#not really a poet though

[coffeexxcigarettes]

Credit to the artist: Rawmune

[agirlwiththoughtsandnegativity]

accidentally went on the “anti taylor swift” tag and holy shit maybe it is possible for some people to have never gone outside.

[trickstersaint]

vacation bible school activity: where did you find god in your life today? // february 18 2024

[kiisuuumii]

@kiisuuumii (break through.)

[snowinaugust15]

[lusinzak]

Me, living casually and purposelessly:

Also me, randomly remembering one of my favorite characters, who should not have died, especially in such a stupid and preventable way: *punches a nearby pillow with all force*

Also me: *goes on living in the same way*

[let-the-wind-sing]

love the dps fandom and all but some people genuinely did not understand what dead poets society was about and it scares me

[im-an-anthusiast]

Bleed for God 

Grovel at the altar, spill blood 

Pray a little louder, come now 

Make a sacrifice for – the God 

Cry a little louder, come now 

Hand in hand, fingers intertwined 

Pulled away, they await breakage 

A presence, that can’t not be loved 

Pulled away, it can’t not damage 

Grovel at the altar, spill blood 

I’d pray louder if... I knew how  

Make a sacrifice for – my God 

Cry a little louder, come now 

Your lips, such a sweet remedy 

Ripped away, unsealing the wound 

Healed by your voice’s melody 

Ripped away, by its absence doomed 

Grovel at your altar, spill blood 

I’d pray louder if... I knew how 

I sacrifice for – my one God 

Lose myself in sobs, as I bow 

Your touch, my one point, goal in life 

Without it, what’s my direction? 

Your touch, my sacrificial knife 

Without it, I have no option 

Grovel at altars, spilling blood 

Chanting all the right words to say 

Sacrificing for – every God 

Why can’t you love me the same way? 

[night-owl-writes1]

[linavender]

My comfort characters being the ones who fucked up big time and literally kinda ruined the whole thing but don't we all

[decisions-at-3am]

You gave me a nickname, One so light and free. You could say it anywhere, I'd know you were calling me.

[morgandekarios]

YOU DON'T GET TO TELL ME ABOUT SAD

Morgan / The Dark Urge + Who's Afraid of Little Old Me? / Taylor Swift

[trickstersaint]

a voice in your head says maybe you should pray the rosary // january 20 2024

[sejarcus-archive]

Au in which the Plinths never left District 2, but still sided with the Capitol so they’re still deeply despised. Because of that Sejanus grew up lonely, bullied and insecure, and doesn’t have the courage to tell his lifelong crush how he feels about him, so instead he sits in his room and transcribes his love and yearning for him into poems. One day, when it gets too much and he thinks his feelings could explode out of him at any moment, he decides to rewrite some of the poems in a little notebook, and leave them as an anonymous gift for Marcus on his front door step, knowing that only opening up to him about how he feels to some extent, could help

[hiraikotsusama]

Do you occasionally stop and just... look around? Admiring the world around you, even if you're not in a place that resembles the gardens of Versailles or a landscape painting, or even something that's remotely beautiful in a conventional way.

Finding beauty in things that most people wouldn't even glance at twice.

The ruins of a country house. It doesn't have a roof anymore, its stone walls are crumbling, yet it's full of life as plants are now its new inhabitants, uncontrolled and majestic, growing until they become one with the house.

That old yet small, unassuming maritime pine. Its bark is worn, its branches are short and almost completely bare, yet it's powerful roots break the ground- the stone, dirt and concrete- around it, forming unmoving waves, keeping the tree alive, making its presence known, letting nature be a constant entity even in a suburban ambience.

The graffiti on the side of a lone train passing through the station on a warm evening. Made by many people, mostly youngsters who want to rebel and show their art to many others, to those who will see the train passing by, even if they merely catch a glimpse of a bright red pseudonym, or a crown, or a dragon. Those pieces of art cross cities, regions, countries, even. They travel the continent and people see it, and even though some might not think much of it, or even despise it (kids who waste time vandalising, is what many would say), some others will see art. They will see something, someone. Their soul.

The world is a beautiful place, even when sometimes it doesn't seem as such. We often aren't even given the chance (the time, in many cases, life is frenetic) to just look at it, look at the parts that may seem insignificant at first.

Yet, it's all here. And it's beautiful.

[revna-writes]

does it mean anything to you? my life.

because I told you all about it, I sat you down and I explained all the facts, and I looked you in the eye and told you I would die, that half of half my friends would die, and I among them,

and you looked me back in mine with eyes filled with denial denial formed from clouds of grief grief so grand it could not even conceive the possibility of a loss so great and you spoke to me, and you said to me,

"i just don't understand, i'm trying to understand, it's like i spent my whole life believing the earth is flat, and now you are here telling me, that it is round?"

bitch- how the fuck do you think I feel? were you ever listening? or did you think I would handle this for you, too?

it was never my calling to raise a mother. in my opinion, i did a terrible fucking job.