#i am normal about poetry and writing
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yooo new poem just dropped
(this is the second one, i wrote this lady night idk if it makes sense but oh well :') )
Yeah, I read this twice then stared at the wall for 15 mins. Excuse me while I perform CPR on myself. Actually never mind, I'm signing a DNR. This was so raw, vivid and vulnerable. I am shooketh to the very core. It's like you are around me and spying on my life smh. I refer to my rot as this 'sickness' and let me let you know. This resonated deeply with me. I saw it, I felt it, I breathed in your poem and loved every bit of it. Growing up thinking there is something inherently wrong with you, which must be kept inside, a secret of the true self. If people know it, they'll forsake you, they'll be horrified, disgusted, repulsed, gagging and aching at the beast they've been deceived by.
And the nature of this rot is so unknown, yet it lurks in every feeling, every thought and every interaction. 'in my chest does it lie, in my heart does it feed off every misery. In every doubt, does it thrive on every mistake does it embed itself, further and further' It grows, it's a moving target, it flourishes inside. And every thing feels like a mistake, ding or not doing, it all feels like an endless cycle and it always seems to win and grow and corrode your insides.
'if you love me, leave me be' Because after all, you know how to live with this rot, you can survive with this inside of you. 'it's filthy, impure' Some people want to help, but they don't know how. The last stanza - where the person is weeping and horrified at the rot's existence. They mean well, yes but at the end you have to comfort them instead of them reassuring you. 'you can't help, stop trying' And all this leads you to believe that at the end of the day, there is something no one can fix which makes you feel unlovable. But if the person still stands, they might not know how to fix it, but they still do their best, they keep 'fighting'. It leaves you dumbfounded. Why willfully engage with this putrid rotting creature? Also the bloody hands and stained shirt. A feeling that you will contaminate the ones around you, that you will ruin the love by being so filthy. The ones you know are now covered in your blood, in your rot and it's your fault. And by the end you are so sick of it, you tear it out, you kill it all you can but you know it's all futile. Then the questions of your true self come burning. Then the lines between you and the rot seem so blurry. But you'll tear it out, you'll take care of it. Even when it's 'never quite dead, fully dead'
The line 'these bloody fingers have seen worse' alludes to the fact that there have been several attempts to 'tear it out, bleed it dry'. The rot has been picked apart a million times, yet it 'convulsively persists'
This is what I made of it. If you had indented something else and if I missed something between the lines. PLEASE TELL ME. I am not normal about this poem in the least bit. It feels like it has watched me and knows me for who I am. HOW CAN YOU WROTE SOMETHING SO UTTERLY BONE CRUSHING. I WANNA SAW MY LIMBS OFF AND GIVE THEM TO YOU AS AN OFFERING.
#anyway as you can see#i am normal about poetry and writing#and gore in writing has absolutely noo effect on me#i bet you can see from how non-chalant i am about it#who am i kidding#yk scabies mites?#yeah so this poem has made tunnels in my flesh and now it resides there#like scabies mites do#what a way to start the morning#my poetrusic wife#writers on tumblr#poetry#the best fucking thing ill read all weak#i wrote the first thing that came into my mind#so#if this makes no sense#just tell me
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a self-esteem guidebook: learning to embrace your imperfect self (1992) - kenneth a. beavers
"exploding you with my mind"
#i say this a lot#sorry i havent been active like#AT ALL#ive been dealing with some health issues#and also school stuff#writing a research paper about the renaissance#love the renaissance am normal about it#hmu if you love henrician england or hans holbein#anyway#blackout poem#blackout poetry#author#book#poetry
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i was thinking about this line from my fic:
But the fall had hurt, too. Because the wind had cut into his useless wings like knives, his skin and grace peeling away under the friction, and he had been looking right up at the multicoloured and unreachable expanse of sky just to see it fade from his eyes into dull greys.
and i came up with this. i hope the vision came through
#fearandhatred#fearandpoetry#<- check out this tag for some relatively more normal poetry#this was written at 3 am once again#i am really just out here doing anything#don't think this needs much explanation but i shall yap anyway#this is just crowley through the ages but as he discovers more about the earth he also finds more things he can compare hurt to#because in the beginning all he could compare the wind cutting into him with was the wind itself#and also abandonment. because imo that is one of the first Big Negative Emotions he ever felt besides his dreams being crushed lmaoo#but i think it's fun how this poem also implies that he's constantly thinking about how the fall hurt and how everything reminds him of it#this was also very tedious for the perfectionist in me and the proportions are STILL off#because i only drafted out the wings lmao i was not planning on including the head#then i was like wait what if people don't realise that it's wings#so that happened#and changing the proportions means changing the structure which i do not want to do#good omens#good omens season 2#ineffable husbands#aziracrow#crowley#aziraphale#good omens poetry#good omens fanart#yeah tagging this as fanart because i had to draw everything out first lmao#poetry#writing
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we're sitting under the stars on my best friend's balcony,
and everyone but us have gone in for the night. I've just told you, hazy and drunk, that my astrology app feeds me bullshit every day, and sometimes I'm weak enough to believe it. But most of the time it's bullshit.
I don't know why I told you - to you, the stars are lifeblood, or at least a personality gauge based on spinning planets and hair size. "Leos are known for their big hair," you'd said, maybe only a few hours prior. I can't remember why I chose that bone to pick - I think I've reached a barrel-scraping desperation where I feel the need to assert, over and over again, that 'I defy you, stars!' even though it would be much easier to say that mercury in retrograde may be causing my acute depression.
You pull up your astrology app. We're friends on there, and I think I remember checking our compatibility and feeling drawn to the sex & love section, but that would be ridiculous. There's something in the bullshit my astrology app fed to me that I read out loud in drunken amusement that resonated with who I am in your eyes, sitting in front of you under the stars. Your app tells you that you might experience a big change when the sun comes up, that you'll have to reach for it with both hands, and I see your eyes flick over to me.
There's a defense mechanism that locks in, underneath my skin, that acts as a human deterrent. I look at my best friend and there is something primal and soft that begs to lean my body against her and touch her with a casual intimate care. But when she laced her fingers with mine, pushing up against my stiff palm like digging through stone, I had to look away. She knelt down by her puppy and took my hand in hers, pressing my knuckles to her forehead to show her puppy that I am safe, that I can be trusted, but the little creature watched me like a sentinel behind my best friend's back, wary and right.
I think I told you it might be bullshit; I can only remember myself contrary in the string lights. You insisted that it could be true. "What if everything changes," you said, "what if it's right and today" - we were far past midnight - "and today the-"
"The world ends?" I finished for you.
I don't think that's what you wanted to hear, the careless laughing way I said it. I stared at the back of my best friend's house today, hours after you left, and I thought about fate. I bent over backwards and stared up at the stars, framed by the staircase up to the porch we sat. The world didn't end, nor did it change substantially, and I'll admit I didn't want either. I want to stay the same forever, but the goddamn stars keep moving.
I've played this game before, and I've been the one to lose every time. I'd like to say I'm a good sport, but there's only so many hits you can take before it starts getting personal, and I'm afraid my jagged edges are sharpening in preparation. I can't let you be another meteorite I strain every muscle to push to the top of the hill only to fall back in the same bloody crater. You have to understand; where you see fate in the stars, glinting just for you, all I can see is apocalypse.
(28 August 2023, 3:26 am)
#original work#creative nonfiction#prose poetry#peach writes#listen i know this is. i know this is different from what i normally post. i know that#but just listen. listen. i normally post my poetry online on my personal instagram acc#but that account is followed by family and friends including the people i am describing. and i know they read my shit#as we all know i love anonymity in stupid insane ways in my personal life so here. have some raw feelings im sharing with strangers#and you may be asking. why post this at all? . well that's easy silly it's because i genuinely think it rocks and rolls#i can separate my feelings from my art im normal about it
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when i say i am obsessed with him
#'indescribable insolence' <3333#dumas writing aramis in '20 years after':#i am going to create a character that is so egdy sarcastic provocative and irritating to everyone around him#and im gonna make stirring shit being an asshole and gruesome murder his favourite hobbies#and he did just as he said. bless him.#most character ever#and what makes him even better is the contrast between 20YA!aramis and t3M!aramis. its hilarious.#my man really went feral. midlife crisis some call it. i call it character development of all time. i call it serving cunt.#aramis as a musketeer a soldier a man in a profession where you're literally paid for killing people:#sweetness and mildness personified writes poetry and theology essays in his free time never gambles dreams about dedicating his life to god#aramis as a priest: whooo boy i hope i get to fUCKING KILL A PERSON TODAY >:D#anyway. i love him a normal amount or something.#the three musketeers#alexandre dumas#anyway. i reread this scene and the charenton battle today because it's definitely in my top 3 aramis moments#also the english translation on the gutenberg page omits two lines of dialogue that i remembered from my polish translation#and it goes something like#de Chatillon says 'i think you're looking for a fight sir' to which Aramis basically responds with 'oh nooo you *think*? Imao'. iconic.#(and its even funnier cause that makes athos immediately go 'aramis stfu plz' and aramis just goes 'no <3' im obsessed with them)#vingt ans apres#do i have a#twenty years after#tag?? not sure tbh i think i dont but tagging just in case ig
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i know i love you (im just not sure how)
a poem attempting to define hazy, indescribable feelings (which is definitely NOT about fictional characters, not at all, not me i could never)
i suppose it all began because you were there. you always were there, and i guess i finally realized that. it was dark. so very dark. and i knew you were afraid of the dark, but i asked you to rescue me anyways. i knew it was selfish, but then again, you were always the light, weren't you?
i struggle with feelings, you know that. they're big and complex, and i am just a boy in a world that makes me feel small. when i first felt these things i thought i could shake it. but the more i try to escape, the more i draw closer. and the more i try to figure us out, the less i really understand. i know i love you, im just not sure how. is it love like a birthday card, is it more like close friends? or closer to a love letter, will i see that in the end? maybe i am wrong, and this is not love at all. do i just need you because i have no one else to catch me when i fall? i keep failing to find words, to explain my reeling mind, i keep failing to discern, if our stars align. and if i know you well, then i know that you are too, i guess its still a world where we all just live confused. i know i love you, im just not sure how. ive searched this place for answers in all the ways the earth allows, and now i'm lost again, but with this feeling, ill make do; i guess i'm okay to be lost, so long as i'm lost with you. i still don't know what this is, or why it falls on me but i know when i'm with you i am truly feeling free. so now we're lost in these vast cosmos, i'm sure we'll be just fine i may not know the answers, but i'm happy you're still mine.
#poem#cosmic poetry#love poem#poet#poetry#writing#romance#romantic#this is entirely unprompted#and definitely NOT about fictional characters#i swear i am normal
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I hope
That when I fall from this
Pedestal
Where you placed me
You’ll be
Standing there to catch me
I hope
That I’ll be made real
In the falling
Instead of crumbling to
Dust
#being loved by someone who thinks you’re better than them is rlly scary sometimes#like I know you elevate me in your mind but actually I’m so flawed and so human and just like you#and someday I’m going to hurt you and it’s going to shatter your illusions and what will we be then#will you still love me when you see me for real#could you stand to look at me when I’m no longer something mystical and am instead entirely real and normal#*screams into the void* could you love me would you still love me could you please just see me I don’t want to have to be more than I am#yes I’m being very normal about this#it’s ok no one reads my tags anyway lol#jeez the tags are longer than the poem I’m posting#hope y’all are doing well#poetry#writeblr#creative#creative writing#writing#original poem#poem#my poem
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product of the brain at late is that i am wishing again i could tear you apart.
dig my nails into your sides until they draw blood.
sink my teeth into your shoulder and come back with a piece of you on my tongue.
in all my dreams i am a knife.
sharp. red. instrument of the end.
i wanna know what you look like when you’re bleeding out.
i wanna know how you sound when your throat is slit.
a little death is only ever a precursor. an appetizer.
i want to hold your life in my hands.
i wanna feed your heart to you in little pieces.
who are you?
who am i?
just a knife without a hand.
and the flesh that craves it.
#yarrow yells#nsft text#queer nsft#knife cw#implied knifeplay#fucking kind of#also like#gore cw#my brain: <*cannot be normal about sex*>#also my brain: <*even the idea of a little bit of blood makes you ill*>#hashtagjustasexualthings#is this even really about sex? no. it’s about consuming someone it’s about destroying them#it’s about losing yourself in the illusion of power#oh shit#cannibalism cw#ish?#why is all my writing here about eating the ones you love you ask?#it’s because i have an oral fixation no shame and an imagination way more bold than i am#hannibal fandom would love me#nsft poetry#poetry
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a song of salvation
blood wells up in the cracks of her skin
another strike, red tracing the blade.
every hesitant second, a voice within
'i must provide, for my people's sake.'
they fall, and they fall — never to s.tand
again, heaving, believing in ignorant faith
her eyes shadow, for she understands,
she must persevere, for her people's sake.
a stray question she refuses to ponder,
'would the blood she shed be in vain?'
the solitude and psyche of a lone wanderer,
her sole purpose, for her people's sake.
people scream and wail and writhe
cries of agony and selfish ways,
but what can she do? what can she feel?
when she must provide, for the people's sake.
#wake up babe new oc lore just dropped#(i am so normal about siphyr)#kian writes ‼️#poetry#writing#poems#poets on tumblr#ttpd aint got shit on me
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(not hornyposting just musing lol) so i’m a singer-songwriter and performer irl and i’m thinking about the fact that i go around on a day to day basis singing serious, professional songs that use dogs and brainwashing and cannibalism as painful heartbroken metaphors. and i’ve been doing this for years but little by little all these things i process my anguish through in songwriting, have also become how i satisfy my sex drive. and i don’t know what to do with that information i just think it’s wild!! fun fact abt me i guess. i go out there in public singing about how service is my fulfillment and calling myself a good boy and i sing about wanting to be violently torn apart and eaten and i’m like. yeah it’s a metaphor. yeah dw i’m really normal. i don’t fantasize about having my humanity stripped from me and being treated like a stupid sweet puppy barking and whining for my lovers sick and twisted pleasure what are you TALKING about. i just like the poetic imagery of it. i SWEAR.
#i just think it’s silly….#like no joke i’ve written five songs this school year and lets see#there’s one about being a ‘‘silly stupid angel’’ who’s degraded and abused and idealized and stripped of all dignity#(yes it’s a commentary on the patriarchy. yes it’s about the toxic relationship i was in at the time. it’s also several of my kinks in one)#there’s one called GOOD BOY about being a dog. whining and kicking up the dirt. growling and whimpering. being taken advantage of#ITS JUST A METAPHOR. obviously. i actually wasn’t into puppy play yet when i wrote that song iirc. guess it got to me….#then there’s the cannibalism one. i gave my soul up you can eat me raw diced up and vulnerable i’m yours to try#it’s a ummmm it’s just a commentary. (also about my toxic relationship. he didn’t want to fuck OR eat me. but somehow still used me)#anyway the other two are just normal one is about filtering myself for him and the other is about being oppressed and poor and angry lol#still though. the fact that over half my songs are literally my kinks turned into poetry. and NOBODY KNOWS#it’s not my fault that those things are on my mind ALL THE TIME. what am i supposed to write songs about if not being a stupid puppy??#i don’t think anyone on my kink blog ACTUALLY wants to hear about this but my kinks are secret so this is the only place i can post about i#hope u can get some sort of psychological insight about me?? or idk stalk me?? show up 2 my shows and kidnap and use me?? who said that#i’m not even like. wet rn i’m just on here as reflex. and i’m THINKING. abt my TWISTED MIND and the weird shit i write about#in an intellectual way. cause i’m not USING my KINK BLOG this week. cause i SAID SO cause i need to KEEP MY WITS ABOUT ME#so i’m gonna be so normal. and not touch myself even a little bit cause i need to sleep and i need to move house and i need to be so normal#unrelatedly: tomorrow i’ll be one month on testosterone!! definitely hasn’t awakened anything in me….#anyway. anyway. i’m going to try to go to bed. probably going to end up edging myself stupid instead though#will just have 2 see what happens…. god it would be a shame if someone came in and used my sleeping body. who said that
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I Wish My Mother Loved Me
I wish my mother loved me
The same way
She loved
Her whiskey and
Rum
I wish my mother loved me
The way she
Used to
When I was
Young
I wish my mother loved me
How she did
Before I
Was her bastard
Son
I wish my mother loved me
The way she
Loved her
Clutter and her
Things
I wish my mother loved me
Enough to understand
That I
Never stopped loving
Her
I wish my mother loved me
I wish my mother loved me
I wish my mother loved me
I wish my mother loved me
#poetry#original poetry#creative writing#another archive#I really am not good at being normal about my mom huh
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Quick Netflix play the Tuca and Bertie episode where Bertie has intrusive pastry pete memory/fantasy masturbation and then has panic attacks and tries to get rid of her vibe and her bed to magically fix herself. Umm. No reason why I wanna watch that one tho. It’s fine. No comment.
#hahahhahahaha I’m so normal about Tuca and Bertie 😭😭😭👍👍👍👍#thinks about the sheets that I loved and finally picked out for myself after months and months of searching for the perfect bedsheets and#last Thursday I threw them out in the same bag it’s sat in for months since the incident#yknow when life is poetry in itself and you can’t even write about it you just observe it. yeah.#smthing about finding the perfect sheets and rarely putting them on your bed bc you don’t want to mess them up and then you put them on your#bed and they become a huge trigger and you wash them and then put them in a reusable shopping bag tied up in your closet for two months#until you finally give up and realize you’re not ever going to get over it and those specific sheets would always be a trigger and you can#get new cute sheets that aren’t yellow and white and you have a new dark blue and white tie dye sheet and pillow case set in your cart rn#waiting for you to get paid again…… okay. for you to go back to work again and then get paid after that. looking forward despite it all#so fuck you yellow sheets that are gone from my life forever now. but also. I am sad. also not gone forever bc I have curtains in the van#made of the same material but yknow what it’s fine whatever
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.bullying
Today, I saw a “bring bullying back” post.
This white cishet guy was talking about the “cringe weird kids”.
The kids who didn't do nothing but acting like themselves.
And I was going to ask “when did being a cunt became cool?”.
But then I realized. When, in the history of humanity, was being nice the normal?
#poetry#poem#spilled thoughts#writing#writerscommunity#black writer#black writers#queer writers#queer writer#writers on tumblr#writers and poets#bullying#srs bullying is one of the reasons i am insecure about my personality#how tf do you wanna normalize that? ☠️#always the cishet white men#and the racist keychains black men#y'all seriously mad over a 14 year old with neopronouns and a fursuit#grow tf up
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there’s a girl who is a patient at the clinic I work at and I keep staring at her whenever she comes in because she is genuinely the most beautiful person I have EVER seen irl like she has this perfectly smooth dark skin and a perfect facial structure and those micro locs (like dreadlocks but tiny and idk the word for them) that are black in the front but like are ombre blonde and she’s super athletic looking and has INCREDIBLE eyes but then I was looking at her and realized she looks exactly what Leah Jeffries must look like when she grows up but like AS Annabeth like this girl straight up looks like my idea of young adult Annabeth and wow I get it
#I am longing I am yearning she is genuinely so beautiful I want to write poetry about her#also I am so normal about Percy Jackson#pjo#I am going. to draw her
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half-bitten apple
one leg sticking out of the covers
his body heat is more than enough for me
drifting in and out
of an oh so desired rest,
but the innate need to experience him more
it’s never enough
sleeping feels like a waste of time, throwing my apple into the garbage can while it’s still full and juicy, few bites circling it
he’s rubbing my back and the sides of my breasts
thinking i’ve wasted the apple, he kisses my forehead and whispers how much he loves me
again and again
i don’t know if i’ll ever tire of those words
or him for that matter
a groan escapes my parted lips as a roll over to be closer
and he’s kissing me again
and i think i’m kissing him back
but i can’t tell for sure
as it’s dark and late and i’m so so tired and so so in love
#I CANT STOP WRITING ABOUT HIM#writing#creative writing#original work#poetry#art#original poem#poet#in love#i love my boyfriend#sorry yall#i am incapable of being normal about this
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Truckstop motel
Down on the ground with my hands shaking,
kneeling like I did when I was just a child,
at the house I left some hundred miles past the border.
The highway headlights bleed all over me here,
through the glass with dead flies in the windowsill,
sleepless again in some nowhere-nothing motel.
The cross ain't there but I'm still bouncing off the walls,
so I cut the fuck out of myself again,
with that bullhorn knife I keep tucked in my jeans.
And I swear if I could I would've fought it,
but you and I both know I love that knife to death,
I'd rather kiss the blade than touch another's lips.
It's past midnight and I got no beginning and no end,
with my teeth buried into my skin like the snake,
never letting go and never getting enough.
Unfinished prayer dying with the remains of a cigarette,
crawling back to bed bare naked under the sheets,
turning my face and crying tears of happiness.
My baby's parked right outside the room just waiting,
and morning come we'll get the fuck out of here,
'cause the open road is the only place I'd ever wanna be.
#this is gruesome sorry#but some nights just happen to be and you gotta get through those too#always writing about my blood but it’s normal to me so i mean??#this is not a cry for help and yes I am fine thank you#I just like my knife and my motels and that's where it's at#poem#poetry#these sound like lyrics#lately they all have#writer#poems#renae#poetry by renae
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