#idk if this even counts as poetry

[z0mb1e-sl1me]

sometimes when i get sad, i tend to neglect the things in my room .

although i understand they are only objects, i tend to notice how things begin to grow further into themselves around me . my candles withering under their own untamed, coiled over wicks while i’m burning them tends to bug me . i had to temporarily retire a good 3/4 of a candle because the wick had begun to meld in with the flesh of the wax .

however, when refreshing my bedroom this evening, i decided to address this candle issue; i filled an empty candle holder with a new candle, and i decided to carve the wick out of the heart of the old, disfigured candle . it was a messy, annoying process . i’ve always hated getting wax under my nails, and it feels as if it forcibly works itself into my skin whenever i come in contact with it, yet i tolerated it anyway, because i saw value in him .

about 5 mins later, and he was as good as new . here he is standing next to his fresh out of the package brother . :)

the point is, if you see potential in an old candle of yours, please do consider rescuing them from the trash can, for the wick lying under the flesh is more resilient than one would expect . fresh wounds can heal .

[atopvisenyashill]

Thoughts on the Alysanne is Maegor's daughter AU? I feel like it has some interesting potential, and it vastly recontextualizes different parts of Jaehaehae (I do not like him sjsjsjs) and Alysanne's relationship (such as Jaehaehae's treatment of their daughters) but I wanna hear what you think about it!

I’ve touched on this a bit before but since you actually want to hear my thoughts, allow me to present to you my Jaehaerys Is The Goddamn Worst, And Alysanne Annoys Me Too: An Essay lmao but my answer is basically “yeah all of what you just said.”

I think it makes Alysanne much more palatable (to me) as a character because as she stands, she just fixates on forcing her daughters through these fucked up marriages at too young an age bc it traumatized her to be married and pregnant at 15 too but she’d never admit that being a willing participant in her own kidnapping by her brother-husband was the single worst thing that ever happened to her, and because Alysanne doesn’t want to admit it (and Jaehaerys would never see it as wrong or a mistake) F&B really shies away from delving into the fact that Alysanne is as deranged of a mother as Cersei is. So as she stands, she’s very flat to me because she’s presented very flatly and inconsistently. She’s so in love with Jaehaerys, she’s maritally raped by Jaehaerys, she’s a loving and doting mother, she forces her daughters into marriages when they’re the same too young age she was, she accuses her teenage girls of being scheming whores then gets angry when her husband accuses their teenage girls of being scheming whores, and worst of all we are just told “Maegelle tells them to make up so they do” so we don’t know why Alysanne gets over all of this. What is the point of riding a dragon when you never use that dragon to protect your daughters from unwanted teen marriages? We’re just not given a good enough justification for why her behavior is so weird and frustrating towards her daughters.

Make her Maegor’s daughter though…most of her behavior as an adult makes more sense. Like a worse version of Rhaenyra’s childhood almost - a father desperate for a son, but lowkey obsessed with his daughter, who makes all his hang ups about his parents the problems of every woman around him, except Maegor is out here blood sacrificing and torturing and starting wars and forcing babies on wives he discards quickly and brutally. Then here comes Jaehaerys on a white horse green dragon to save her from the horror her life has become, and he loves her so much he runs away with her even though Alyssa says they shouldn’t marry because people won’t like it. And they have beautiful children, and a beautiful marriage, and build a beautiful kingdom.

Then her pregnancies start getting dangerous. Gaemon, then Valerion, die. Alysanne thinks of the shriveled up mutants she called brothers, if Maegor’s taint has passed to her. Her perfect husband ignores her no, and forces Gael on her. Alysanne remembers that he said nothing to Rogar when Alyssa died, merely wept. Then her daughters start to die. Daella, Alyssa, Viserra, all within a few years. Then Jaehaerys makes Saera watch as he murders her boyfriend, calls her a whore, and says Alysanne cannot follow Saera to Lys. Alysanne thinks of Maegor torturing the Harroways over Alys’ presumed infidelity. Jaehaerys says he’s sorry, and her daughter badgers her into forgiving him, and she remembers how she helped Jaehaerys badger Alyssa into forgiving Rogar. Not two years later, Jaehaerys passes over Rhaenys. Alysanne thinks of how she was never enough for her father, how she felt so superior to Rhaena banished to Dragonstone and resented by Aerea, yet there she is dragging Gael away from court because she can’t stand to be with Jaehaerys. How her father was surrounded by dead women and dead babies and how Jaehaerys is surrounded by his own dead daughters, but surely she did the right thing, surely Maegor was worse, surely the realm is better off? Is he right to pass over Rhaenys? Is she enabling a man just as monstrous as her father? She will never decide, because Maegelle will guilt her about keeping Gael isolated at Dragonstone, and Alysanne will do as she’s told, just like Rhaena, and Alyssa, and Jeyne, Elinor, Ceryse, Alys, and Tyanna, just like every one of her daughters.

I do get why Alysanne is Alyssa & Aenys’ and not Maegor’s. The weird Targ babies, the line not descending from Visenya, Jaehaerys and Alysanne being held up as the perfect Targaryen couple specifically because they are brother and sister and dragon riders. I do even think canon Alysanne is likely traumatized by her time as a hostage on Dragonstone, and the ensuing war, and the trauma bond that caused with Jaehaerys, and it makes her idolize Jaehaerys, and then he isolates her at Dragonstone so he can swiftly and safely marry, groom, and knock her up. It’s not like,,,, a fun time, and it’s enough to make anyone crazy and weird about their daughters, but I think having her father be Maegor makes Alysanne herself much deeper because it gives her, as the most beloved Targaryen queen, a blood tie to the most hated Targaryen king, and a marriage to the most beloved Targaryen king. It fits better with a lot of the themes of the main series (again, imo) - forcing the spotlight on the outsiders to see how the affect the story from behind the scenes. The fall of Aegon’s sons, and The Long Reign, not told from the PoV or to serve the PoV of any of the kings or princes, but of the queen that tied them all together.

[goldiebeams]

Girl help, I’m regressing to that point in my childhood where I’d imagine a fictional crush standing by my bedside as I try to fall asleep, gazing lovingly down at my resting figure in awe of the raw beauty and honesty that comes with the peaceful stillness of slumber

[pensiveant]

Does anyone have any book recs for someone who's been stuck in a loop of rereading the same three books over and over for like two years now aka me 😔👈 thank u love u

[forgetmenot-mymoon]

My Eyes Hear Your Screams

The sounds of tales has left his eyes

As he smiles his devil smile,

As the apple tree is stuck with smite,

But the sounds of music still fill the eyes of the young.

We pack them up to send them down,

Done to the trenches, done to the streets, done with the pieces of paper while they drink ale, wondering if it was worth it.

We raise them, we suck the sound of song birds out of the earth, so the boys will harden, so they will hunt.

Their eyes are dead by morning.

We raise them, we suck the sound of clouds out to their skulls, forcing our children to do whatever we want them too.

Their eyes are dead by morning.

My sound is falling like an angel, who had its wings ripped into sheds by the tiger of life.

I can’t hear it anymore with a devil smile

As I write this I hear nothing but my own-

[lancecorporalderby]

[ THE LOVERS. ]

They are Just no one in particular.

[astrxealis]

okay rambles but i started creatively writing in like ... 5th grade? and. oh god just a little encouragement to anyone looking to get into writing or insecure or whatnot, but HELLS, maybe it's to he expected with my (obviously) very young age and inexperience with writing then, but my writing was really. yeah. Yeah. but then i'm what... a lot older now, obviously, and my writing has gotten leagues better. i'm probably not a good example for this bcs childhood years development stuff are different etc etc BUT practicing writing more and whatnot really does go a long way :]

[tangeringe]

hey guys yk that iterator askblog that i keep talking about yeah heres a teaser Loneliness is all encompassing. There's no escape, the cold, heavy pressure burning in your chest will never pass. It's quite dark here isn't it? I prefer the light.

[monorayjak]

Frozen Trust

I stopped trusting myself so long ago,

I stopped listening to myself,

I stopped believing myself,

I tear myself down every day,

And I build back up each night,

Internally I’m always in a fight,

I’m stupid and a monster,

But I’m human and flawed;

Just like everyone else.

I want to trust me.

I want to trust what I feel,

Just as easily as trusting what I see.

I’m tired of fighting this battle,

I’m tired of doubting every thought.

I want to be free,

To trust what I feel,

To say it’s all real.

Because I can’t live like this forever,

I need to trust what I feel,

I need to believe I am who I think and feel I am.

I don’t want to be an imposter.

I don’t want to feel like a liar when I try to speak.

I’ve took comfort in numbers and logic for as long as I remember.

But they aren’t the best way to be human;

We are not beings of absolute logic;

We are flawed,

We are emotional,

We do stupid things,

So why can’t I trust,

That what I feel doesn’t have to follow the cold numbers.

I’ve frozen myself for so long.

I want to feel the heat and know I’m not wrong,

To accept how I feel.

But where do I start?

How do I trust myself,

When I feel like me and myself have been torn apart?

I see myself frozen,

But I want to be whole.

I need to free me.

To be brought together again,

To be whole.

But I can’t.

Where do I begin?

I can’t do this forever.

Please, someone,

Help me wake up.

[itsjustbell]

Im 19, as of two days ago, and it feels the same but also oddly strange.

Like no time has passed, but also like the year has zipped by extraordinarily fast.

I haven't had a party since I was about eight I think. It's too much work, my friends are too busy, and takes alot of energy.

Still, I spent the day before with a friend I hold close in my heart. The day of I spent with my family with delicious food and we had cake by the empty hearth.

I got messages from all the friends who mattered. Though they were all the same, it was enough to know they remembered.

The day still felt like anyother. But I was happy so I guess what the fuck does it matter.

[sgkjd]

i don't like rhyme in poetry when it's just for the sake of it being there. especially when the contents of a poem don't really ask for a certain rhyme. when i read such poems, my attention completely fixates on the rhythm and the rhyme and i can't process the meaning of the words i'm reading. there are rhymed poems which rhythm, on the other hand, accentuates the idea they're expressing. oh these ones i love. then it feels like they help grasping the idea of a poem even better.

[fictionnkinn]

A little white house with blue shutters sits on a nowhere road, where no one goes unless they have to. There’s a hot pink bicycle thrown haphazardly outside, a large tree in the yard, and the smell of fresh bread and hot food wafting out the open windows, as the chill in the air threatens fall. Children's shoe prints litter the yard, and a white truck sits in the gravel driveway. There are always prickly gumballs underfoot. The house breathes, almost as though it is alive. The door to a little white house with blue shutters opens on a bright summer day, a teenager all but slamming the door shut on their way out. The teenager will be back by evening, but they try not to think about it. The little white house and the little blue shutters are the whole world, and it’s small. It’s constricting, almost suffocating. Dreams of larger cities and more exciting adventures litter the bedroom walls within, posters of popular bands and exotic places, hopes and fears, fluttering in the breeze of the open window, breathing like the house breathes. Fireworks burst over a little white house with little blue shutters, and the animals within its walls scatter. The roof doesn’t falter. It never has. It weathers rain, thunder, hot summers, tree limbs, and emotional breakdowns. It breathes, but it always sits overhead, more certain than death or taxes, as clear and strong as the sky itself above it. Snow piles into the yard of a little white house with blue shutters. In the white of the snow, the house begins to disappear, but the shutters stand out like little splashes of paint. Shouts of joy and creaking of tree branches not used to the wet winter weather echo in the yard. Shoe prints aside paw prints mark well worn pathways before it melts. The snowman in the yard only lives a day or two, and winks out of existence with the southern heat less than 48 hours after he’s built. The door to a little white house with blue shutters opens as a new mother enters for the first time, and the souls who occupied for so long step away, the posters and dreams of the city stripped from the walls within, boxed inside of both cardboard and minds. Floorboards creak but never bend as a little white house with blue shutters breathes, a new family growing within, blossoming. The house warms with the spirits of young children as the weather turns cold. A familiar face graces the door of a little white house with blue shutters, many leaves fallen and many storms weathered since its last new children. Recognition crosses young eyes, sleepovers and birthday parties flashing in electrical pulses re-experienced in the space of the mind, brought back by that particular shade of blue. A little white house with blue shutters becomes a little white house with green shutters. And red shutters. Bedrooms change hands, and rain falls on the tin roof, playing its music yet again, for new ears.

The door closes on a little white house on a nowhere road that no one drives unless they have to. A breeze passes through as the door closes, sighing goodbye to the most recent souls to have taken shelter within its walls. The large tree in the front has fallen, the colors of the shutters have changed many times, the grass has not been cut, and no footprints add pathways to the land any longer.

A little white house sits, empty. No souls within, all doors and windows open in one last desperate cry, begging in vain for the breath it once carried. The tin roof taps a hello to no one as hailstones challenge it. The tin that has never before faltered gives way, no longer needing to protect the space underneath. The floors that were once as certain and solid as the earth itself begin to bow. No feet shuffle across the hardwood in socks in the winter, and none have disturbed the dust as it’s collected slowly. No ceiling fans have cooled down the hot air in summer, and no lights have been flipped on in the morning in a very long time.

A little white house sits on a nowhere road, no tree to shade the land around it, and no toys outside. No footprints leading to or from the stairs, and a whisper of a breeze through doors never to be closed again the last breath it’ll ever see. A collection of wood and plaster and memories, no longer a shelter from the elements or the difficulties of life.

But in the mind of a select few, a little white house with blue shutters still sits, pristine in all its flaws, smells of fresh hot food still wafting into the front yard, a big tree still shading the yard from the hot summer sun, as a radio outside still plays old music.

In the mind of one man, a tin roof still plays music in the rain.

[reapkusho]

Do you guys ever think about death rattles of like... people dying. I think it's such casual poetry in the way humans are designed. Like one last breath that you're barely holding onto, it's barely a breath anymore and you know it's going to be your last, but in this moment you are breathing, and you're still alive, alive, alive

[opticalwave]

Sometimes I feel like an old used record.

Not in the sense of being rare or nostalgic but in the sense that I look fine till you spend the time to actually sit and listen to me.

I skip, I stall, I'm not what you expected.

And now playing me isnt as enjoyable as you wanted. so, you put me back in my sleeve and hang me up for looks. Tell people you like me and that you think the art is pretty but unfortunately I've got a few scratches and it makes listening a bit hard.

You'll eventually get an unused version, enjoy the songs you want in the way you remember with out the skipping, stalling, and any surprises.

Just you laying down with your eyes closed as you play what's familiar and let it make you feel like floating unlike how this skipping drags you down.

I don't want to skip, I don't like being dysfunctional, but this is how I am. I have had to grow and learn that some people just can't handle when a song skips. That's fine. Atleast I get to be on the wall and acknowledged for my art.

But if I'm honest, it'd be nice to be played once in a while.

Plus, a good song never dies.

[lonelyinkcap]

i know two other people who learned the ukulele

i thought they were cool

at first

they both ended up being shitty people

well

one of them was

the other was nice

we just werent meant to be friends

i guess

she left me when i needed her most

but that led me to you

didnt it?

so i suppose it was all worth it