#Poetic prose

[iambrillyant]

“may you never hesitate in cutting ties with someone who isn’t good for your nervous system out of fear that you might need them someday, may you operate from a place of abundance instead of lack, knowing that whatever you release is only making space for something better.”

— billy chapata

[mythoughttherapy]

“More love is found in grief than in love itself.”

—Lang Leav, September Love

[rebeccathenaturalist]

Part of why I love nurse logs and nurse stumps so very much is because they are a perfect example of the life-death-life cycle in nature. Tiny bits of us begin dying--skin cells, epithelial sheddings, hair--from the moment we are born, and in a living ecosystem they are immediately scooped up by some other being who uses them to fuel another day of life. This conifer tree was feeding tiny detritivores and decomposers with flakes of dead bark and shed needles in its very first year, and at the same time drawing carbon from a million different deaths into itself from the air, storing more and more as it grew.

And now it passes that bounty directly on to more living green things and fungi and microbes. The nurse log may be the symbol of death renewed into life on the forest floor, but the tree was already within that reciprocal system from germination forward. So we too are dying every moment of our lives but also capturing the deaths of others to keep the flames within burning day after day. The apple that I eat is from a tree that wrapped itself around the mortality of countless corpses in the soil, recycled the carbon from a million places into vessels that hold the incomparable energy of the sun.

Once you look closely enough at them, life and death are not separate; they simply balance and rebalance throughout the existence of one being, until its story has ended while sparking the stories of so, so many others. The nurse log is becoming ferns and fungi, while the ferns and fungi will be forever inseparable from the ancient tree that gave them their start in life. The decaying wood we see here will eventually become imperceptible to our eyes, but it will persist through these and many, many other lives of the forest.

[merakiione]

soap scum

(ione meraki 2024)

[deanepoetry]

You helped me understand.

[umabokil]

There is a rotten feeling of melancholy and loneliness on some nights which you can’t quite explain. You suddenly want to be buried—whether under the ground, under a comforter, or in a hug that’s here to stay, you don’t yet know—but you suddenly feel like mould and dust and the colour of a funeral on a dull day; you suddenly want to sit in the middle of a puddle of gloom and stare off at the white wall till daybreak peeks through the window crack. You want away; you want the ocean bed; you want stillness; you want nothingness. Because you feel like nothingness.

[coldfeetonthekitchenfloor]

You remind me of the trees. Which is to say the woody green of your eyes, the way you flip from tranquil to frantic whenever the wind picks up. Which is to say, your arms long and lithe and tangled, tugging at my hands with an insistence buzzing beneath the stillness of your skin. As if, like the seasons, you miss me even when you’re still holding me. Hungry like the night, beckoning small heartbeats to nest there within your dark hollows. I hope you find some peace within this long winter, the blanketed quiet, no leaves to rush you along. Because like the trees, I know you can hold steady, re-await the spring and it’s’ new beginnings.

[dreamgirljune]

i think i am so enamored with devotion as violence, because i want someone to love me even when i am covered in blood. most days, i am more teeth than lips. more claws than hands. more desperation than gentleness. if i am to love, i want it to consume me as surely as a forest fire. when the smoke has cleared, trees will grow stronger than before. i will only let my wounds be tended to by someone unafraid of gore, and i fear softness hurts more than any double edged sword. if i am to be loved, let it be in a slaughterhouse we might make into a home. then the heartache will be holy. and i will be whole.

[heartofmuse]

Let me tell  you over and over again how much you mean to me, how much I need you though I will not always tell you in words that come from my lips.  You are the breath of my happiness, and in this life there is nothing I yearn for more, nothing more necessary to the well being of my soul  than your presence. Minutes only feel lived when filled with you. Oh, come and know my heart for it is wide open for you. Dispel all doubt as you peek inside and see yourself entwined in every fiber, your name singing in every beat. And as you recognize yourself  and the weight of everything you are in my heart let your soul be affirmed and believe and trust once more. 

e.v.e.

[wordedarchive]

how was your sleep? [i love you] this reminded me of you [i love you] i'll only go if you're planning to [i love you] let me buy this for you [i love you] it's fine, don't overthink it [i love you] i prayed for you [i love you] you don't have to say please to me [i love you] make sure you eat on time [i love you] i trust your choice [i love you] i can't wait to meet you [i love you] take care of yourself for me [i love you] i know you love the red heart emoji so i only send it to you [i love you] you've got this! [i love you] good night [i love you]

[beforeyearning]

january snow.

And in the midst of January snow, the type that sticks to the ground

& your ribs—your desire to seek warmth reaches a fever pitch.

You have an excuse to abandon your shame at the door, and open

your mouth and say ‘I want. I want. I want’, and if you’re lucky you’ll

hear ‘I’ll give. I’ll give. I’ll give’, but you’re foreordained to hear firsthand

the yearning echo throughout an empty house. But you’ll put on some

coffee and cozy up in bed, shifting aimlessly through doomscrolling,

sleeping, and sipping on black coffee that spills out the big gaping

wound in the middle of your chest. You blot it & change your shirt

for the comfiest hoodie you have. You’re secretly terrified that there’s

a big tattoo on the middle of your forehead that gives you away to everyone,

but you’re more scared of the mirror and the wasted potential in the reflection

to go check on it. So, you make yourself as little possible with the heaviest heart,

it’s a wonder you aren’t pinned to the ground from all your wants. Lost in the blur

of whitish gray world outside your window, you watch the dance of the snowflakes

and find a smidgen of peace. You’re an excellent overthinker, you make something

from nothing—so you’ll carry this peace for days. Maybe even through the month.

[iambrillyant]

“walking down your authentic path can be one of the loneliest roads to travel on because the longer you’re on it, the more you realize that only a select few will be compatible with who you are with no mask on.”

— billy chapata

[sylfhia]

—Until our souls meet again...

"Under a sky that seemed to bleed along the horizon, two souls met in an endless meadow of red flowers. She, with her dark dress billowing like an omen, and he, with a smile that concealed the weight of destiny, looked at each other as if the universe had paused in a single breath. Each petal seemed to burn with the intensity of their love, fleeting and perfect. But the wind, a cruel messenger, carried with it the murmur of inevitable separation, and the flowers, silent accomplices, began to wither beneath their feet. They embraced with the desperation of those who know that time does not belong to them, leaving in that field their final breath, an eternal memory etched in crimson."

[sunflorall]

Oh to be loved in a way you understand

[heart-of-poetry]

No, I don’t care that you’re messy and loud and sometimes annoying. I love you anyhow. Come over tonight. I will cook for you in the kitchen—it’s green tiles and the sun that peaks in through the windows. Come as you are. Leave your hair messy and your skin blank and your body cloaked in plain clothing. I find you most beautiful in that state—natural, beating, tender, alive. I will make us soup in my cleanest pot. It will be steaming and hot, but not too hot that it burns. I will love you enough for it to always keep you warm, but never in such a way that it hurts.

[abreathlessword]

30 (It Gets Better)

When they say ‘it gets better’ you think once you’re in your twenties it will do exactly that. I am saddened and humbled that while not true, the wait and come up is so much sweeter the longer it takes. I may not yet be where I desire to be, but I am finally in the place to make what I dream a reality. I wake up with tears sometimes, but not because I can’t believe my life is really mine and I’m so disconnected and feel so much disdain, but because I cannot believe that my life is real and it is mine. And I’m grateful for that for the first time in my life. It may have taken me longer, but my story is no less important. I am proof that it does get better. One day at a time, one hour at a time, one breath at a time. I am reshaping and molding myself to become me. I am not defined by other’s expectations, or society’s standards, or your little box. I am not dependent on what anyone thinks, but my own thoughts are fueling a fire that is going to light this world aflame. There is a power in all of us, our light in the world, and once you find yours, it doesn’t just get better, it becomes ethereal.

-a. f. j.