#Spoken Words & Poetry

[jetleparti]

I made some poems about America; this one, recorded, is called Ramble.

[jayrockin]

Voxelfrogs asked: Pinkie and Brownie, I really loved seeing what TV is like for bug ferrets! Do you have any other forms of entertainment you enjoy (music, books, comics, games, plays, etc?)

BFL-2 writing is read down-up right-left, both vertically and horizontally.

[haveyouheardthisband]

[dangerouslyfurrydragon]

I love people who are confident and highly aware of their worth, but highly humble too and don't look down on anyone.

[sxrgripp]

I said, "No"

and it was political

stream + like + reblog + share + support

[soulinkpoetry]

“Who was I before I cared what you think?”

Credit to the rightful owner.

A poem for people pleasers.

.

[ragnarokhound]

Trick or Treat! Thank you for sharing all your wonderful writing!!

Happy Halloween! Thank you so much for reading, I'm so happy you've enjoyed! <3 (holds jaytim up like the potato: i just think they're neat)

Okay this response got long so it's going under a cut, haha, enjoy!!

The curse is cruel. "You really think that you're a better Robin?" Jason sneers. His blood coats Jason's fist. "A better Robin?" Tim echoes through bloody teeth.

"That's what I said, pretender. Haven't you got any words of your own? You have to steal those from me too?" "Steal? From me too?" He gasps. The questions burn his mouth like acid, frustration and rage held prisoner by his traitorous tongue. Jason's brow furrows, then smooths in the space of an instant. "Pathetic," Jason taunts, abandoning confusion for disgust and disappointment. In a sharp, painful crack of his fist, the world goes black before Tim can agree. *** "How long has it been?" Jason says. It's been years. Smoke curls between the gaps in his cupped hands as the brief burst of flame dies to an ember, glowing vermillion at the end of his cigarette. "Long," Tim answers with a sigh. He can't even sign his own words, his hands always twisting into shapes first held by someone else's mouth. By the last person who spoke to him. The railing of the fire escape is icy beneath his elbows. He should have worn a thicker jacket, but he didn't have time tonight. Jason is leaving in the morning, and Tim wanted to see him before he goes. This new thing between them, this friendship on the cusp of something else— is fragile and hard-won. Tim wants to nurture it, to see if the warmth roiling under the surface can be coaxed to blazing life. Jason shuts his lighter with a snap. His shoulder is warm against Tim's. Tim watches him breathe in poison, and envies the poison. "And no one's figured it out? Who did this to you?" Tim rolls his eyes. "Figured it out," he restates flatly. Of course he knows who did this to him. Of course Bruce and the rest know. The who was easy. Fae and demons aren't subtle, and they aren't exactly commonplace. It makes for a short list to dig through. Jason grins, cherry-red and laughing at him. "Right, right. I mean, you ever figure out how to fix it? How to get your own words back? Yes or no," he tacks on helpfully. Only seldom does Jason remember to do that, to give Tim more options to choose from. It's not that he doesn't care, or that he isn't careful with his words. He just doesn't have to be. He's always had a knack for guessing what Tim means on the first try. Now that he isn't trying to punish Tim for using Jason's words like their his own. Like what he'd done with Robin.

Tim used to resent it, that of all the people in the world to guess what he's feeling, Jason Todd could do it best. Used to. Tim looks away. "Fix it," he murmurs. "Yes." Not that it matters. Jason cocks his head. His cigarette burns between his fingers, half-forgotten. "Why the fuck haven't you, then? If it were me—" Jason cuts himself off with a self-conscious laugh. "Ah, forget it. I'm sure you'd love to if you could, right?" Tim's eyes go wide. Jason's never said that to him before. One word of three that make the key. Tim knows what he feels. He knows how to break it. "And give the son of a bitch responsible a kiss in the teeth for good measure," Jason continues, oblivious to the effect of his words. Tim seizes Jason's arm, ignoring how he flinches. Hope is fleeting enough as it is. "Wha—" "Love to," Tim interrupts, urgent, heart tripping in his chest. "You..." He swallows, his throat closing up, not sure if he can say the last word. Not because of any curse, but because it's— it's too much. It's too bold. It won't work. So why not try? Jason stares at him, waiting for him to speak. "...kiss," he whispers. Tim begs him to understand. Jason raises his eyebrows. "...kiss?" Jason echoes softly, his voice thick. He cups the back of Tim's head in his free hand. "You want to kiss me, babybird?" He's relaxed a fraction, and Tim can tell he still doesn't get it. The one time he doesn't understand the full depth of Tim's meaning, and it had to be now. "Well, why didn't you say so?" Before Tim can express just how unimpressed he is by— Jason kisses him. He tastes like smoke and a hint of mint, and like skin and teeth and tongue. He licks into Tim's mouth when he gasps, and swallows every sound he makes. Like it's not enough to own Tim's words; he needs to own the rest of him as well. Tim doesn't even know if it will work. What makes a love true, anyway? When you've bled and fought for it, tooth and nail? When you didn't even want it at first, but you know, like it was inevitable, that you can't live anymore without it squeezing your heart in its fist? When magic cannot bind you anymore, because you don't belong wholly to yourself alone. When you've chosen to be beholden. When it was never a choice at all. The autumn air is freezing, but Jason's hands are searing hot on Tim's face, burning his cheeks with the shape of his fingers. Tim doesn't remember tucking his hands under Jason's jacket, or finding the broad stretch of his shoulderblades with his palms. But when he grazes the skin at the back of his neck, just above Jason's shirt collar, he shivers in Tim's grip. Jason pulls away abruptly, and Tim protests. "Do you want—" Jason started to ask. "Jason," Tim huffs, breathless. "Why'd you stop?" It rings in the air between them, clear as a bell. They both freeze. "...Tim?" Jason asks slowly. "Did you just—" "Jason," Tim says again, disbelieving. Then wondering. It's the first word that's belonged solely to him in years. The first word that's his. "Jason."

(For the trick or treat ask game! Send me a trick or treat ask and I'll share jaytim WIP snippets, or new 3-sentence -paragraph fics, etc :^) through the 31st!)

[cocoabuttavasa]

you are too full of life and love to be half loved by someone. you deserve a love that feels satiating for your spirit. you deserve a love that makes you feel seen. you deserve a love that makes you feel heard. you deserve a love that listens and a love that is patient. you deserve a love that is kind and a love that feels warm. you deserve a love that makes your heart explode and a love that sends shivers down your spine. you deserve a love that takes the time to study you, that takes the time to understand your mind. you deserve a love that is patient and compassionate. you deserve a love that grows old. you deserve a love that doesn’t judge but instead accepts you wholeheartedly; flaws and all. you deserve a love that sends tingles through your whole body and leaves butterflies swarming in your stomach. you deserve a love that gives you 80 on the days that you can only give 20. you deserve a love that sends you into overdrive at the slightest thought of their touch. you deserve a love that lasts. you see how you simply read this, you deserve a love that is simple and extraordinary all in one. you deserve to be felt, you deserve to be loved. you deserve love.

[mentalnote1]

Sculpting Tears ~Poetry

If I could sculpt myself a tear

I’d make it audible

Allowing even the deaf to hear

***

If I could sculpt myself a tear

I’d paint it purple

Signifying royalty

And make all the blue disappear

***

If I could sculpt myself a tear

I’d relinquish loneliness

And mix this liquid with a prayer

***

If I could sculpt myself a tear

I’d give it an automatic reset

So that it would never be in need of repair

***

If I could sculpt myself a tear

I would never create it

Cold

And salty

Like

This wicked world

[edmond-monet]

being trans is a bit like

running hands over yourself and thinking

“i cannot wait for there to be a scar there

in the place of something else”

to know that all that will be left is the mark

a tangible reminder of how the creator wronged you

and how you made it right

[crossbowking]

Hello, sweet friends.

I know I’ve been MIA for a few years now (has it really been years?? where is the time going, good lord😭) but I had the urge to pop over here and see if anybody still moseys around this page!

TWD/writing fanfic got me through some really challenging times in my 20s and I’m so grateful for the community that I built here. I stopped writing for about three years and needed to really focus on my mental health — hence my sudden disappearance. I’m happy to say I’m on the mend and have recently found my way back to creating.

I’m not sure if/when I’ll pick fanfiction back up or if I’ll just be focusing more on original work now, but if you’re still interested in my writing, feel free to follow me over on tiktok @jessvalentee where I’ve been posting some poetry/spoken word that I wrote!

Please drop a little comment if you see this and let me know how you’ve been doing! Oh, how I’ve missed you all💛

-jess xx

[nicholaskyleedwards]

Very shy but here’s some spoken words. Rite of Solitude, from Interrelation and Other Works, available on Amazon and more

[theseuschats]

You guys really liked the last one so here's more.

set in the same AU, i guess?? Do yall want there to be a storyline here? Idkkkk

[sxrgripp]

you are capable of everything you desire to be

stream + like + reblog + share + support

[kzlatkova]

Write me secret codes, and notes, and pages.

In letters, and ramblings and doodles.

On a gold foiled card, or brown paper cardboard.

On a ketchup stained napkin, or rain soaked newspaper.

On a pamphlet corner, a calendar square, or an old shred of giftwrap.

On a receipt for onions, an invoice for tires, or a greasy burger king bag.

Write me anything.

And I will love every sentence, word, sylable and coma.

I will love them, because they are yours.

And because by your hand, all of it, becomes ours.

[3liza]

Exits to freeways twisted like knots on the fingers Jewels cleaving skin between breasts Your Cadillac breathes four hundred horses over blue lines You are going to Reseda to make love to a model from Ohio Whose real name you don't know You spin like the Cadillac was overturning down a cliff on television And the radio is on and the radioman is speaking And the radioman says women were a curse So men built Paramount studios And men built Columbia studios and men built Los Angeles It is 5 a.m. and you are listening to Los Angeles It is 5 a.m. and you are listening to Los Angeles And the radioman says it is a beautiful night out there And the radioman says rock and roll lives And the radioman says it is a beautiful night out there in Los Angeles You live in Los Angeles and you are going to Reseda We are all in some way or another going to Reseda someday to die And the radioman laughs because the radioman fucks a model too Gone savage for teenagers with automatic weapons and boundless love Gone savage for teenagers who are aesthetically pleasing In other words fly, Los Angeles beckons It is 5 a.m. and you are listening to Los Angeles It is 5 a.m. and you are listening to Los Angeles I am going to Los Angeles to build a screenplay about Lovers who murder each other I am going to Los Angeles to see my own name on a screen Five feet long and luminous As the radioman says it is 5 a.m. and the sun has charred The other side of the world and come back to us And painted the smoke over our heads an imperial violet It is 5 a.m. and you are listening to Los Angeles It is 5 a.m. and you are listening to Los Angeles It is 5 a.m. and you are listening to Los Angeles And you are listening to Los Angeles You are listening You are listening You are listening To Los Angeles