#pain makes poetry

[succuimp]

[myfakeplasticlove13]

I don’t know man :/ i think I’m just tired of being me

[atomicraft]

Tremors: a zine about being an artist with chronic shaky hands!

hello !! I’m atomic, and we’re an artist with a mild hand/limb tremor, so what better thing to do then make a zine about it 👀

[sweetsweetperil]

Am I replaceable,

The words that I have said?

Is this love not enough,

To make up this messy bed?

Do my lungs not hold

The capacity to shift and bend?

Is this why you leave without hesitation,

My friend

[nostalgia-is-liar]

[brightdeadthing]

HI ! ive been looking for webweaving post abt like growing up but like not abt childhood ,more abt the transition from like teenager/young adult to adult :3 thank you!

mitski / margaux paul / sue zhao / kalyn roseanne livernoi / silas denver melvin / @speedlimit15 / richard siken / sean thomas dougherty / ? / haruki murakami / jenny george

[chaoticallymuse]

Merlin and Arthur

"It's a tragedy, they way he loves you; it is a tragedy that star crossed lovers will read an weep over a hundred years later, and weep over blood not yet spilt - because if you two could not make it, no one will" - the playwrights will write your names in the darkness of the sky."

- Madison Miller

[glasswaters]

"All that pain, that misery, that loneliness, and it just made him kind." - Amy Pond, Doctor Who, season 5, episode 2, "The Beast Below" written by Steven Moffat

Pain sits on a chest too frail to lift it, its mouth split by teeth. it digs curved claws into sinew and bone and untwists nerves where they lie blank in its hands. Misery, hollow cheeked and hollowed bare, keeps its stomach concave, starving for company. A rattle in your lungs. Weeping sores on your skin.

What are you thinking? What are you feeling?

It hurts.

What are you thinking? What are you learning?

Make for me a map of the starving thing shredding your muscles. Hold open the puncture wounds, and pull out the claws.

Or else leave them in and let them fester. Watch your skin go blue and yellow, watch the flesh swell where they lay buried somewhere deep inside of you. Feel your tongue grow heavy and drop down your esophagus. Won't you lift your head?

Pain pulls from your head every thought before it's formed. Pain threads a needle from the spool of your words and stitches closed your lips. Tiny, and neat, a surgeon's touch. Pain takes your hands and holds them, fast and steady. Let me teach you, it says, and presses its splintering bones into the skin of your back.

What are you feeling? What are you learning?

It hurts.

-oh, my darling. pain doesn't have anything to teach. it just hurts.

[faaun]

the way that diff languages sound r so fascinating they're all different and all so vivid

[giantkillerjack]

There is a horror in that moment

The kind that makes most folks look away

That moment

When you realize

The Pain

Will not be stopping.

I'm writing a book in which

The main character goes through the same thing

And I'm stuck because

How do you write a scene like that?

Where do you put it in the story?

When does it finally dawn on him?

Not only the knowledge that

dancing

running

skipping

jumping

walking

fucking

working

adventuring

Living

will never be the same.

But when will it dawn on him that his last day of painlessness was months ago, and he didn't even know it at the time? (didn't even get to say goodbye)

Maybe that's why they say dawn breaks.

Maybe I'm stuck because I've never seen it anywhere else.

(maybe that's why I felt all alone in my mourning)

(maybe that's why I'm writing a book)

I've never seen a story where there were days of pain and days of ease, and then the days without pain got fewer and fewer until one day, it was just

Pain.

And of course my character, he waits

And waits

And waits

And works

And searches

And pleads

And yet the rest of his life

Suddenly stretches before him

Horrifically long, unthinkably long, with the knowledge that, from now on,

Every Day Will Be A Pain Day.

Every second

Of every minute

Of every hour day week month year

For forever

For forever

For forever

For forever

For forever

For forever

For forever

How many scenes do I write

of him mourning?

And - before he finds the acceptance that even allows for mourning -

How many scenes of that horrific slow-sudden frantic-panicked suspicion of the truth?

How does one draw (it's a graphic novel) the face of a man (his name is David)

struck with that kind of strangling grief?that choking half-denial?

That silent scream of horror given sound?

How many people tell him they are sure it will be fine even as he feels himself falling further?

How many of them fail to understand until they are gone from his life?

How many times does he blame himself?

How many times is he right?

Don't get me wrong

It's a hopeful story

Really.

It has a happy ending

And that happy ending happens

On a pain day.

I just hope I can tell my story good enough to show

What that means and

Why it matters.

I just hope we can be seen.

[succuimp]

[bitt3rfangs]

"Each key drips with the echoes of a melody no one was meant to hear, blood seeping into the spaces where beauty once lived. The candles flicker like fleeting hope, their wax tears pooling at the base of forgotten prayers. And these bruises—they bloom like midnight flowers, reminders that the pain is real, that the song was mine to bear."

[dusty-cobweb]

there’s an ache in my arm

where my hand used to be

i sometimes try to grab things with it, to hold and feel, to wipe the tears off my cheek

and instead i find an emptiness, an action cut short

like a blade that has dulled to the point it’s simply hacking instead of cutting

the ache ascends down my arm and into my shoulder, following the stroke of my body till it meets my heart

and there the aching stays

a loss of something i used to have

a touch, a smile, a zoom link, pink, and yellow, and good

there’s an aching in my heart

it’s probably just the phantom pain

[authenticity2025]

Just because I have sadness in my heart does not make me a sad person. I can carry this pain, and still hold a flame of hope and love to bring light into darkness. I am not a sad person.

[travelingtwentysomething]

I just watched the movie A Real Pain and it made me cry and my right sinus is blocked now and I'm sleep deprived and it got me thinking a lot.

Everyone's pain is so real, and so uniquely their own, and cannot compare to each other's or 'worse' stuff and it's stupid to try, because they're all just different. And yet. They're the same. We're the same. We feel pain. We show it in a multitude of ways. Some people hide it. Bottle it up, "tuck it away" and "carry on" "moving forward" "take a pill" "swallow it down" but it's there. It shows through the cracks. You hold on so tight your fear is in every line of you. You let it out in overwhelmed bursts and you apologize for burdening people with the weight of it. Because you know they have their own to bear, because it can't compare. Because you're not supposed to pity yourself or feel bad for yourself or sound like you think your feelings are more important than anyone else's, can't be selfish. Can't feel. And then there's the honesty you can't avoid. The people who see right through you, right into you, deep down in the dark of you. Because that's where they live too. Because they see your pain and they feel it too. Because they have their own. And it's a piece of the same tapestry. Ripped up into threads and sewn into all of us. Through time and space and generations. We have the pain of humanity woven into our souls, the past, our past, their past, your past. All of it. Everyone's, everywhere, all at once, is, was, and will be. It's all there. We feel it. The honesty of feeling it for others to show, the tears and snot and suffering in the moment, the pity and the sorrow and the self indulgent feeling washes over and through and out of you. It's so heavy, and yet when you let yourself feel it, it somehow gets lighter. When you let yourself share it, it's somehow not a burden you have to bear alone, but a way to bare your soul and connect, let people see you, understand and see themselves in your reflection.

My eyes hurt. My sinus is clear again finally. I'm so tired. And I'm hurting. I've distracted myself from it for a long time and yet it's never gone, I never really forget. But it's lighter somehow when I open the shutters and let the darkness meet the light of day.

[arabelastrange]

a hilson poem as a new year gift, from me to you —skel