]

Why?

Why do I let others stab my chest, just to feel the pain I seek? Why do I climb walls that have no steps, just to fall back on my feet? Why do I continue to drive myself forward, until I'm collapsing on my knees. Why do I continue to push myself onward, to a goal I cannot achieve.

Driving myself....insane through this endless repeating task. Seeding petty doubts in my brain, an audience that repeatedly asks "Why do I chose to do the things I do?" "Why do I chose to do the things I do?" To chase the carrot on a stick, to chase the clouds in the sky. Dreams that will never leave the confines of my empty and rotting brain.

And as the audience repeats the same phrase again, and again, I ask myself, why? Why. Why do I push forward? Why I do jump in? When I know the ship is sinking. When I know the door is locked. There are no stairs to get up the wall! So why do I climb up knowing I will end up on my knees.

-Robert Taylor (RobertTaylorSleeps)

[namelesspoett]

I write.

I write, blood

To stitch my old scars

I write, ink

To hydrate my

Deserted heart

I write,

To sing what

My mind silently

Screams

I write,

So I can breath

Words of a poet

I write,

For my thunderstorms

Can bloom gardens

[midileduwang]

Fakeman is a robot in thigamajig skin.

You're all living a lie.

Illusions within delusions

Drugged by cultists for a fight the death

Love camouflaging under strife.

indeed they were all in disguises

concocted by black rainbows.

THEY WERE MY GAY DINOSAURS ALL ALONG FUCK YOU UBISOFT!

[brightshaw-shipper]

a beginning

a red blossom spreads

the flower of battle opening its petals on the gray linoleum floor

and a shattered digital watch, screen wiped blank, empty as the eyes of its owner.

outside, leaves dance through the steely November sky—

shining red and gold against gray

like rubies and diamonds and white gold

nestled in an unfeeling hand.

light flares, the watch resumes

strange hands holding a familiar object

dried flower petals on the gray linoleum floor

and at the center, himself, outside looking in

"Dr. Bright? We appear to have a problem."

[thepathetickind]

forever from a distance  always too far to reach one another  in this void that is our infinity  I see my whole world when I look at you

by laurenmaerie, ‘like sun and moon’ 

[visionsofaselfmademan]

"Your worst sin is that you have destroyed and betrayed yourself for nothing." —Fyodor Dostoevsky

This poem reflects a deeply personal journey I’ve been through over the past year, when I tried to fit into a version of "normal" that others expected from me. I thought maybe, just maybe, if I de-transitioned and played the part they wanted, I’d be more accepted, more loved. But in trying to conform, I felt like I was betraying the core of who I am—betraying myself. It’s a weight no one should have to carry, pretending to be someone they aren’t for the sake of approval. 

I’ve come to realize that if being true to myself makes others uncomfortable, those people aren’t worth my time or energy. I won’t live in the gilded cage of their expectations anymore. I will not betray who I am to make others happy. Being alone is far better than living in a world that demands I shrink to fit into their mold. I am who I am, and the people who love and respect me will accept that truth.

[trans-writes]

don't actually remember when i wrote this one. I found it in my drawing board doc when I was looking for ideas to build on lol

transcript under the cut

Trans Anti-Tragedy:

the narrative fucking hates us, babe,

but that’s alright. we’ll break

out, make 

a new one

burn the pages to ash. 

our stars aren’t just crossed they’re

tied up in badge-worthy knots.

fine, if that’s the way they wanna play it.

they always told us to reach for the stars so I will

and i’ll reach until I yank those bastards down.

the fault is in ourselves only in that

we took to believing in the stars. 

c’mon, get up, dust off

nurse your wounds, clean your scrapes,

cool your burns or let me do it for you.

no dying today, darlin’,

that’s the stuff of forever-tomorrow.

now’s the time for walking the train tracks and

for the whole world in your hands and a whole coconut cream pie 

in your backseat at midnight in the parking lot

pale and sweet as the moon.

fate’s a fucking coward and

I’ll tell you a secret—

she’s counting on us to do the dirty work.

self-fulfilling prophecy kinda scheme. 

it depends on us being tragic little fools with martyr complexes.

the thing about fate?

she may be a coward 

but she’s a damn good gambler.

but fuck that, y’know?

you always said you ran on spite so lets put that to the test.

there never was any sword over your head but your own, so cut it down and pick it up.

shake off the puppet strings, doll,

they were only ever cobwebs and complacency.

lets see what you do with all those gangly limbs.

no more service to the story that wants to kill us,

no more dragging ourselves raw and bloody across the pavement

crawling towards a future i’ve decided is evitable

instead we’ll swap clothes,

swap tips,

swap spit if you like,

stop building altars for them to bleed us on, 

start buying spikes,

throw away our silencers and get ourselves a bullhorn.

— r.a.b.

[subpixie420]

What Does It Mean?

What does it mean?

When you are a grown up broken child

Wanting love, validation, attention

What does it mean?

When you were abused and manipulated and now are more aware than ever

What does it mean?

When you just want to be adored?

To be stared at from across the room

While you dance a special dance to a cute 80's song

Does it mean you are narcissistic?

Self absorbed?

The victim has become the abuser?

Your thoughts spiral out of control

Thinking about the past, the present and how you want to be loved

Because you can't get past wondering

What does it mean?