#poems about saints

[anniflamma]

John of the Cross writes the The Dark Night of the Soul and nobody bats an eye...

But when I make my fluffy David/Jonathan animatics, christians.... CHRISTANS CALLS ME GAY!

[shrimpricebowl]

brrrrboard

[arcanespillo]

The sheep or the horse, numb as the moon, need God to be sung unto them. The dog needs it too. He is sick of dead bodies.

The Saints Come Marching In, Anne Sexton\Dream a Little Dream of Me script\How to Be a Dog, Andrew Kane\Angel of Hope and Calendars, Anne Sexton

[trickstersaint]

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

[super-psycho-lov3]

i feel like the world made me not for you necessarily, but certainly with you in mind. it feels as though some innate part of me is soothed by your existence because its known you longer and better than itself for the entirety of its life. ive been waiting for you and i want to walk hand in hand side by side with you as long as i can. if i couldn't do that id follow behind you matching your footsteps until i couldn't manage that any longer either. maybe im insane but i can tell you certainly if i wasnt made with some part of you as part of me then i leave your embrace having stolen something of yours and hopefully left something of mine. i would tell any god that id like to trade you a rib or two the next time i see them, so there will always be something to remember this by, even in our next life. i love you like i love something more than holy in my eyes, something sacred and divine in its humanity and its flaws. i love you like i love the sun and stars and old trees who see more than we ever could. you are so beautiful to me, you are purity in the only real form it takes; purity like something thats alive, and surviving, unique and worthwhile in its desperation to be. you are a fighter for all that you want your peace and it is beautiful. you are beautiful. you are a wonder of nature to me in a way no one else i know of can compare to. perhaps they do exist, other people who are wonders of nature, but i dont particularly care. i have you. id only ever want you and your beauty, even if you didnt want me there — my dedication is to you solely these days, in this way at least. many other are dear to me, but you are more than dear; you are something inherent to my being now, in my eyes. i would not choose another, given the choice, not even if they asked or begged or pleaded. ive made my decision and it is you, you and all that youll give me. if you are not mine then i rest easier nonetheless knowing i am yours.

[ace-and-ink]

our heater left burn marks in our floor. we should’ve expected it to do something like that; we left it running all winter from a powerstrip plugged into one of the only two outlets in the room. i hate loved the way it would pop when i tried to focus; it kept me on my toes. it didn’t really work well. i haven’t seen my roommate in three days. i don’t mind the silent privacy; i don’t think she’d hate it, either. our door doesn’t work so well. the problem was that it didn’t close right but now it won’t open. who would get scared? who would notice it hasn’t moved at all? the hinges still stick when we come and go all day. maybe we should thank the heater because that might finally get them to fix this house. we’ll be far gone by then, but it’ll happen. it’ll happen. it’ll happen.

everyone says i can’t go because dying is easy. dying is easy and it’s the coward’s way out. but what if i’ve been a coward all my life? i’ve never been brave, i’m not even riddled with anxiety it’s in my fucking bones. i’ve only been brave when it’s risky because i’m not brave enough. and if it’s so easy, then i guess i’ve been bad at the easy things, too. take a deep breath and count to three with me. inhale, one, two, three. it should be easy but i’m looking at my new razor. i count the one, two, three blades. one, two, three scars on my left leg alone from accidents. it should be easy because i don’t hate pain anymore. i love to see blood and bruises feel lovely and soreness is adored and it all feels so good. one, two, three new hangnails i’ve pulled this week. one, two, three violent bruises on my shins. one, two, three nosebleeds i’ve prayed for. one, two, three hours a night curled beside the toilet just for fun. it should be so easy but i can’t even look myself in the mirror when i say that because those are my father’s eyes. it should be easy because i’m so curious. what does death feel like? who would cry? is it as easy as everyone says? one, two, three moral lessons in elementary school about the wrong choice being the easy one. one, two, three months’ worth of missed calls. one, two, three meals missed today. it’s just too easy.

while i was writing this, i leaned back and i saw eye-to-eye with the sunset. and i sat there and we stared at each other for a while. i watched until my vision went white. and i remembered when i was 17 and i woke up to the sunrise hitting the neighbor’s house in a way it hadn’t before. all i knew was orange. and i thought everything was engulfed in flames again; with hours of sleep i could count on less than one hand i thought the world was over. and i said that if the end was coming then it would come. and i said this and rolled over. tonight i wonder if it had all ended and that’s why i couldn’t die. i had already gone and so there was a lesson for me to learn. and i stared back at the sun until i feared i’d ruin my eyesight even further. but i still stared at it from behind my eyelids because i am a moth drawn to fire every time. this is no one’s secret.

mom, come pick me up, i’m scared. mom, i’m terrified. can you come home and sit beside me at the table and tell me everything’s gonna be okay like i’m 11 again? i’m sorry, mom. can you come back from the sea? i’m 8 again and i’ve just had a nightmare are you still awake? dad doesn’t get it like you do. i miss you, mom. can you come home? mom, i can’t visit you, they say it’s too easy.

no one loves the frogs. okay, that’s a lie. there are people who spend their days studying the frogs. there are kids in their backyard chasing them around and having tea parties with them even as their mothers scream when they bring them in the house. there are people who just love them and they couldn’t tell you why. there are people who love them and say they can’t tell you why because you wouldn’t get it anyway. people still love frogs. but the frogs are all dying. they’re dying brutal deaths and they’re going belly-up and bloated in the dirt. the frogs are fucking dying and it’s fucking terrifying. i’m sure the other frogs are terrified because fuck, what if they’re dead next? and what if it’s not the fungus, but the boot? the boots don’t care about the frogs and neither do the men in them, that’s why they’re dying. the frogs are dying and it’s terrifying to think “who’s next?” the frogs are dying. the frogs are fucking dying.

i’m so tired. god, i’m so tired. no one listens. no one listens to hear it. i scream to be heard and my neighbors tell me i’m making a scene. i couldn’t be more obvious. i have no more dashboard lights to set off. i write my pleas in blood and they just rot in the floor. there is no reward, there is only more to say. i raise my torn wrists to him in offering and my father tells me to clean up my mess. i’m so tired.

i am a coward that cannot commit. i try to say it and i sob instead. there is no reward for watching the sun set or watching it rise or going to bed while it’s still in the sky. there is only more to do. but isn’t it rude to romanticize it when there are frogs who were half-buried in mud whose last little dreams were to see that sun? i don’t know how much longer i can write to my father but i hope my mother understands. i do love the sea, or i did until she cast off. i hate that heater in the middle of our room but it’s fair because every door in this house hates me anyway. there’s a finality to death, apparently, and i think that’s why i’m too scared. one, two, three hours spent on a call with my best friend. he and i wallow together but we’re watching the same sunset. one, two, three meals away from doing this dance again. i’m still tired. the frogs are still dying.

— doomsday (for now)

[thatone-churro]

chat am i writing love poetry yet

[unitedstates0fdakota]

The four horsemen of the apocalypse are actually my OCs and I wrote a play about them conducting an interview for a 5th member of their crew. Also archangel Uriel is my OC and he’s a transmasc poet. Hyperfixating on the Bible has done wonders for my writing at the cost of making everyone think I’m either super religious or crazy (or both)

[lohstandfound]

⭐️

oh oh oh okay. there's so many i want to talk about

okay. first off, i want to talk about rolling. lucas has always been such an interesting character to me in bare. like. 'hey, i got the goods. i don't wanna take care of you all night so we're going to go over drug safety 101 again, okay?', claims he's not going to babysit his friends but goes to take care of ivy, he's the school drug dealer but the sin he confesses to is extra nyquil.

he goes up to jason, holding the very thing jason will use to overdose. he says 'you know we're still cool, right?'. he's not sure the best way to say it but he tries to tell his best/close friend that it's okay, you've still got me

how do you think he felt to find out he supplied jason with the thing he used to kill himself. and it's not like jason didn't know how much would be lethal.

anyway, i think about lucas a lot

i decided michael would be the better person to take that sort of role in the bapo au. it makes sense, honestly. but it just makes the story a little more tragic.

michael is gay, jenna is the only one who knows. michael is probably just as terrified as rich and jake are about coming out in the environment they have spent most of their life in.

unsure whether saint cecelia's was supposed to be just a high school or not. my catholic school went from year 7 - 13. which is probably middle school to high school. there's another school in my town that is year 1 - 13 (so i guess elementary to high school). either way it's highly likely that they went to a catholic primary school. a catholic education system is all they're familiar with

ample time for them to have it drilled into them gay = bad.

if michael just paid a little bit more attention to jake and rich, maybe he would have noticed they were a lot closer than just best bros. maybe he would have noticed that when jake and rich had their falling out, rich was a lot more upset for it being a best friend fight. if michael paid a little more attention, maybe he would have noticed. if michael paid a little more attention, he could have told them that they weren't the only ones.

the 'you know we're still cool, right?' is a lot more loaded when it comes from michael knowing that his close friend is just like him. and michael knows what it's like to feel so alone with such a heavy secret. there were so many things that michael to say to offer some sort of support, he could have told them. but 'you know we're still cool, right?' was the best he could come up with. and that wasn't enough.

anyway. onto the fic itself. the bapo fic doesnt really focus on anyone else during the rave. makes sense since it is mostly focused on rich and jake. but i wanted to explore a little more on michael and his relationship with his faith and his sexuality, which is something he struggles with. his parents didn't take it well, he cannot tell his friends, jenna is the only one who knows, and sneaking out of the school grounds is the only time he can shed that persona of who he has to be to make it through school.

he's another opposite to jake in that sense. because even though they're far away from the prying eyes of their classmates and teachers, and many of their friends are too high to even pay any attention, Jake still takes Rich outside to kiss him. Whereas Michael finds a guy to spend the night with until he notices brooke's panic when chloe suddenly isn't doing too well.

this is a statement that goes for the bare characters too, but all of them are under so much pressure to live up to the expectations set for them by the catholic church. even when they think they've got an escape away from the church figures always watching them, they're not alone. which is something michael thinks about

he's struggling a lot with the relationship of his faith and sexuality, which i imagine would lead to some doubts in his faith at some point.

it's complicated

(and i get it)

(also i need to note that the choice of 'sebastian' being michael's confirmation name was in reference to st sebastian being referred to as the patron saint of the gays putting it simply. and that is definitely why michael chose sebastian. i have no reasoning for jenna choosing veronica. veronica was the first saint i thought of)

just for fun i want to talk about im so obsessed with your ex. the entire concept came to me because every time i listen to that song, i can't help but read it a little bit sapphic. anyway, a lot of olivia rodrigo songs give off chloe vibes. and i had the concept of it working with madeline as well while i was walking to work. made a post, someone agreed to it, couldn't stop thinking about it, decided to write it. (and somehow the song made it to the top of my on repeat playlist on spotify)

i love writing sapphics and confusing feelings of attraction with feelings of jealousy. it works so well for madeline, chloe, and brooke. but this fic is solely from madeline's pov. and i haven't really written for madeline before, if ever.

it was a mixture of the idea that everything madeline does is for the bit and pissing chloe off, and madeline misplacing her feelings of jealousy because she's totally jealous that chloe gets to date jake, when really chloe is the one she wants. and chloe is the one she thinks about the entire time she's with jake. jake's just a trophy, or a stepping stone to what she really wants. because yeah, jake is fine. he's decent. madeline's not sure she gets the hype but whatever

madeline is one of the only people who can say they have dated or at least hooked up with the king and queen of the school

[teh-nos]

[tapeworm-loser]

Look like he prefers the ache to the aspirin:/

[brownsugar4hersoul]

" Well fed devils behave better than famished saints "

D.L. Smith

[sesamestreep]

absolute highlight of my night last night was looking up the publication date of Frank O’Hara’s Having a Coke with You and encountering a blurb from an online encyclopedia that described it as being written for a woman he dated.

like…bestie… Frank O’Hara??? you sure about that????

[ace-and-ink]

the collar and leash

ties me to you

because you insist that blood never could

orphaned war hound puppy on the side of the road

father’s eyes

mother’s teeth

makes some sort of savage out of me

with a mouth full of blood

they pin me the monster

and knowing nothing else

i tell them they’re right

hands over my mouth

loose fangs in their palms

poise nicely

sit pretty

legs crossed and hands folded

take the food gently like a good little beast

for i am a dangerous thing

or so i’ve spent my life being told

- and who can trust the words

that roll off the tongue of a creature

so i nod and say the same -

so i must be tame and go only where i’m lead

and keep my head down

as there’s little difference between

smiling and baring my teeth

— the nature of predators

[queen-susans-revenge]

#ortus nigenad <-prev tag got me FUCKED UP

brought a poem to the gun fight

[thatone-churro]

she is my sun

she captures all my waking thoughts

entangles me in her heat

i’d follow her to my death

and i’d rather know nothing else

i’d chase her to the very end

and she knows

she knows what she does to me

she knows what i’d do for her

she stays just out of my reach every time

taunting me, taunting me

she blinds me with her light

she’s all i can see

i’m reaching blindly

grasping at any shred of her i can get

i want her to be mine

i know i can’t have her

but i want to

so i reach, i beg, i cry

all for her, all for her

***

i saw a moth the other day.

it was the middle of the afternoon

and it just fell from the sky.

i don’t know where it came from

only that it plummeted to the ground

and it fell without a sound

as it fell and as it hit.

i thought it had died

i wonder if it wish it had

but it didn’t

even as it lay belly-up in the sun’s radiance.

just when i believe it dead

it flutters

it spasms

it panics, i think.

in its blind flurry

it flies a few inches

but still fell on its back.

it tried again

it tried again

and it tried again

but fell all the same.

inch by inch

it scrambled to a bush

all the while

it couldn’t look away from the sky

and it flew

well, “flew”

to where the sun was titled overhead.

i wonder if it knew it should know better.

i wonder if all it knew

was the light it craved so badly

and if it was driven to delirium

being engulfed in it

and flung off the cliff of ecstasy in its wake.

i wonder if it knew at all

that the sun it chased so religiously

would kill it in the end.

i wonder if that’s what all our desperation looks like

that we all flutter to our demise

and others can only help but watch with pity.

i wondered all in retrospect.

i thought first,

watching it scramble:

“i could write a poem about that.”

i was the only one to find it so poetic.

***

i reach, i beg, i cry

all for her, all for her

i grasp at every inch of her i can reach

writhing on my back

belly-up beneath her radiance

entangled in her arms

she absolutely smothers me

sends me to delirium

feeling nothing but heat

heat and her

her heat

and mine

she taunts me, taunts me

captures my lips

and steals all my waking thoughts

she’s just within my reach

i reach my hands up

ever reaching

ever desperate to hold her

but she holds stronger

because i am all hers

she’s all i know

i can never forget her in the day

always feeling her in the back of my mind

and i crave her in the night

crawling for light and warmth

she is my sun

— sundrunk