#not quite poetry

[lostryu]

i love how in the pockets of my leather jacket can be weeks worth of memories. like the acorn she gave me at the farmers market. the marble we found in a parking lot during our road trip. a penny i got as change from grocery shopping, the exact color of her eyes. the bottle caps of the soda we drank when we stargazed in the park. her chapstick. i keep them there and carry them with me wherever i go, a constant reminder of her.

[mj-says-hey]

I’m in over my head and my college essays are all lies. I keep saying I want to change the world but how can I do that if I’m a coward? I can’t even talk to my mom when she’s mad at me, I’m so scared. And for what? There’s nothing to be afraid of. I’m scared of my own failure, of messing up again. So how am I going to live up to these expectations? How am I going to do great things when I’m the girl who stayed in a stagnant relationship because I’m unable to talk about problems and so I just stay in denial? I say I respect people who are authentic and real, but I’m the fakest person you’ll ever meet. Guess I don’t respect myself. I complain about having to pretend to everyone all the time, saying that keeping this smile pasted on is making my jaw ache, but this is a prison that I locked myself in. I even hold the key. So why am I sitting here, staring at it, as if looking at my hands will make them move?

[mxserendipity]

they won't see me on the cover of a magazine,

or read my name between the paragraphs of history books.

people like me don't get that luxury.

the trodden, the poor, the queer,

those like us.

non-white, disabled, immigrants,

even less.

they'll see me in the corner store, or walking down the street,

reading scribbled words from a page i can hardly understand.

but they don't see me.

my eyes are wide and blue, yet theirs are angry and dark, sharpened from all the years of hatred.

they see me as a threat, my very existence, a paradigm of manipulation and false democracy. i should not be allowed near their children, their homes, their stores- for the simple act of living freely should be punished.

i see them as sad.

i fear for what they could do to me, what they'd like to, and what they plan to.

but they are sad. sad for hating the existence of their neighbors, sad for rejecting the differences that make us so wonderfully human.

what are we, if not made from the same stardust?

[achilleasfury]

The Liar and the Sect Leader

There is a Liar behind the Sect Leader.

Everyone knows it.

People whisper about it.

The Sect Leader does nothing.

The Liar smiles.

The smile seems kind and sweet.

It is not a truly kind smile.

It is not real.

The Liar tell the Sect Leader things.

The Liar whispers in his ear,

Tells him halftruths.

Everyone knows it.

The Sect Leader is in love.

It is visible,

Once you see him look at the liar.

His face lights up,

With affection and admiration.

The Liar doesn't return it.

Everyone knows it.

The Liar sees how the world is made,

He can feel and move the threads,

Holding everyone up.

He plays the strings.

His hands hold no less than five strings at a time.

One-

on his right ringfinger -

Is a deep, sweet red.

It leads to the Sect Leaders heart.

A tug,

and he moves,

Just like the liar wants him to.

---

Many have tried to free the Sect Leader.

Not one has succeeded yet.

But one day, someone will.

Surely.

It would be so much easier,

If the Sect Leader wasn't in love.

For now, he protects the Liar,

Taking poisoned tea of of his hands,

Blocking an assassins sword.

It almost seems pathetic,

How much the Sect Leader seems to rescue the Liar.

It would be pathetic,

If anyone knew about the attempts.

But noone except you and them know.

Soon, people will know.

They will gossip,

They will whisper,

They will demand justice.

For the Liar is a murderer and his crimes shall not go unpunished for much longer.

You will have your revenge, little bird.

You will have it soon.

Just hold out a little longer.

[icarian-iscariot]

being a trans man is so surreal

because yeah, it’s liberating and spiritual and beautiful

and then there’s the part of it that gnaws at your bones and hisses and screams at you for not being the woman you were supposed to be

because you could’ve been so pretty, and instead you were yourself, and that’s probably hard to reconcile if you let yourself think on it too much

[mandireh]

These Walls

As the light filters in through the windows

I am thankful that these walls will not judge my tears

For this house has held more than its fair share of grief.

I reflect on myself

Questioning

Wondering

Am I deserving?

I am so broken, will I ever be good enough?

And the self doubt wells up inside of me, churning my stomach and causing waterfalls to descend from my eyes.

They say the eyes are the windows to the soul, but my soul feels as if it’s turning into the very tears that it weeps and flooding the windows so the light coming through is filtered, but at least these walls will not judge.

[bone-breaking-i-love-yous]

Why would you call me “dear” if you didn’t want this to happen too?

[itsnotquitepoetry]

I'm not fucking stupid. I know it's not real. But my brain doesn't know. My body doesn't know. They really feel those things no matter how hard I try to convince them otherwise. That's the only thing that makes me believe that there is a distinct mind that isn't my body but tethered to it. I am not the synapses firing in that brain, I'm just subject to them.

[illiusmortem-blog]

Love is a Flame

Love is a fire

That comparison is not new and not uncommon

Specifically though, when one grew up starved of love, of attention, especially positive and healthy sorts

All love is a flame while you’re freezing

Many of us kill ourselves over candle wicks because we haven’t known a campfire

Many of us turn ourselves to bonfires for tea candles and half wicks

When you’ve only known frozen tundras and the heat of pain and comfort of your own arms around yourself

Any attention is a gift from the gods

A spark isn’t just a spark it’s the only light in the darkest eons of our souls

[cassidyrosewrites]

I journaled a BPD dissociative episode

[omnivoric]

Changing into something different

Something worse

A possession, perhaps

-nivo

[cerberus-screams]

i said,

let me out of this house, let me out,

run and hide, hide and run, curl up and escape

i dream,

i'm still in there, screaming and shouting

and she never lets him go.

and thus i wonder

if justice was truly served

when you continue to torment me from behind bars.

[mournfulroses]

Nikita Gill, from Fierce Fairytales Poems & Stories to Stir Your Soul; "Why Tinkerbell Quit Anger Management,"

[wizardnamensalex]

Isn’t it poetry?

If I look at my own face too long in the mirror I rip my skin off.

[bone-breaking-i-love-yous]

Some nights I stand in my kitchen and worry over my grilled cheese. I take a peak at the underside, the last side to cook, and the shadows make it look burnt. “Oh no!” I say to no one. I flip it all the way over, grumbling to no one. “Oh! It’s not that bad.” I chuckled and turn to smile at no one. You never actually were here, were you?

I’ll make you a grilled cheese anyway, if you want.

[itsnotquitepoetry]

Today I saw one of the most incredible pieces of art

I thought of noise music

I thought of industrial metal

I thought of my own compositions

I thought of history and future and sound and silence

And I didn't think of you

But then of course

Afterwards

I had to have thought of you

To know that I didn't think of you

There is no growth

In monitoring your growth

Because there is still a "you"

In "the absence of you"