#full poem

[crowthegeode]

Abecedarian for a Botanical Child, Decrescendoed

A streetlight just turned on; there’re trees

Blocking the sunset out my window, a

Crisp and clean gradient that

Declares fall is on its way soon. it's

Ever creeping closer like the end and I

Feel like I'm on the brink of something

Grand and worth staying present for but

Hey this could be the last day you breathe.

I don't want to cut off before the phrase ends.

Just because it decrescendos doesn't mean

Kill the music. my legs and my arms are

Letting go of my childhood strength, and

My joints and my bones are icing over.

Now I'm at mezzo piano when

Once I was full forte, accented.

Perhaps this is my sunset, solo so soon

Quieted by decreased lung capacity.

Really I just want to not struggle with

Something as poetic as an early demise:

Take my legs but not yet, not yet.

Unforgettable were those days climbing so

Very high in a pine tree and swinging,

Wings spread wide as the sky I could touch.

Xylem breaks down over time and

You see I'm made of sycamore, my

Zeal has weathered me early.

[fromwinter]

There’s no emergency, no sirens, no panic. If a sparrow drowns in the lake and sinks to the bottom—its feathers, bones, tiny organs falling into nothingness—did it happen? It’s quiet, I still have breath. I’m keeping the blankets, the sheets, the mattress warm. When my feathers sink to the bottom of the lake will that, too, go unnoticed?

— From Winter, ‘Sparrow Drowning’

[voicedwords]

PERFORMANCE, Duane L Herrmann

[stimmingandstruggling]

i’m still figuring out how redbook works so i can’t share the video here yet, but y’all.

a woman made a post on tiktok talking about li hua, a pseudonym students in china learning english would write under to american “pen pals.” these letters were never sent. apparently it was crazy common, hundreds of letters have been written from li hua.

and people have started saying they feel like li hua is getting a response.

this woman posted this on tiktok and the comments were full of people writing responses, apologizing to li hua for not being in touch for so long. and one american mentioned how when they were a kid they dug holes in the beach and thought if they dug deep enough they could reach china all the way on the other side of the world, and that just awoke some MEMORIES. like, i did that. i dug holes in the sand and wondered how close i was. “as children we dug holes at the beach to try to get to you. we wondered what you’d be like our whole lives.”

the same woman made a post talking about THAT on redbook, saying it feels like we’ve both been just struggling to reach each other for so long. “i suddenly realize, this meeting was actually a two way effort. it’s like you’ve done a lot of hard work and come a long way before a date, and the wait was too long that you gradually started to forget the original intention of embarking on this road, and began to doubt, is your date real? suddenly one day, they really appeared in front of you and tell you i also made an effort to see you. and that’s a wonderful thing.”

idk that just made me cry a bit. i’ve seen a couple people refer to the feeling of being a little kid at the playground again, awkward and clumsy and sometimes hurting each other but everyone just eager to meet and share what they love.

[letsbelonelytogetherr]

– Oscar Wilde

[wednesdaysfullofwoe]

[scretladyspider]

Seven—six—eleven—five—nine-an'-twenty mile to-day —

Four—eleven—seventeen—thirty-two the day before —

(Boots—boots—boots—boots—movin' up an' down again!)

There's no discharge in the war!

Don't—don't—don't—don't—look at what's in front of you.

(Boots—boots—boots—boots—movin' up an' down again);

Men—men—men—men—men go mad with watchin' em,

An' there's no discharge in the war!

If—your—eyes—drop—they will get atop o' you!

(Boots—boots—boots—boots—movin' up an' down again) —

There's no discharge in the war!

Try—try—try—try—to think o' something different —

Oh—my—God—keep—me from goin' lunatic!

(Boots—boots—boots—boots—movin' up an' down again!)

There's no discharge in the war!

-excerpts from “Boots”, written in by Rudyard Kipling, published in 1903, as read by Taylor Holmes, recorded in 1915 (the trailer does not utilize the full poem)

28 years later trailer

He's in it more than I expected honestly

[peaceishim]

The one who loves the moon, still loves it when it is not in the sky, when it might not be in front of their eyes. The love is still there.

-A.S.

[hisbodycorpse]

⠀ 𝕭iogrɑfíɑs, 𝜇𝑠𝜎 𝑙𝜄𝑏𝑟𝜀.

⠀⠀ 01. #𝑪u͟e͟r͟p͟o ♱ ⦉ 體找到了出路 ⦊

⠀⠀ ◙ 𝟖𝟹 。       𝐭͟𝐢͟𝐧͟𝐭͟𝐚͟ 𝐨͟ 𝐩͟𝐚͟𝐩͟𝐞͟𝐥͟.

⠀⠀

02. ℘ ⃛͡ †. Goose—bumps 𓉲 ⠀‛ ⋄

#每一个爱抚，直到我们成为陌生人。

03. 深入皮膚下的紋身,⠀⠀   𓍝 ⠀⠀即使身⠀

#.o͟ɹ͟ᴉ͟ɟ͟ɐ͟Z͟ 𖤓⠀⠀ 𓊆 體找到了出路 𓊇 ⅞

04. 𝐀͟𝐧͟𝐠͟𝐞͟𝐥͟'𝐬 𝐅͟𝐚͟𝐥͟𝐥͟.

🚫 ꯳⃘꤫ 𒋲 ꉺ ҉

05. 𓏶 ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ 𝗠𝗼𝗻𝗮𝗰𝗮𝘁𝗼.

𝑑͟𝑒͟𝑠͟𝑒͟𝑟͟𝑡͟𝑜͟𝑟͟. ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ 𖥟

Estas biografías pueden ser modificadas,

intercaladas, tomadas como inspiración.

Si bien se respetan mis créditos, es decir,

no hacerlas pasar como suyas.

[crowthegeode]

god gave me chronic pain because she knew I'd be unstoppable without it (I hate low air pressure)

sometimes I imagine my brother as a

tender-hearted, tender-minded being like me

and it hurts

he shouldn't cry at my sister's screams

not because he is a boy and shouldn't cry at all

but because my sister shouldn't scream

sometimes I imagine my brother as an

artist, composition-seeking being like me

and look right now

he's taking pictures of my mother's sunflowers

not because she asked him to (she did, it's not the point)

but because he can't resist the opportunity

sometimes I imagine my brother as a

pained, forcefully-aware being like me

and it hurts

he shouldn't be like me

not because I'm unworthy of being

but because no one should live in pain

[soundlessl-y]

[ID:

When I Am Asked by Lisel Mueller

When I am asked how I began writing poems, I talk about the indifference of nature.

It was soon after my mother died, a brilliant June day, everything blooming.

I sat on a gray stone bench in a lovingly planted garden, but the day lilies were as deaf as the ears of drunken sleepers and the roses curved inward. Nothing was black or broken and not a leaf fell and the sun blared endless commercials for the summer holidays.

I sat on a gray stone bench ringed with the ingenue faces of pink and white impatiens and placed my grief in the mouth of language, the only thing that would grieve with me.

/end ID]

Lisel Mueller, When I Am Asked

[fromwinter]

Drowning doesn’t look like drowning, it’s swimming till it's not. And suddenly you’re comprehending all the weight that you forgot.

Your head is going under and you cannot keep it up. You see the shore, you kick for home, this living rests on luck.

— From Winter, ‘Treading Water’

[voicedwords]

In Little Pieces, Naz Abas Ng

[humbuns]

clair de lune

[geryone]

Wound is the Origin of Wonder, Maya C. Popa

[wednesdaysfullofwoe]

⠀ ｡ﾟﾟ･｡･ﾟﾟ｡

ﾟ。 horror movies and my bed

　 ﾟ･｡･ﾟ