#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.

[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.

[omnivoric]

I would be ready to give you a hug

If I wasn't at risk of being beaten

-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.

[lines-from-noelle]

camhanaich - dawn

definition (n): Early morning, twilight; the half-light of (dawn) or dusk

origin: scots-gaelic

———————————————————————————

it was a long night, but it has now passed. fear of the monsters hidden in the dark; fear of being left by those loved; fear of having no one to hold while asleep: these fears are gone.

with the bitter chill lessening as the sun begins to rise into a pleasurable crispness, a people full of these fears can fall asleep in the early dawn knowing that in the light of the sun, they are loved and cared for; in the light of the sun they have a home and a new chance for a better day; in the light of the sun they may become collective with others who have same the midnight nightmares. with the camhanaich’s faint glow over the night-full horizon, a new morning comes. a new morning arrives with the chance to be awaken anew and become better.

as every culture does knows that each morning, each dawn, each camhanaich, brings a new day

[drit-writing]

I’m starting a little writing exercise where I write down one thing that I felt or made me feel a day. Or I’m trying to, it’s harder to write organically when I force myself. It’s in my notes app so expect some angst on occasion. Here’s todays:

I take all this time looking at the beautiful things. The lights, the flowers, the books, the art. Take me to a field and I could name a hundred beautiful things, but not once would I name myself. Is my very existence not art; the art of being? Must I create to be remembered, to be loved?

- (11/17/23 I finished I Fell in Love With Hope again and it does things to my brain chemistry)

[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"

[chatlote]

Just because you don't love yourself it doesn't mean I will stop loving you.

[noctuary-of-one]

26.02.23

Where do you get the courage to grow up?

Because I'm so afraid of losing this. I finally have everything perfect and now all of it must change. I mourn at an open casket. All the things I've not yet done last: talking to my father daily, my siblings and I under one roof. One day we will all have different places to call home, and these moments will just be stories when we wind up in seniors homes. And I just don't want to ever hold onto this like that, but I'm already refusing to let go.