#friends poetry

[roseacademia]

When you're an overthinker with a mental illness, you think a lot, specially when your mental illness involves intrusive thoughts. It does you in. You've a bunch of thoughts and however wise or smart you can be with your mental illness but there's a chance that they can best you, maybe simply because a few elements of them align with who you truly are, or because sometimes, in this case, your feelings do not make sense to you. So you question, the what and the why and the intrusive thoughts tell you that nope, there's a chance that, in this particular case, your feelings are likely of the messed up sort because this person isn't likely not the kind you'd like. So you think, in your most anxious of moments, it's best to feel who you're and if it's true that your feelings are invalid, if your love isn't right, if this person is someone that you'd not be as interested in or smth once the messed up thoughts leave then things are best as they're

[oliverlikeshorror]

Nothing will ever compare to the overabundance of love I have for my friend. I have achieved the greatness that anyone in a good friendship should wish for, comfortable silence. I love her in only the way that friends can love.

[reallybadblackoutpoems]

the picture of dorian gray (1890) - oscar wilde

"fuck my yaoi life"

[hopelessvalentines]

“you’re my best friend, now i’ve got no one to tell i’ve lost my best friend.”

….

[poempoetryandmore]

[lucidloving]

Girlpool—Before the World Was Big // memorial bench quoting Toni Morrison's Sula // @inanotherunivrse // Iain S. Thomas, I Wrote This For You // Zadie Smith, Swing Time // Fall Out Boy—The Kids Aren't Alright // Audrey Emmett // Mikko Harvey, "For M" // Mahmoud Darwish, Memory for Forgetfulness: August, Beirut, 1982 (tr. Ibrahim Muhawi) // Langston Hughes, "Poem"

[shikhas-sombre]

Yaha dosto mein dosti nahi mil Rahi hai aajkal , logo ko ishq mil raha hai najaane kese..? 💕

[julykings]

from In the House With No Doors by Sarah Kay

[furiousperfectiondreamland]

Here is my friend Sophia she’s ready for any meet up depends on where you from.

Give me a text for her contact and page

Let’s reblog if you want this 🥰

[koffeinkaos]

Arthur, sitting on the throne, sees one of his guards perk up when Merlin entered the room. After everyone leaves again, Arthur adresses the man: Are you friends with Merlin?

Guard: Uh no, Sire, but he is always very kind to us.

Arthur: Kind? Merlin??

Guard with a smile: yes very polite. Everyone likes Merlin

Arthur: hm I guess I can see that. The knights love him too. He is very loyal, I have to give him that.

Guard: He is also very funny

Arthur: Yes and his clumsiness... It's

Guard: endearing?

Arthur: Endearing! Yes. He's also very brave!

Guard: And nobody can stay mad at him. Even Cook lets him steal sweets from time to time.

Arthur: Yeah my father liked him as well. I think it has something to do with those damn dimples

Guard: Dimples, my lord?

Arthur: Yes he's adorable when he smiles. Makes you feel... Stuff

Guard:

Arthur: Not in a bad way!! It's kinda nice actually. And sometimes he says things like... Oh! When he says 'my king' he can make it sound like the highest praise. And then his eyes look at me with so much trust and they are such a nice shade of blue. Not pale but very bright, you know? Like the sky on a summer day.

Guard:

Arthur smiling softly: and his hair contrast them quite stunningly. It curls at the ends, I noticed when we are out on hunts and it starts to rain. Then the curls come out. I bet they are soft. Sometimes i wish we could switch roles and i would get to comb his hair like he does for me...

Guard:?

Arthur: Do you think he sees me as his friend?

Guard: Of course, Sire! He barely leaves your side! He has slept in front of your door before. Actually he does that still, when it's Richard's turn to guard your chambers.

Arthur, grinning: Really??

Guard nods.

Arthur, leaning back in his throne with a content sigh and a serene expression: Okay I'm ready now. Bring the next petitioner in please.

[sentientsky]

on preemptive grief. on bracing for impact. on looking towards the horizon line and flinching

Rayne Fisher-Quann, “home for the holidays: an essay (sort of) about grief (sort of)” // me // David Levithan // The Crane Wives, “Black Hole Fantasy” // me (again)

[saltair-and-webweaves]

Words from the mouths of babes, promises ocean deep. But never to keep.

@inanotherunivrse/cocaine jesus - rainbow kitten surprise/fredrick backman, us against you/i lost a friend - finneas/poem - langston hughes/ocean vuong, on earth we’re briefly gorgeous/the underrated heartache - rupi kaur/@sarakleijn/unknown/motion sickness - phoebe bridgers/ @honeytuesday/saw ur mom at the grocery store - abby cates/louise glück, seizure/@thundersoon/ bronze - the regrettes/ritika jyala, the world is a sphere of ice and our hands are made of fire/i still forget we’re not even friends - trista mateer/the light that shines when things end - anonymous/couch sleeper, unknown site/ @saltair-and-palemoonlight/i lost a friend - finneas/dear friend, - dayglow/peter - taylor swift

Requested here

[forgivent]

[inkskinned]

you know, you know. no gods, no masters, no kings on pedestals. everyone is fallible. death of the author. you know! you are balanced about your intake of media - you allow the wiggle room, the grace, the gratitude, the skepticism. nobody above criticism.

but still. a weird gut-punch feeling, something akin to betrayal. you read the article. surprise! an author you love is actually: a serial fucking predator.

well, shit. what now. no, you knew he was a person (all people are), but now you're wondering - what have i overlooked by accident? what messages have i internalized that are strange and cruel? and also, like, what the fuck?

his actions lay a thick glaze on top of everything. like each place is now ruined, opaque in a new way. but okay, fine, you've done this before. you knew better, right? you've been betrayed by many a cherished childhood author.

still, this stickiness. fuck. can you pick up that book again. will you read it to your children. you've recommended it to others - will you ever do that again? and of course, of course, no parasocial relationships. you were theoretically above this kind of sentiment. but the artist informs the art, right.

so it's not something as clear-cut as feeling he owed you, specifically (a stranger) better behavior - just that you kind of, in a distant and odd way... sort of trusted him to do better. it's not like a real trust or something speakable, just the faint hope that the product (good books) was a thin representation of the soul. now it feels like the product (good? books?) was a mask. in some small or insignificant way, your previous support of this person lent them power. your money and your time and your laughter.

and the thing is - you have this terrible, echoing sensation. how many times will this happen? over and over. you find out that the singer you love is actually a predator. you learn over drinks that your favorite high school english teacher is in jail for what he did to her. you listen to the news idly and suddenly discover that a woman you used to idolize has been abusing her kids for an actual eon.

what can you touch without the static melting off. you can't even really complain about it too much (you were supposed to know better, and besides, you don't want the same re-split "it's not your fault, love what you love" basic advice), but now it's here. somehow, it feels like - you let him into your life.

it's not that things need to be pure or an artist has to be like, endlessly perfect, mindful. demure. it's more just this terrible truth that has been replayed through your veins so often it feels criminally vain. power corrupts, absolute power corrupts absolutely. did you want any one person to be worth that power?

it's just that he wrote books where he seemed to understand that. he seemed to know about hierarchies and unfair systems and bigotry and privilege. you thought they were books about what it means to struggle. you thought they were about having power and still using it for good rather than for control. he spooned you a narrative of being a good guy, a kind soul. you fucking bought what that fucking monster sold.

maybe that's why they were fantasies, after all.

[thoughts-left-unspoke]

[lena-oleanderson]

love & friendship - collected writings from side wounds and other poems