#poetic vomit

[astrowarr]

can we SLOW DOWN. POPPIES AND LILACS? LAST LIFE COLOR PALETTE? GRAY STREAK IN HAIR? just hold on. just wait WAIT HOLD

[nightshadelamentandtwilighttears]

You reached blindly for the sun, not knowing the moon was always near.

[ce-ace]

[f0r7una]

There's a way that artists look at each other. A hunger masked as appreciation, as understanding. I've seen it in gallery openings, in writing workshops, in late-night conversations where wine loosens tongues but tightens focus. We call it inspiration. We pretend it's gentle but, art has a way of lying to you.

[jb-cohen]

There are nerves in my stomach

Often described as butterflies

Sometimes I feel them as bees

Busy as can be

I feel them now bustling as I am anticipating an

Arrival of

another

Waiting for that door to ring

My skin scraped up

Just above & below the knee

I keep finding myself beat

outside & hanging

around men

But I never minded a bruise every now and then.

[bloomingsoul333]

Untitled Thought

Here they go again.

Anxiety arguing inside my heart.

How do I sweat them out of my heart is such a frozen state?

How do I sooth their souls when mine is so tangled?

...

I thought it would feel nice to enjoy a bit of normalcy before the commotion.

But it's too late. Been too late for a while...

All these moments to myself and in my head and on the floor and wet from tears-

Today I am strong.

I feel it deep in me, immersing into my soul.

Strength...

I used to run from her in fear of the things she would do to me; the things she would say in my head.

The person I would turn into.

Who I would leave behind-

Jaded into Peace.

I didn't recognize myself, and I still can't...

Who is that looking at me through my forehead?

Peering at the skin like a mirror and smiling through me...

Why can't I stop looking back?

What is this warmth I feel-

I felt so much that I froze in my thoughts.

And now I feel my right shoulder becoming warm. But I cannot see. Which I hate to admit...frightens me.

Am I thawing out or freezing into silence?

[cogentsummoner]

i will never ever shut up about toshi this is a promise and a threat

[future-journalist-adventures]

Things I Wish I Could Say To The People Who've Hurt Me (a new series???)

To A Friend How could you not be there when I needed you most? When I felt broken, Unlovable, Alone. I recall, once, Sitting with you on the floor, You holding me in your arms, Promising me that you cared. And I believed you. Because how could you be lying? And perhaps you weren't. I suppose it is possible That you truly believed that you loved me, But somewhere along the way, things changed. It's funny, because no matter what changed for you, I've always felt the same. I have always had, and will always have, a trumendous amount of love in my heart reserved just for you. You, who loves so fiercely, And has so much emotion in your soul. I love you, and I have loved our friendship. But I will always hate what you did to me. I put my trust in you, because I finally felt safe. What did you do with that trust? That safety? That love? You laughed with your friends- our friends- at me, thinking, "how silly is it to want to be loved." You ruined everything that was once mine, Every safe space I'd created. And I hate you for that. But somehow, nothing could ever change how I feel about you. Because I still love you. No matter the cost.

[electrozeistyking]

please don't tell me i'm about to lose someone i care for in a way i never wanted to experience again.

please don't tell me i'll never get to say yet another farewell. we'll always be here for each other, right?

please. let me open the door and reach out to you.

i can't bare the thought

of losing you, too.

[nightshadelamentandtwilighttears]

Relax.

One step at a time.

Take breaks.

Allow yourself to breathe.

The journey is difficult.

But not impossible.

[f0r7una]

The Artist's Blood.

Art, like love, is obsession embodied. It feeds on me, an insatiable parasite cloaked in beauty, siphoning off pieces of my heart. Enthralled by my muse's intoxicating allure, I surrendered willingly, reveling in my muse's enigmatic allure, mistaking the gnawing hunger for inspiration. Memories blur, sanity fractures, and what remains of my heart becomes a fragile offering to my muse. Yet, my creation mirrors my own destruction, each masterpiece a monument to the pieces I'll never reclaim. As dawn turns to dusk, the truth becomes impossible to ignore: my muse is a parasite. It whispers promises of immortality while feasting on vulnerability, leaving behind hollowness where dreams once thrived. It's a cruel, intimate exchange, akin to a love unrequited, where fascination eclipses possession, and devotion teeters between admiration and anguish.

Art becomes a conversation between what is shared and what is lost—an intimate, unspoken language of passion and pain. And when I'm left with nothing but the echo of my devotion, I realize my muse has always been a parasite. And yet, I'd offer myself again.

[andromedagrrrl]

{anxiety and old sweaters}

anxiety is like an old sweater,  smelly and itchy,  probing at my insides until i cave until the vomit stops it keeping picking and picking leaving marks and bubbly red scars  keeping me from my loved ones. it was my grandma’s sweater.  i can't leave it  can’t take it off not until it stops hurting.  not until the vomit stops.  my anxiety is like an old, crumpy, ugly, itchy sweater all wrapped up perfect in a box with a bow hiding from the world.  yet presented to all. 

-vick ☆

[avecamour-espoir]

would you still be everything i wanted, if i finally had the chance to have you?

you see, i always thought i had all of you but somehow you would always manage to, just like water, slip through my finger tips.

so if i did have all of you, in my the palm of my hands, and if you were completely mine and i was completely yours, would you still be everything i ever imagined you’d be, everything that i hope you are?

because i like to wonder if you would treat me any differently than you did before if you had all of me, all the time.

are you a completely different person than what i had in mind, or did i make up this version of you in hopes that all of your red flags were only just illusions?

[wadingthroughgrass]

poetic rambling #1

Is there not a sickly beauty to those swirling tendrils of gas, yellow in the light that reflects pallidly off its twisting surface? It reflects off the menacing contraptions of steel it hides, enhancing the harsh steely lights that blind in their numbers. It hides the low-set buildings, heaping across the expanse of cleared land, small from the distance you care only to observe. Maybe in another world our Earth’s plague is a natural state of pristine beauty, such as the great gas giants we call ours — colossal and beautiful in their grandness — in a solar system where we are of the highest form. Or only form I suppose. Yet in the world we know, her beauty lies in the vivid blues and greens of her curves, the smears of oranges and yellows in places where her tears do not run, blacks in the depths of pressure where even the strains of our illusion of a society does not prepare us for. Her beauty is hers, so why is the beauty of Venus, a more likely comparison to the plague we’ve given our roots than our quietly looming gas giants of charm, present here? Venus, sweltering and acidic, bewitching to even our forefathers who deemed her to be Aphrodite. Soon there will be no separation between our worlds, and while our society struggles to accept the idea that everyone really is the same, we also struggle to accept the importance of uniqueness, the flavor that provides us with the perspective to truly appreciate beauty. For beauty, in all its wondrousness, is all that these worlds have to offer. 

[a9saga]

chat can we get some puke emojis for cameron winning america's favorite houseguest

[f0r7una]

She'd listen, eyes sharp and gleaming—with something I mistook for simple interest. But there's nothing simple about the way artists devour each other. We take without asking, weave each other's chaos into our own until the lines blur, until I can't tell where her madness ends and mine begins.

It's not symbiotic; it's cannibalistic, and we both pretend we don't love the taste.