#armchairchallenge

[ho1y-water]

this same bathroom, these four walls

I’ve had every broken heart of my life in my parents’ house,

my childhood bedroom is stained with claw marks and spattered blood and teary grainy gritty lonely nights spent curled up

sobbing into the carpet.

You said

“I love you”

“Thank you i love the jewelry”

“Do you think our parents should meet soon”

And then you said

hope you’re happy with the next man.

I guess, when you don’t lend everything, you can’t lose it when your lover leaves.

We are all strapped in for the ride tonight.

I’m thinking of you because of course I am, because I always am. Because I’m in love with you.

I wish you’d come knocking but I don’t, because I know I’d answer, and that’s the thing.

Summer, five years ago. Or else summer now. Or else lying dead in a ditch. Whatever. Each moment drags by the same. All just the same, tiny studded blips of cellulite stardust.

I guess, when you’re young, you have to give your virginity to a man who doesn’t love you.

I’ve been the lightest here, the heaviest. The same and different. Healthy brain, electric shocks.

I’ve been the nicest, the meanest here; jobless, jobful. Hopeless, hopeful. Mystic and plain. Always messy. Always in love.

A few more weeks of this and I might have to reconsider this whole thing.

[rabperryleaf]

Failure

It hovers.

 It waits. 

It is sure that the day it’s presence will be accepted is rapidly approaching.

 It stares down at the girl, her form curled tight in a ball, the covers wrapped around her like they stand a chance at protecting her, the cotton spread her best armor. She’s close, she has to be or else it would not take up so much of the room. She’s still a child, right on the cusp of adulthood, but her mind stays young. She never changed, always stagnant and proud, always trying to adapt. She thinks it will help her, this strength, she thinks it is the cure. But maybe the kids who didn’t adapt got a completely new lens. When something isn’t repairable it gets replaced, and maybe getting replaced is what everyone else experienced while she stayed the same, her wounds covered in bandaids. Every scratch leads it closer, and it has been fooled into thinking she will accept it before. But she is hard headed. She has pulled out of the darkness before.

 It thinks she may be aware of its presence.

 It thinks the knowledge emboldens her.

 It thinks she thrives off avoiding accepting it. She doesn’t know she’s only hurting herself. She avoids its presence because she thinks it spells the end, she thinks something is over when acceptance occurs. She doesn’t know acceptance is no relief. It is only a fake promise. It is not the acceptance that changes people, it is the blindfold lifting, the ignorance dying, as they found their lives unchanged. It is the knowledge that there is nothing out to get you, nothing chasing you around as you live and exist. It is the knowledge that you are not staving off some outcome you don’t wish to accept. It is the recognition of the end, the lowest you can go, the recognition that even if there is relief in there being no further you are still well below with no plan out. The bottom is not a relief it only exists to taunt you with its looming presence. 

It wonders when she’ll cave, 

and the girl finds herself pondering the same question.

[samannblogs]

poetry

#spilled ink

#poets on tumblr

#twc

#newpoetssociety

#poetsoftumblr

#writers

#spilled ink

#scribbled words

#writerscreed

#creedrescue (new writers only)

#poetryriot

#twcpoetry

#brokensoulsuploads

#poetpardy

#electricexhibition

#poetryportal

#proseriot

#abstractcommunity

#illustrans

#lzlabseesu

#re-bumbleblossoms

#pomegranatepoetry

#armchairchallenge

[jakeisstrange]

Sorry I’ve been gone so long… I promise that I’ve been doing some writing since I took a little hiatus from Tumblr.

[the-dark-angelus]

Strange

I’ve been taking the same things that these people are breathing in this strange city where everyone are strangers and everything is dreamy to the eyes of everyone who haven’t been here.

--

I’ve been living every minute for some years now in this place. I never thought that it would take longer than this  before I familiarize  everything about here.

I had left my joy in my home and found myself trying to find some to other people, to other places. Walking my feelings alone on what must have been the thoroughfare where people with definite purpose come back and forth harvesting the grown seeds of their blood, sweat and tears. Fighting the essence of time because the longer that I stay, the more I acquaint to it - and be part of it.

I’ve been taking the same things that these people are breathing in this strange city where everyone are strangers and everything is dreamy to the eyes of everyone who haven’t been here.

…

[faceking16]

She said she never met someone like me, I smiled.

Little did she know , behind that smile was the happiness of a lifetime,

Little did she know how my day starts and ends with her, how I long to see her again,

How hard I worked not to make a fool of myself,

Little did she know what my dreams have been lately ,

I wish she knew I have fallen for her a thousand times now.

Little did she know.

[wachtuiltje]

fragile

watching her taking her first steps

slowly, hesitantly, carefully

uncertain, risky steps

but at the same time glorious

joyfully squeaking

as she moves a bit forward

one step at the time

a huge step in life really

a porcelain puppet

and yet

ready to face challenges

what else can I say but

beautiful

*

wachtuiltje 2019🗿

[josy57]

Aseptic

I come home late at night and it is all silent Only the constant whistling of the nearby highway The low buzzing of the neon above the sink White noise, a wheezing ghost welcoming me home The hushed humming of a lifeless house Sounding oddly like the blood flow in your ear When you press a seashell to it Dreaming of the ocean but getting only an empty echo

I stand here, by the counter, with darkness in my eyes Looking over at the street, the deserted driveways An aseptic, perfect neighborhood Wiped clean of any life once 10 p.m. strikes Mummy, daddy, two kids, and a dog A neat little fence Doll houses precisely aligned Squeaky clean and sterile Bearing only the stain of meaninglessness The whole scene painted dirty yellow by the sodium streetlamps

It's a bit like nausea Or a headache brought on by a strong scent Like I'm here and not here Watching myself watch those immaculate facades Nothing feels quite real, but it all feeds the migraine Ringing hollow. Louder and louder. Reverberated

Soon, it rises around me, all air leaving the room An atmosphere too heavy, too quiet, too palpable Memories flooding in to fill the gnawing void The kitchen detergent smelling suddenly like chlorine And finally my legs give out, refusing to carry me So I sit on the tiled floor, like I once did at the bottom of the pool Deflated lungs, blank mind, and blurry vision Thinking of nothing at last Before the swim coach came to tear me away From my sunken comfort From the pure blue calm of the depths Bringing me back to a world I never belonged to But who will come for me now?

Inspired by @electricexhibition‘s prompt “A pool in the kitchen”

[praggya1993]

The garden turned golden

Not because it was adorned

With clusters of luscious shoots and shrubs

Or nested with rich swathes of vigorous soil,

Nor because it allured

with the music of

Tickling winds and dancing birds

Flapping their wings

On a gleaming sky,

But because it was reared

and refined

With a flowering capacity

To sparkle and glow,

Even after roaring gales

Dishevelled it's vital efflorescence

From time to time.

[electricexhibition]

APRIL Prompts

Hey guys, I thought I would try something a little different! I’ve been swamped this month with projects. I’m currently organizing a monthly magazine for my Patreon content, putting together my first poetry collection, recording my first themed album, and finishing a scifi book cover. So instead of weekly prompts, I have put together a list of monthly prompts!

As always, the prompt does not need to be included in the piece, it only serves to inspire. Please use the tag #armchairchallenge so that I may find it. Any pieces related to the prompt in any medium will be reblogged. Feel free to message my main blog, @electricarmchair, if you have any questions.

**And because these are monthly prompts, please specify which prompt your piece is written for so I can re-blog accordingly. Not all the prompts have to be done, nor in order – Have fun writing!

Prompts for the month of April:

1. The golden garden

2. A girl called Sweet Pea

3. Spring, Personified

4. The fastest snail alive

5. The Easter elf

6. Do fairies have tails?

7. Listen to the rain

8. Poetry Pie

9. What a star smells like

10. Argus-eyed

11. Spring things

12. The fifth season

13. Faun of the flower

14. Ross and the Rose

15. The Bunnyman

16. King of the daffodils

17. The forest in your head

18. Dawn, pawn

19. The crown made of sunlight [or snakes]

20. 3 am

---

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[ho1y-water]

Toweling off and dry rot. Small shiny things, pink things, red things. Fascinators, attention-grabbers, wind catchers, butterfly catchers, dream catchers. Sore feet. Red things again. Working hard under a boss who hates you for no reason, all for the paycheque to disappoint you.

The problem is caring. If I didn’t care I wouldn’t be doing this. The problem is that I was a kid who no one looked at, so when you look at me, I want to do everything to keep you looking. Shiny things again, small things. Tokens. I blow it. Money, men. I blow.

Sharp things. Toenails, razor blades, the sting of waxing one’s pussy. Soft things. Things I can’t get anywhere else. A cornered market. Sore feet again.

Heat like danger. Heat like dead leaves, dead grass. Dead girl. Dead girl loves you. I love you.

I love you. I love you.

I know later on I’ll be embarrassed I ever felt this way for you but I love you.

Sweet things, like your tongue in me. Tender things, like the bottom of your foot or sleeping on your chest. Hard things. Rough, scary, boring, grating, thankless things. Bad things. Red things again. Claspers, pincers, tweezers, pliers. Screwdrivers. Screw drivers.

Back in my childhood bedroom like I never left. How vertiginous it is to change so much and so little.

Plain things, pills and such. Little things, like pokes or like blinks.

I love you.

[cruxymox]

The Queen of Days sits, and quietly so, watching me think.

bark of words,

ideas run slow & sticky -

not sweet yet.

the canopy, dark.

where are my eyes?

Her crown is now hidden by dusk, and all of the things that are in-between. I hear hissing.

I am lost in her wild underbrush.

[leftiswhatgodmademe]

breathe in darling, rinse and repeat, the cycle of survival is a complex dance swirling within pink and pale lungs, an artist's favorite pastel truth, a poet's broken promise in ink, an author's much-needed character death. breathe in darling.

“If breathing was easy”

[jakeisstrange]

ORAL // RUINS

[mleighsquickspot]

Listen, the Rain...

Each drop a sound, a voice calling out before it's lost to where it lands.

You hear them slip as they hit and then slide down your now wet window panes with a squeak.

They scream as they pelt the pavement like a drummer playing the beat of the world while sitting in a garage with friends.

They silently plop into the grass, while still others smack the street flowing not into the soil of mother Earth helping things to grow, but rather becoming lost to the drains on the street, leading to dirty dank darkness.

In time you hear the rain roar as it becomes a flood, determined to carry all if us away. Submerging us in a mud caked tomb, meant to show us it's power, it's force, it's ability to be more than a source of not only life but also death and destruction. Thus, be aware of the drop of water running down your cheek, it's more than you realize.

Listen to the rain, each drop is a sound, a voice calling out to be heard before it's lost to wherever it lands.

image: Listen to the Rain | Bill Martin Jr. | Macmillan Publishers

Let me know what you think and pass the thought along.

[rcf-poetry]

You laid in that blooming field

As if you were royalty

(Which you were and still are)

You hands were fondling a daffodil

It was nearly golden

So you picked it

Along with several other daffodils

And wove them into a crown

You place it atop your head

And then danced around

You sang

“King of the daffodils!

King of the daffodils!”

With a smile so bright

I could’ve sworn you were the sun

As the flowers turned to you

To gain an even deeper hue

Of the gold you fell in love with

I wish I was that daffodil

That lured your consciousness in

I wish I was the daffodil

That made you fall in love again

But I’m not

And never will be

••