#newwritersontumblr

[ivanymicah]

to be heard at least

not telling anything to anyone keeps me safe from being too attached. although it comes with a price, an excruciating consequence that you must endure, and it takes tons of strength to keep things to yourself, to lie down at night and stare at the ceiling while carrying that heavy lump on your throat and that heavy weight on your chest, to hold back your words when you feel that you want to be heard, to accept the truth that you can never expect anyone to completely understand you. i am always willing to pay that price, but, you know, sometimes, i wish i could have someone to tell things to. — 𝘪𝘷𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘮𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘩

artwork by malcolm liepke (american, b. 1953)

[bacarterwriter]

Lady Jade

If you trust, please trust they’re keeping score

Give your soul, and forever they’ll take, wanting more

If the dream is Madonna, the truth is a whore

Loneliness strips us, and love is cloaked war

[jgreyblog]

The deepest regret, is knowing you could've done something, but out of fear refused to.

Excerpt from the book I’ll never write

[boldlygowherenodoghasgonebefore]

“Really, doctor? A spy story?  That’s hardly the bastion of earth literature.  And surely you realize that those outrageous tales of intrigue bear no relation to reality.”

Garak carries his tray to a table in the corner of the replimat.

“It’s fiction, Garak!   James Bond was a character in Ian Fleming’s Casino Royale, the first of 14 novels featuring MI6, a British intelligence agency.   Bond’s mission was to take down Le Chiffre, an agent of SMERSH, by cutting off his funds in a high-stakes game of Baccarat.”

“SMERSH?   Do you seriously expect me to believe that this secret agent is swaggering around a casino, dressed in what is no doubt those tacky suits worn in your holosuites?”

“I just thought we could read something a bit lighter this week.  The Never Ending Sacrifice was a tad weighty for my tastes.”

“I’m afraid I have to put my foot down, doctor.  If you’re looking for lighter fare, perhaps we could try a cardassian enigma tale.  Or one of your dreadful Sherlock Holmes stories.”

Julian sighs.

“If I can’t convince you to read Casino Royale, would you at least join me in a holosuite program?  The movie adaptation was quite good.”

“If I do, will you stop going on about it?”

Garak gives him a long suffering look as Julian tries to hide his smile.

“All right, doctor. If you insist.”

[deepjams4]

Life & Death!
#life #death #lifeanddeath #thoughts #thoughtsforlife #writer #writers #writercommunity #writersonindtagram #writersonig #writersoninsta #writersofindia #poetry #poetsofinstagram #poetsofindia #poetsofinsta #poetsofig #tumblr #ptumblr #writerscreed #spilledink #spilledinkpoetry #poetsontumblr #writersontumblr #newpoetsontumblr #newwritersontumblr #newwriterssociety #writerssoul #writerssociety #aspiringpoet
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[marissamoon]

Purple Penumbra Pupils

Penumbra: the name given to the shadow cast by a celestial object that only blocks a portion of the light.

The moon girl with auburn hair sat in the shadow of the Moon, it’s white-glow trail reflecting in her ocean eyes. It was dark, but I was still able to see all of the intravenous galaxies inside of her maze of a mind. The moon girl is an aquamarine, conceived at the exact place where sea and sky meet to make stars at the horizon; she is baby blue, like the ocean she should be beside – her blood flowing in synchronicity with the push and pull of her lunar tide. Her skin is soft and as infinite feeling as the warmed-by-the-sun sand; you could fall asleep inside the beaches her forevers, but know that she will leave you there to burn in the sun’s ultraviolet rays in your careless unconsciousness.       I stared and swayed back and forth within her ocean eyes for half of my eternity before I learned that her blue boat has holes; it took me a half-century longer to even realize that I had been drowning the entire time.

I sat, completely convinced that the blurry moon was about to fall straight out of the sky – this was the night that I realized that my existence is not meant to be any contorted reflection of the universe, but some kind of mushy-weird amalgamation of my perceptions and experiences.                                           Pupils were made to absorb, not to reflect; I wasn’t made to know the answers to the questions of which I was asking.

There are some kinds of friends that you are only friends with because you’ve known them for your whole life, and then there are some friends that you have barely known for long at all before they learn fit within your heart perfectly, as if they truly are the cliché missing puzzle piece of your purple heart. I found her after my mother had left me locked up for four days. She was the salt in my wounds that stung in a way that cleansed me but also freed me from my bacterial family ties – she made feel alive again. The moon girl gave me new reasons to exist after losing everything: she taught me how to be fluid, she taught me how to swim away from the burdens of my family –  all 737 miles – rather than drowning beneath them.

I am not a sinking rock; my existence is light in all ways and I am the sea the moves me.

After I got her kicked out of her house I wore baby blue nail polish on my paper fingernails for four weeks, like the painted walls of her cubic palace-prison cell; like her wavy, wary and wide ocean eyes; like the endless sky we sat beneath on sunny summer days of somber sentiments and half-felt feelings. The first time I met her she was crying ocean tequila tears because of the first blonde boy that bruised her heart by only half-loving her back. The last time I saw her she was crying the same liquid-gold tears, but for a different reason: my manic moonlight misfortune; my inability to handle reality, my “fucking insensitivity”.

I knew I shouldn’t have done it, but I did it anyway. I remember washing my face with every girl-potion I had, thinking that maybe, somehow, I would be able to wash myself of the guilt; maybe my feelings and skin-dander would clog the sink and give me a different problem obsess over. The smell of the cucumber face wash, the cherry-blossom exfoliator, the salicylic acid mint moisturizer, the cocoa-butter face-mask, the lavender-infused cocktail of bad dreams and worse realities –  it all reminds me of the defeating feeling of inevitably intertwining my future with the regret and the shame I feel as a result of my inability to stop myself.

I looked in the mirror and the lightning-strike-of-life struck me in my left pupil, electrocuting all of the preconceived ideas I had held internally about myself and the world around me. I couldn’t continue carrying myself in the same way; I didn’t like how I was interacting with my world around me; I didn’t like how my puzzle-piece self fit into the bigger polaroid picture of life. I was existing in another dimension; I was thinking thoughts that required complete use of my brain – a level of functioning that is completely foreign to the human condition. I felt myself stretching outwards, into other worlds and time zones, but time was no longer a linear construct of which I was humanly forced to subscribe to. Minutes felt like hours, and it was all a waiting game to feel okay again. I was the electric-blue static line that existed 5 feet above the horizon line; I was God, but

I was bleeding – bad, and I needed help.

I have never put myself in such a vulnerable position before, and I could never have imagined that it could ever end so horribly. I didn’t mean to interject my solid self so firmly between the fragile framework of her freckled family, I didn’t mean to get the locks changed or make her parents call her a fucking slut. I thought she would WAKE ME UP, I thought that when the moon finally went down behind the Rocky Mountains, when the sun would finally come up and once again paint my world a warm yellow-orange – I thought things and time would stop blending together. I was going to clean, but I never did, and

the unsolid memory of this night still litters my messy mind; it echoes endlessly back and forth in the empty space between my ears where I know my mind should be but isn’t.

I remember swinging: the swing at the end of her driveway rocked my rattled reality back and forth into a dazed dreamland, threatening each time to throw me right off of the edge I was peering over. I laid there for hours, just watching the moon move and grow throughout the star-filled sky. It was stretching outwards, becoming bigger and bigger as the night progressed, threating to consume my whole world and everything in it – and my purple penumbra pupils copied it, reflected it, but never once did I absorb it.

We are both mountain girls – moved by the moon, but moving our mountains takes much time. We feel things in phases and we take our time to move through the pain, but the white haired people still found us the next morning, and left us both with beehives in our bellies.

I hate that bad things have to happen in order for us to be aware and appreciative of all that we are surrounded by. We got matching crescent-moon tattoos to signify our endless commitment of shared platonic love, but I still ran 957 miles away the next day without even saying goodbye.

That night ended, but I never stopped questioning myself and my relationship with my reality. Even after years of setting my world own world on fire, day after day,

the moon girl is who made me realize that I am the center of my own universe. I have always found myself easily able to fall back into the easiness of being small, of being insignificant -- there is something altogether too calming about being so tiny in comparison to the ultimate vastness of the universe; there is a special kind of tranquility in how easy it is to fall backwards into the smallness, letting life occur with the mindset that nothing matters, because you don’t really matter and you wont really do anything that matters. But the moon girl made me realize that I am not tiny in my own world – I have a huge impact on my environment around me; I am the sun of my own self.

The memory of this night manifests itself into continual and constant reevaluation of myself and my universal positioning. The lessons of that night bleed into my every day; there is always some truth to be learned within each 24-hour period my human circadian rhythm. I think that if I were to tie up all of the loose ends I hold inside myself, the loops, ties and tangles would eventually cosmically come together to write the word “careless” in the constellations of my consciousness (in cursive). I have never been an observant person; I easily gaze over the things that matter most, unaware of my own celestial significance.  

I remember my mouth being sticky. I was unable to swallow the mouthful of salt she left in my mouth.  I stared through my skylight soul at the sunlit moon as it mirrored the purple-maroon color of the mountains below and the ink bled from my eyes to my heart. Everything was purple.

[bacarterwriter]

Beauty Standards

“Beauty standards” show when

My ex-mother-in-law

Told me she wished she had

My disease

Because I now wear

Size two jeans

Denial of the problem

Is when I told

My own mother 

And she said: 

“She probably 

Didn’t

Mean it

Like that”

...But how exactly is

“Like that”?

[bacarterwriter]

Collage

Could this collage of chaos I craft

Show clarity in the aftermath?

Will settled dust from this war of words

Become truth’s truce cry, finally heard?

Shall my demons that walk as I wake finally sleep

If I right wrongs with words I can’t speak?

Is life a desert of deceit, or

An oasis of awe-filled mysteries?

If my fingers keep pulse to my heart’s fragile beat

Will they make my mirages my masterpiece?

[jgreyblog]

You like me because you don't know me; you lust because it requires nothing.

j. grey

Submit a poem or quote from your collection!

jgreyblog.tumblr.com/submit 

Follow me on Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/j_grey16/

Follow me on Twitter: https://twitter.com/poetjaegrey 

[jgreyblog]

How long will it take you to realize your fear of rejection and failure, is really fear of potential success? What are you waiting for? More importantly, what is there to lose?

note to self

Submit a poem or quote from your collection!

jgreyblog.tumblr,com/submit 

Follow me on:

Instagram:https://www.instagram.com/j_grey16/

Twitter:https://twitter.com/poetjaegrey

Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/user/poetjaegrey 

[jgreyblog]

How dare you pretend to cradle my heart, when your intent was to break it!

j. grey

Submit a poem or quote from your collection!

jgreyblog.tumblr.com/submit 

Follow me on Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/j_grey16/ 

Follow me on Twitter: https://twitter.com/poetjaegrey 

[jgreyblog]

There are five types of people: those who listen to what you say and show they are; those who act like they aren't listening, but are; those who listen but don't apply; those who act like they are listening but aren't, and those who just don't listen at all.

Wisdom I’ve attained 

Submit a poem or quote from your collection!

https://jgreyblog.tumblr.com/submit 

[jgreyblog]

Fear brings out the worst in us: causing secondary emotions and ideas to break free from our logic holding it back. It is a demon that lives inside us all.

yet another excerpt from the book I’ll never write

Submit a poem or quote from your collection!

https://jgreyblog.tumblr.com/submit

[jgreyblog]

They said a picture is worth a thousand words, but my life is a novel. The world has only seen one picture, and determined who I am, yet they missed several chapters. A camera really can steal your soul, pawning it to strangers for the satisfaction of severe judgement.

Excerpt from the book I’ll never write

[jgreyblog]

If I Could

If I could fly with wings like a feather-

I would.

To the heavens,

way up beyond the clouds

‘til I see angels-

and I wouldn’t stop there.

If I could,

but if I could.

I’d plead with the angels to send me to Jesus-

I‘d no longer imagine,

‘cause I’d be in His presence,

if I could,

but for now, I can’t.

If I could nurture my faith, small as a mustard seed,

until it is tall as the tree-

I would-

              I can.

[jgreyblog]

Twists and Turns

Twists and turns,

hurt more than sticks and stones,

because they don’t just break you:

they bend you.

Beyond your flexibility, 

and pain threshold;

twists and turns are unexpected. 

They blindside you when you knew

your destiny;

a pitchfork in the road,

twists and turns.

I loathe yet I love how

they push me outside my comfort zone,

winding road,

twists and turns.