#bad poetry day

[fireflycitystories]

I wanted to write a poem for bad poetry day lol

[alliterative-endlessknot]

For #NationalBadPoetryDay, here is a clip from ep 39 of our podcast, in which we read the worst poem that we know: The "Ode to a Mammoth Cheese" by James McIntyre.

[uhfuckidkisthislonh]

your bed is my shrine

when I was six year old

I went up to my father

and told him that the gods didn't exist

but you-

you make me want to marry you in a temple

that I may show all the gods

the one that I choose to worship

[gildedbearediting]

Bad Poetry Day

For a day celebrating bad poetry, I’d like to indulge in writing on the worst poet in the world. A title given to William McGonnagal who wrote ‘The Tay Bridge Disaster’. A poem that had once been praised by a very ornate gentleman, Marzials. He lived in Dundee for the bulk of his life. His title as Worst Poet has been long-withstanding with few prospects of being dethroned. A considerable feat…

[thevampiremars]

blue shark

whose tail is twisted

blue shark

whose fin slumps right

blue shark

whose teeth curl concave

blue shark

I kiss goodnight

[welcometogrouchland]

ANOTHER SKETCH DUMP! Featuring more of me playing with lineless art. Batman reborn era trio (dick, damian and steph) I miss you...when will you return from war. Also featuring Steph designs bc I've seen ppl dissatisfied w/ her current look, some good mom Talia, and Jason Todd poetry club. Duke is confused not that Jason would start a poetry club but that he'd have such mid poetry opinions. (ID in Alt)

[always-coffee]

After The Tower Falls

Here is the secret: eventually, the ache stops, the devastation quickens and then slows, the anger arrives righteous and in want of a reckoning,

and then, it turns back to shadow, suddenly, as if had not been burning a moment before, and in that empty space, there is quiet, and in that quiet, there is relief, like cool water from a soft stream, your heart

is no longer howling, and the pieces of the past all around you

no longer feel like destruction, but a fresh start, flowers growing out of the cracks, a bright song of possibility,

and you know you survived it, the worst thing, the impossible thing, the heartbreak

didn’t break you after all— breathe.

[nimata-beroya]

[aurae-rori]

I just think there is something so inherently beautiful about choosing to live, despite it all. You have touched the depths of hell, sunken in magma, drowned in blue fire - and yet, even though your fingertips have touched death's in some sort of cruel, twisted dance, you choose to live. You shouldn't have had to go through those things, and I am so sorry that you did. But it's going to be okay.

Not every day is going to be easy. Life isn't easy. But it is beautiful to wake up and choose to continue, even on the days where you don't want to get out of bed. I think those good moments in the future - the future that you do have, mind you - will make it worth the run. There are people waiting for you, out there. There is someone, there, in the future, even if their face is blurry, who is extending their hand to you.

They will be real. You can grab their hand and pull yourself out. You can hang on just a little bit longer.

You can choose for yourself. You are not anybody else's puppet.

Choose yourself. Choose this hellish life, because when winter blows over, spring will come again.

Even if it's for something small - it's worth it. You are worth it.

Please, continue to live.

[amateur-scribbler]

I am an artist, or I guess something of the such, I write and paint and read and devour art with a longing lust.

But lately I am messy, maybe I always have been; I can’t count how many times I’ve been caught with flecks of paint buried under my nails or charcoal smudged on my skin.

Even when messy, I know what I want to do. I want the mess I create to be something beautiful; art asks for us to take tragedy and transform it into something the masses can relate to.

So, I’m smashing perfect tiles to create some new mosaic but, it all is just starting to look eerily similar to the normal messes I make.

The shards of ceramic are askew and won’t sit how they should, so now I’ve got this frown on my face tugging down and taking with it everything that makes art feel good.

But, I see it in the shards and shapes, right there is a trail of every single idiotic mess I have made.

It’s all the drunk kisses that leave my lips bruised, or the weeping tears to be a version of myself whose ribs protrude.

It’s ugly and never looks how it should; it’s throwing daggers with my tongue at those I love to see if they come back, even if they’re staggering from their wounds.

I am an artist. I create all the time but, it’s not always pretty pastels or delicate little words spoken with a small smile. It’s messy and cruel, which are two traits that stick to me like tar.

Because I am an artist, and I have mastered the art of fucking up as well as the stars have mastered dancing in the dark.

the artist - t.k.o

[talon-dragonbeast]

socialising

stand straight, two feet on ground

smile, bare your teeth (not too much)

fangs hidden in plain sight

your claws in fists, don't let them see

(don't let them know)

wings folded behind your back, so tight

always look them in the eye,

and let them look into yours (ignore the pain)

hide your scales under your clothes

and use words that don't belong in your mouth

do they know?

can they see what is hidden?

a beast with stolen skin

a monster in human shape

[pencap]

By Sylvie (j.p.)

[alebrijediscordico]

Thoughts left on stand by,

the pages are in the intended order :3c

[serotinals]

A Long Winter | The Thirteen Letters | Not Easily Conquered

ao3: dropdeaddreams, WhatAreFears

[simmyfrobby]

im having A Day can u spare a sad little poem for a sad little guy

w.h. auden

[canisalbus]

My love mine all mine fits your boys so well in my opinion, especially that one line, so soft and tender, one waking up while the other still sleeps and seeing his peaceful face, feeling his warmth so close, watching a smile and a laugh, the sun reflecting off fur, eyes glowing in candlelight, nails (claws?) running through fur, melancholy as tears drip down the other's face, hands clenched too tight, jaw taut

.