#original peoms

[mellblogss]

Love yourself first! Because not everyone is going to love you.

[monachopsis-muse]

A silent offering

Why would I pretend to love living?

Why drape myself in joy’s tattered cloth,

when the seams fray with every step I take?

I don’t smile for myself—

but for the silent comfort of a world

that cannot bear to see what I carry.

Perhaps because hating it doesn’t make it go away.

No amount of disdain

can fold these moments into nothingness.

How cruelly persistent time is,

dragging me along,

its hand cold, unrelenting.

How I’d love to donate these worthless years

to someone hungry for the future,

someone who would take this heaviness

and spin it into something dazzling,

something light.

@monachopsis-muse

—This life feels more fitting for another’s hands.

[salmonella-destroyer-of-worlds]

L'ancien monde meurt lentement et le nouveau monde peine à naître. Les nouvelles idoles sont brisées et les anciens dieux apparaissent à l'horizon. Le nord se déplace vers le sud et le sud vers le nord. Une étoile naît et une étoile s'éteint.

[musesurge-8]

Caveat of Hushed Screams

The voices in my head are growing louder day by day, Paranoia is eating me alive, In an empty house, I hear whispers, All of them aiming to demean and tyrannize.

The work I do, the struggles I take on, Everything flushes down the drain, Just a single mistake that doesn't even matter Penalizes me and drives me insane.

Sometimes, even when I'm not at fault, I'm proclaimed a sinner Who has destroyed everyone, Someone else's careless deed is also me who gets pinned upon.

The fear of being caught, Even when I'm doing nothing wrong, Makes me edgy and angsty, Compelled to look out for shadows lurking around.

No one's listening, No one cares, The ones who do, I'm forbidden to see them again.

The hushed screams are growing louder, Taking forms of 'attacks' in a way, Blind bystanders watching as The lonely dolphin slowly fades away.

Everybody finds an escape for a while Some paint, some dance, some bake. I would just blink for a bit, hoping the worries would wash away, But now, even in dreams, the whispers jolt me awake.

I find myself coveting to be gutsy like Rapunzel, Break out of this hellish tower and get lost in the woods outside, Because even the 20s couldn't kill The yearn for a guilt-free youth of the kid inside.

Still confiding in the power above, Begging the universe to bless upon, But dare I say, the verge is at hand, And it's sharp enough to slit the cordiality out.

The horn has been blown, red flag has been waved, Make haste winding up the charade, Or behold unleashing the brute, And caught up being slayed.

-by Jana

[girlnamedeuthymia]

"To love you has never been a burden."

loving you is not like someone ordered me to do it, it comes naturally, its something that keeps banging my chest so i had to release it so it won't hurt me.

loving you has never been a chore, loving you has never been like a task, it come so naturally that i didn't know that i show it obviously.

loving you is more like a pattern, as natural as the way i blink my eyes, as natural as how my heart keeps pumping. Like, the process of breathing, its essential to life.

So, if you'll ask me why do i do it, I'll tell you that its like a natural phenomenon, that even me don't know how did it even start.

"To love you has never been a chore."

[talesofarafat]

The Tale of The Brave Ninja

[emmagreyrose]

Blizzards of Fun, Meadows of Rabbits

BLIZZARDS OF FUN

wool blankets / red / white piles of / snow / red / snowmen and / snowflakes / the wood in the / basement is / burning / red / the light by the candles is / dying / red

MEADOWS OF RABBITS

wildflowers in the / kitchen / the sun is a ball of / lavender and / white yarn / a cricket is chirping in the / purple of the / daylight / through cinnamon / winds / the kettle on the / stove top / is a pond of / tea leaves and / flower heads / morning / everything is / silver slivers of / hope and / feathers / white / deer / under a violet / sun

Poetry First published in Spinzoablue Online Publication (2024)

[narmeenwalid]

[reneespoetry]

I'm not good at reaching the top shelves.

I can only reach the liquor,

But I spend time with you in my dreams.

I could reach you,

But I'm so small now,

and I don't know what to do with my hands.

I reach for you in my dreams.

(Short)

c.r.

[purecupcake]

I feel closest to the divine

In the veil between dreams,

Around the edges of ecstasy

And in the trenches of grief.

In these moments, Chaos knows me,

Can see behind my mask,

Deep into my humanity—

The core of something vast.

I find a radical vulnerability

In this giving in—letting go

Where everything makes sense

While making absolutely none at all.

[toragay-writing]

My poetry book is coming out December 2nd, only on Amazon or Kindle.

Titled In the Shadows by Tora Drevicky.

[lblackson19]

WOLF - short story poem

In the night we prowl, noses like bloodhounds & a feline stare. The birth of a werewolf. What are we looking for in this darkness anymore? I feel like a sheep in wolves skin when left to my own advisory on these walks. I wield but one weapon aside from my mental stamina for deep thoughts and reflection, a knife moulded from hard candy that tends to get sticky on my hands.  I can only think so much before  everything gets creepy & I start to run. 

The girl is trying to sleep, despite all that had happened tonight. She sleeps with a night light, odd for a girl her age. Twenty years she’s been burdened with a deeply settled fear of the darkness. I wonder why she drives herself so mad when she knows she has a hard time sleeping with the light on. Perhaps she is the most odd for thinking this night would bring any more promise of rest than the past moons. In the midst of her tossing and turning, a glimpse of the ceiling seems to have caught her attention. In the ceiling, hands are pressing down through the paint but can’t seem to break the barrier. She reached toward the ceilings arms before descending back into her own embrace. 

The girl got up this morning rather early but it seems she didn’t have the time to get ready. I swear she did, but time is not forgiving even to those of us grieving. She talks to the woman working in reception, but she is distracted by something behind me. There is a man trying to break his way through the wall in the hallway, is his goal the warmth of her alive body? if he keeps that up he’ll knock the bulletin board out of place, Does she not notice her reflection in the print to the left of him? Has she also not noticed the tears that have escaped her, they had covered their tracks well under the commotion from the unexpected visitor.  

The girl is most likely a magnet for the strange and unnerving. 

Instead of getting on the train home, she just kept walking. I think it is far too wet outside, she is unaffected by the downpour. There weren’t many lit up buildings left on her night prowl, but there was the church she walked into. She slumped down onto an old wooden pew and disappeared. 

There was nothing strange or unnerving happening in the church, nobody trying to free themself from the girls' walls. I almost forgot about the girl after a while in our shared stillness. I thought she may have been asleep but as I try to get a closer look it appears she is crying quietly. I can't be sure she’s aware she's all alone in this church, but she did open her phone to make a call. Whoever she is calling is not picking up. She clasps her hands in prayer, the phone is laying in her lap. A text message appears, after she reads the message she resumes her silent cry.  

How sad a sight, a young girl pleads for what she thinks is right. Her wings drenched in afterbirth, bursting from the back of her ribs as she asked me to die. Yearning to know why he would do such a thing like leaving her, like promising his return in the event of death. This story is as classical as the music is, with as much class as war has. She says the fresh air on her lungs feels nice.

Hey blog <3 I wrote a short story poem, I think underneath all the imagery and the metaphors or whatever, it's about a break up. Like a psychological thriller imagery thing about going through a break up. It's also up to your interpretation! I hope that makes sense, thanks 4 reading :D

xoxo

[msmural]

On Voice

She, who is the artist, is the dumbest of them all. 

For the artist makes no craft, nor controls capital. 

She has tricked herself into the mistaken belief,

That art can be profound beyond science’s grief.

Who is she, to think she knows.

As here she sits and dares compose,

Some poem addressed to the dead, the lost.

Yet, now she wonders, has she come to that line crossed?

To the point she can’t go past?

They’d be oh so awfully aghast.

Yet that appeared the only choice. 

To put down the pen, to give up her voice.

[pileofrcks]

A martyr for my love

She knows how to skin me alive

She doesn’t know my blood stained her teeth

Or that I have to kill my self just to touch her

Are we allowed to laugh?

When I’m in love I feel like a liar

You probably think it’s dumb that I could never tell you I love you

Blinded by the headlights so I jumped off the bridge

She’ll leave me because I’m a coward

Never could get your name to leave my lips

I talk about virtues with my head between your hips

I don’t believe in a god

Something worse has to kill me

I was a damn fool to believe anything could hold me

Salvation was only something i believed in when you touched me

If I die dirty, let it be under your tongue

Let me die a Martyr for you

My nature begs me to suffer

I can never have anything I want

[mimi-from-heaven]

APRIL

See my books go to my brother,

he'll love them when he's older.

And my vinyls to my big sister,

so her voice might just get bolder.

Send flowers to my cousin

she'll want to hear the news.

Tell her that I'm sorry

for having so short a fuse.

Give the crows some peanuts

so they know I won't return.

Read all of my letters

and please watch them as they burn.

Give my last breath to the wind

chimes,

and my age to the newborn trees.

Give my voice to the barn cats kitten,

And my direction to the flocking geese.

You know i will be leaving leaving

And I know it will be soon;

so send my body down the river,

and my soul up to the moon.