#i am normal about poetry and writing

[i-think-im-breaking-down-again]

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.

[reallybadblackoutpoems]

a self-esteem guidebook: learning to embrace your imperfect self (1992) - kenneth a. beavers

"exploding you with my mind"

[fearandhatred]

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

[peachcitt]

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)

[widevibratobitch]

when i say i am obsessed with him

[amoremorbido]

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.

[cosmic-canines]

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.

[musings-of-the-void]

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

[kianri-ah]

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.

[patheticpuppyboyslut]

(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.

[blackwood-library]

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

[milo-is-rambling]

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.

[angelfacemjj]

.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?

[luxuriant-starlight]

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

[seeking-lights]

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

[monomorphilogical]

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.