#melancholicpoetsnw

[tartts]

You will ache as I ache— tenderly, tragically, beautifully.

and you will learn to love the pain.

[mairauders]

— maybe is a heavy possibility. // V.R.

[kocshei]

Tell me the blood of gods spilled, and thus were born my ancestors. Tell me I carry war and siren songs in my ribs. Tell me you see empires in my eyes. Tell me I'm pure tell me i could never be infernal could never be hellborne could never carry crackling cackling curses— Tell me no lies.

the search.

[uncannyparrish]

in california we spill dirt through woven fingers and swallow the earth. her mouth is golden where it touches the river, choking prayers in lungs. we lie beneath and this is what graves breathe: moonlight girls with coal dust skin, clawed eyes & broken teeth. above us, the town is made of lights. we weld bones together, hold fast to the soft skin on backs before it bleeds. I raise the sieve over her head and rain metal into the cracks of her body. 

“boomtown” r.l.

[moshfeghpilled]

chinatown tonight’s gonna set something on fire, and for once I pray it’s not me. i take my shoes off in the temple and pray it’s not me. this is how we bring in the lunar new year, through the back door. wet nose blackened by a gong-sounded midnight twitching at the smell of salivating switchblades, and mother-wary saying “get inside, get inside.“ Chinese violins and cement beneath our aegean bones weighing the odds between cracking open and just telling the truth. and do you know the difference? are you seeing this shit? the dragons are dancing above us, setting fire to our parking tickets. can you smell the earthly worries and the city steamed cha siu bao? all burning our tongues. the slow motion meteor showers from beneath your bangs. the pine trees bend for you in ways you’d never ask them to, and yet, and yet. i saw a spirit walking last night, bandaging stray dogs. she chewed her bubble gum like it was 2004, scratched them when the fleas bit because they needed not because they asked. we wait for our change at the dim sum, and I pull you away from the after dark poker table because you’re young like clay, and i don’t want you getting any ideas about what it means to be a girl in red with slang on your hips and chinese firecrackers at your ankles. always having to run away from your own footsteps. so i pull you away and we watch the lobster tank with your eyes wide like lily pads under a blue moon. the christian saints won’t ever touch me like that. we’re cheap. we save the bacon grease. our altar is made of plastic. buddha and guan yin cry rice water while mom curses her burning shrimp, year of the chicken? are you fucking kidding me? it will run in circles even after you cut off its head.  here is how we pay for the crimes dug under snake burrows. a buried hatchet marked in rabbit bones better suited for witches rites. you always need something from the dead, whether you are digging them up, or aching up a storm on their doorstep. here is how we pay for the Chinese takeout: all American in the wild, taking back what is not mine behind a gun cocked jaw, moony agitation pressed with dog panting palms into virgin wrists, and family jewels. the lazy Susan freckled with pot. and no eye contact, because I am shy. i shut the door and say thank you, have a nice day! but we move like we have no homes, the last descendants of bruised cicadas and lost lotus flowers, searching for family in that black lake asphyxiating on sewer sludge some people call massachusetts. this is how we bring in the lunar new year. shy eyes at the sky, like you are peaking for a sign.

3. woah wait ur Asian? u don’t look like it tho lmao

[moonblued]

1/6/17

[hynpos]

“How long your hair has grown. You could strangle a man in it." ― Catherynne M. Valente, Deathless

[strangerfhings-blog]

i try to fill the void with words, sung and spoken, and i want so, so badly for it to make some sense.

r. k.

[tartts]

There are girls like sunlight; veins filled with golden ichor and voice dripping with nectar-sweet honey. Swelling like red super-giants, filling up rooms and souls just the same. Do they burn too brightly? It only takes 10 billion years to find out. There are girls like moonlight; with low voices like polished stone and beauty marks like craters on the moon’s surface. Telling secrets of the past like a map of history Lashes hovering over dark circles in dim light in a way that could seem dainty and is anything but. There are girls like nebulae; colored hair and painted skin with infectious laughter and excitable voices like champagne tinkling in a crystal flute. Constantly in a state devoted to creation (of words, art, or music) So vibrant they’re impossible to ignore as they swirl and expand like clouds. There are girls like black holes; with dark figures that could hide in the shadows, while you swear the light seems to bend around them. Unknown entities with gravitational pulls and smoky whispers that entice even the least interested (and the most terrified) There’s something awe-inspiring (or awful) about their coldness.

Space Girls // b.s

[mairauders]

i will be okay. i will not drown in sorrow and loneliness. and while now you are gone, i will be happy. and i will have found that happiness within myself. i will explore the city of my dreams, i will get myself flowers, and buy cute clothes. i will listen to my favorite music and dance around in my lingerie. i will believe in love. i will still believe in soulmates. and perhaps one day i will meet someone new. maybe it will be a boy this time. who will show me kindness and adventure. or maybe a girl. who will show me passion and loyalty. but until then, i will be okay on my own. because i am me, and i will never give that up.

happiness was always within me. // V.R.

[hehrmes-blog]

i. nebulae i placed the metalwork of my mind into your waiting arms. you promised you would take the rusted bronze from too many nights spent out in the rain, under the cold glare of the moon and wax gold until my body is molten hot to the touch and solid gold all over, a statue in one of your temples. you saw potential in my rebirth and who was i to question the intuition of an artist? sea breezes echoed off of your words, an empire begins to rebuild itself from the crushed pillars of ruin it is now ii. protostar your laughter was the soundtrack to my life. i took pictures of everything we did but knew i never needed them, because i would never forget the taste of your lips at 2am on a thursday night as you kissed me against alley walls marked in graffiti, tattooing your name onto my heart, tainting my blood and the inner workings of my veins iii. star our love was a work of art; your breath hot against my neck, as my collarbones realigned themselves to form the compass pointing due north into the night sky, the big Dipper guiding your hands under my shirt and between my legs. i bent myself backwards under the weight of your touch until it was too late, until i didn’t notice the blood pooling on the floor or the fractures in my spine as my bones struggled to keep up iv. supernova when you realized you had been using violet instead of mauve this whole time, you littered me with shades of red and blue. my body was a spotlight on your mistakes, magenta and lilac and lavender and plum mixing together until you couldn’t tell the red from the blue anymore. and you moved onto a blank canvas, one that wasn’t covered in the wrong colors. then on your first try,  you painted a perfect shade of mauve onto her milky clean body v. black hole i refuse to remain ruined, i did not endure this only to wither away into oblivion. the space where my heart used to be, where you used to whisper the secrets of the universe and tell me how all humans are made of the remnants of stardust, is now empty and hollow. i will rip out the stardust you once said was rusted bronze, was useless and worthless and had no chance of being gold, and turn it into a black hole.  if i am broken, i will drag you down with me. stars have no power over me, i will not be another piece in your game as you mix colors onto every waiting body

life cycle of a star | c.y.

[myth-boy]

So maybe this is what grief feels like / when it meets you / when you've been waiting for so long / you've been expecting it / you don't see the gun, but look / the bullet's inside you / you don't see the gun / but look / you're bleeding / and something inside you is trying to come out / Say you'd tell me if it mattered / lie or tell me the truth / just don't say which / Call me calmer / call me crazy / reach your shaking palms over the line we drew in the sand / then forgive me for not taking them / you won't believe me but I meant it / you won't believe me but I never / never / wanted from you anything / this isn't the bravest thing I've done today.

Eliel Vera, from Bottlejob

[metvmorqhoses]

and if i pick a flower - i kill it - and use it to stab you closer to me / and if i burn all the ice walls of your dreams, your entire life to the ground just to hear you sing, to see you frown / and if i disguise myself as the mask of every emotion you’ve ever felt and never could bleed / and if i am achilles’ heel, but of every being of life herself and all her damn steal / and if i am flawed, if i am raging and twisted and selfish if i am the reason you’re repenting / if i am violent, as all this ocean of kindness and poison i’ve meant to drown you in then, tell me am i Love still?

from “lost poems” // l.e. wildë

[uncannyparrish]

gods, r.l.

Q: why do we ache for godhood? A: my hands shake, earthquake trembles too large for mortal form. souls take eons to build and seconds to shred, bloody fingers inches deep in a still-beating heart, blackened tongues and no words left after everything (only gods have eons to heal.) zeus’ splitting headache birthed athena and mine left torn wrists and sick sheets that broke the washer. time preserves nothing. ice melts and bones shatter and angry wasps peel skin off faces covered in dirt. (gods preserve themselves.) rebirth echoes in deserted canyons. decay howls back. flowers die and no one remembers their names. (who can forget a god?) if the lightning in my veins was ever divine it has become nothing more than anxiety. thunderous screams coat lips like honey. humans break so easily: too-white teeth splitting the skin of figs. red is such an ugly color to hold inside. (gods bleed gold.) we will never be something so beautiful that to look hurts, to look destroys, will we? we will never be anything but dust.

Q: why do we ache for godhood? A, abridged: because we are afraid.

[hynpos]

They say your body is a temple and you are supposed to treat it as holy. Your eyes look like sunlight filtering through stained glass, or the rafters, when they’re darker, and your knees are bruised from kneeling. Your lips shake in mutterings of prayer and you feel worn, like the fraying book of hymns in your hands or the discolored wooden pew you sit on. Your thoughts echo through the Gothic archways, but heavy silence always seems to do that. Your stillness makes you look like the other marble statues, flawless and cold, and you feel more like a ghost or a memory, removed and always, always out of reach, like the divine.

Haunted Cathedral // b.a.s

[strangerfhings-blog]

my wings beat to the rhythm of your heart even as you pluck them apart. tell me, artemis, how many feathers will it take to weigh you down? how many bones to break yours?

asphodel pleads; [ r.k. ]