#i didn’t write this to be a poem

[cicada-heart]

bonaventure cemetery 🤍

august 2024

[foldingfittedsheets]

One sunny day when I was in high school I was walking home alone. The sun was shining, gentle wind rustled the treetops. I was just starting to be able to see that beauty again. I had been depressed for a long time, but that mundane walk home felt magical to me.

On the sidewalk I saw something unusual. I was in love with life in that moment and fascinated to know more. I crouched down to observe and saw the most enchanting bug. I’d never seen anything like it. To this day I can’t remember what it looked like, only that it was as beautiful as the sun shining on the green world below.

My attention was rapt on this tiny magical creature living in such a massive and wondrous world, wondering what it was and marveling that I’d never seen anything like it.

I didn’t hear the girls come up behind me on the sidewalk. But suddenly there was a leg beside me. I wasn’t embarrassed to be caught looking at a bug. I was glad someone else might come observe this tiny wonder with me.

Her foot shot up and stomped down abruptly, crushing the object of my interest. I looked up at her.

I didn’t know either of the girls standing above me. They had seen a stranger and decided to punish her for behaving in a way they considered unacceptable. I looked up at the face of the girl who had killed my bug, trying to understand her thoughtless malice.

I think she had expected me to be upset or visibly shaken by her destruction. When I stared unblinkingly up at her she seemed to feel a brief moment of shame, shifting uneasily.

Then she and her friend turned and walked away without a word spoken.

[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

[iamtheunicornwizard]

Every time I see this poem floating around on my socials, I read it in Larry’s voice.

[tendermimi]

richard siken “driving, not washing” / benjamin 2018 / ilya kaminsky “while the child sleeps, sonya undresses”

[florsial]

“Of my dejected soul have made
Your bed, your lodging, and domain:
To whom I'm linked (Unseemly jade!)
As is a convict to his chain,

Or as the gamester to his dice, 
Or as the drunkard to his dram, 
Or as the carrion to its lice — 

I curse you. Would my curse could damn!”

-The Vampire, Charles Baudelaire

[knightforflowers]

What a terrible thing it is, to be the only one spared by a curse.

pleased to remind everyone that I write sometimes whenever the demons (unmedicated adhd) let me, anyone interested in Zoox Anthellae in the torment nexus for 10k words (I think abt him waiting in that hospital room for Amber and Devo to recover from the sallow So Much.)

[usefulquotes7]

I didn’t change; I just see things differently now. Unknown

[scrb1a]

[almostsomewheremaybe]

When I ask if you find me beautiful

I’m not asking if you find me attractive, or sexy, or cute, or hot, or pretty, or handsome. I’m asking if you see me streaking across the night sky like an exploding firework. I need to know if you hear the Creator’s song whenever I turn back to face you. Am I beautiful: as a movement of love, as a global uprising, as a million martyrs. As heroic and sweet and brave and kind. Do you get it? I don’t need to be found attractive, but I need to be found. I’m not a flower but a garden. I need a loving eye, patient mind, and tender pair of hands to nurture all the life I make beautiful every time I share myself again. Do you find me beautiful, or rather, do you catch me facing the world at just the right angle, and suddenly know that miracles exist? Suddenly know what a miracle is.

[dozydawn]

Taxi, May 1989. “Fragrant Deception”

Photographed by Steven White.

Models: Jessica and Rochelle Relyea.

“The bawdier maiden got the rogue in the sack, But all he could do was write on her back.

He could not perform in the way she desired; By the scent of another his fancy was fired.”

[lostandoverwhelmed]

i grew up being labelled an unempathetic person but idk about that because i cry whenever i read words engraved in the present tense on tombstones

[amateur-scribbler]

I want you to hate me. Because I truly love proving myself right.

I love satisfying the sick whispers of self loathing and controlling the narrative of how this love will end, in time.

Because I know how to hurt you and sometimes I do it without even trying, I’ve got this bitter guilt and this ever-quick poisonous bite.

I am not loveable or cute or the girl everyone wants to fawn over, I am the girl people compare to hurricanes because it’s a promise that I will destroy everything in sight.

It’s an imposter, a facade, some type of trick of the light, this version of me you love has never aligned with the one that whispers harsh truths to me late at night.

No, I’m not her, and I don’t deserve any of your love, because given the chance I’m still that sharp tongued snake always ready to poison the ones who take a selfless step in the murky waters to try to hold my head above.

So I’ll push you so far away, to the point that you stop understanding why you ever even contemplated fighting to stay.

Because honestly, I truly love being right.

Letting you think I’m a monster means you’re finally meeting the dark voice who’s been whispering words of hatred to me every night.

The self fulfilling prophecy - t.k.o

[kannons-blog]

[jojo-the-bird]

You’re beautiful, you’re beautiful, please know you’re beautiful. I’m sorry that you died feeling as though you were not. Alone in your room as the wind outside blew and the moon reflecting on you. They had no right in casting you aside, no right in punishing you for letting yourself be known so vulnerably laid out flat. They had no right mutilating your heart for what it was. You’re beautiful. I wish that I could’ve told you sooner. Even more so, I wish you knew it yourself.

[crepusculum-rattus]

insane unfinished poem(??) i just found in my docs.. yeas its abt all philzer characters🫶🙏