#This my poetry for ya

[taimanzano]

One of one. One, alone, one.

[reallybadblackoutpoems]

hamlet (1623) - william shakespeare

"polonius, behind the arras: o i am slaying!"

[chidoroki]

"Unstoppable" by Donna Ashworth

[anxiouspotatorants]

Rory liked Dean but she didn’t love him. She liked going on dates with him. She liked that he’d spend time with her and watch movies with her and get along with her mother. But there was no fire, no matter how much she wanted there to be one. She couldn’t burn like she did for exploring the world and the written word. She couldn’t burn for him.

Rory loved Logan but she didn’t like him. She loved his freedom, his adventurous spirit, his lust for life. She loved how she could let herself go with him, put faith in something dangerous and not shatter. But she didn’t like how cruel he could be to others. She didn’t like how dismissive he was, of responsibilities, of consequences, of people’s hurt. She didn’t really like him.

Rory liked Jess and she loved him. She liked that he liked the same stuff as her, liked that he’d help out his uncle without bragging, and talk with her friends, and throw literary challenges at her because he genuinely wanted her opinion. She loved his honesty, his integrity, how he’d leave her speechless with his gaze and breathless with his kisses. How he looked at her, all of her, and never made her feel like she was lacking. She liked and she loved him. And it scared her shitless.

[p-011-yn]

An Unnamed Third Life Poem

written for my reading for pleasure class

Roses are red, violets are blue,

but those are not what I’m offering you.

Poppies are small, not meaning much,

but joined by a lilac, they have the right touch.

That pit caused me pain, and caused you some, too,

the sands are rough, and the skies are blue,

this water is cold, and so is your sword,

but I’m loyal to you. You have my word.

[ghost-proofbaby]

when taylor swift said “no one wanted to play with me as a little kid” and halsey said “still a little kid who can’t make friends” and orla gartland said “maybe you don’t really want me there at your birthday party”

[leapdayowo]

them <3 but as dragons :D

I’m not at all familiar with drawing dragons, but the idea was planted in my head and I cannot let it go! After some trial and error this is what I’ve got! I’m very happy with how the designs turned out, and I hope to expand a bit on the idea :3 The turned into animals prompts very much helped me commit to this too <3

[actual-changeling]

part 1 part 2 part 3 // richard siken

[ro-sham-no]

@wincestwednesdays | july 24th: sunshine / rock and a hard place

in between a rock and a hard place is a thing that's shaped like you, a poem by me.

[punkrockscully]

Hold My Hand (Across the World, Baby, I'm Yours)

1.

It’s easy, what else can you say? His hand slips into yours not like a secret, because there have never been any between you—but his calluses catch on yours like torn edges rubbing together, two paper dolls connected at your featureless hands cut from the same square where only you live, have lived for years now, images pressed together along a fold. There’s absolutely nothing like holding a burning star caught in your two hands and you know this because you have held his fingers wrapped up in yours, tangled like your messy thoughts. Sometimes you yearn for an empty head, clear of detritus and jumble. When his hand slides easily into yours—entwined, vice grip on your fingers, arm around his back trying to hold on as you slip by like a deft ghost, careful at Coachella as if approaching a spooked horse—your mind goes blissfully blank and you can finally think clearly.

2.

No man is an island and yet you’ve stranded yourself up on an amp in front of a room full of people who want to see you kiss your bandmate full on the mouth. You could get down if you wanted, really, promise, but there’s something in the way he looks at you from across the stage that lights a strange fire in your belly. He gives you the look that says princess—exasperated yet fond, because he will only always be fond of you—and you know you’re going to get it later because you’re a brat but you both know that too. Old news, you’ve been bratty from day one, but he likes to remind you of it when lights are low and there’s only you and him and breath between you. Arm outstretched, defined muscles flexed taut, he reaches for you across a canyon and you meet him there as you always will.

He presents you like a prizewinning pony to the crowd as you take a tentative leap down, hands still linked in a reverent grip, and all your huddled thoughts unfold at the warmth of his twitchy fingers around yours. Leftover frenetic energy from absolutely shredding, but your hand is dainty in his, real Darcy-helping-Elizabeth-into-the-carriage hours except he won’t flex his fingers in stunned realization later—his will grip, and pull, and leave loud bruises on your hips and thighs where no one will see them; will tickle with intent and instinct and years of knowing all your sweet spots; will muzzle you when you get too loud in the venue dressing room; will pretend there are unmapped places on your body he hasn’t explored with hand-strung patience and devotion.

Yes, you’re going to get it later—he’s going to break you into prismatic shards then fit you back together to catch light better. He’ll be studious of you, as if there’s anything new left for him to learn, but when you let out a four-legged whimper he’ll give you that schoolboy’s grin wrapped up like a gift, then slip both hands into yours, his sorcerer’s fingers clenched tightly and his eyes sparkling like it’s always been effortless to love you.

gif from @i-m-a-leaf-on-the-wind thank you for your service

for @lalaballa i did not miss your tags on my call for prompts :)

[neosatsuma]

Lydia Havens, "September and Nothing Else"

[buffythevampirelover]

Mine

And though I call you mine, I know you will never belong to me. I could never grab your light, hold it steadily in my palms, no matter how hard I tried. Nor does anyone grab their God and pin it in place. Mine in the sense that I worship you; chest beating, always bleeding, bruised knees and all. I live for you, and with you always on my mind, always right beside me— or at least not far behind. You cannot capture someone else but you can carry and hold and caress the love you have for them. And that, too, shines bright. It burns your fingertips. It tastes sweet on your lips. It is fully yours, when your heart is not. When there is nothing else to hold.

[lilitophidian]

To have her would be the most heinous crime against mankind. All of Heaven's initial mortal souls were corrupted beyond redemption. Adam entered the queue to be quickly determined as to follow the limbo effect.

In time, his agreement would bring him to his knees. Especially if she caught his rib. What would God say if he just strived to create mistakes? Hell's population reflects this, since it became a waste dump for rejects. No different from the other two who initially graced the meadows with bare feet and naked bodies.

There's a mutiny in Heaven and thy leader is woman.

She shall force you on your knees to bow to her excellently, and if you shall deny such at her side, you too will be struck down with her might.

All that was required in the grand scheme of things was a simple acceptance. Too naive and trusting to read the fine print, she'd linger her fingertips to grasp the soft flesh of her chin.

" Close your eyes. I'll do the rest. "

With ease and momentary rhythm, she'd wait for such to flutter close before pressing lip against lip. As the murky hazed potion split, she would carefully inject it inside Eve.

A kiss that spells doom. A single taste of such triggered hunger. Madame's dogs were well aware of this, and even someone so pure intoxicated on the blood of the lamb would find it difficult to reject such a lullaby.

I offer you the darkness to soak in,

while it may make your nose sting like that of bleach ,

You will always be a part of me.

And not he.

[disbarredgoose0]

The Kiss.

[lostsimulacri]

we being for real... lol

[the-lights-are-loud]

Your words

They are

Like precious stones

I treasure

Each and

Every one

Your jeweled

Works are

Worth more

Than any ounce

Of gold

That resides

In my

Home

Your imagery

Dancing through

My minds eye

Leaving me

Drunk on

Your imagination

What is

Your worth?

As my

Dear friend?

My close

Confidant?

Even a sister?

You are

The brightest

Of Emeralds

A shining

Star on

My darkest days

You make

Me happy

For our

Friendship

Is greater

Than

Precious Stones.

Dedicated to @magnoliasandarson