#poetry prose

[dame-nostalgique]

Songbird, 2023 🕊️

Pieces of hope for today, tomorrow, and the days after that

[stardustthroughthecracks]

I want you to want me, damn the consequences.

[eitwrites]

Brown eyes that mirror thoughts; eyes that round up when intriqued, eyes that close to almost a slit when playful, eyes that sparkle with mischief even before the words come out of her mouth.

I play along when she has a joke in mind, she doesn't know her eyes are giving it all away. The way her lips curl up and the way her nose crinkles, the way her voice carries her intent- light and full of laughter. She doesn't know i've spent years learning her and can read her through and through.

Here she comes, those coffee powder eyes with twinkling lights beneath it. Here she comes and starts with "Hey have you heard. . ?" Here she comes and there's happiness in my blood, it's going all around.

[adornself]

5-2-24

[as-nowilove]

promoting you to me, 9/17/24

[umabokil]

I’ll paint the scenery outside your window with your favourite season and connect the stars to scribble your name in the sky. I’ll write books of poems and songs in your name and leave them in parks and bus benches for everyone to find and read. I’ll bake you the homeliest home and cook you the fanciest dinners. I’ll tuck you in with a lullaby for the heart and scoop you in with kisses to the forehead till your chest falls into a calm rhythm next to me. I’ll build you the cosiest cabin in the woods and I’d be the fire that keeps your fingertips and nose warm. I’ll love you like I have always wanted to love you, and I hope that, with time, you will, too.

— I’ll find you for your sake till you become inseparable with yourself.

[moreorlessinsidious]

I do not want to attach to anything;

Not because I fear loss.

I witness a million deaths a day

in the spaces between us

and with those I never met.

I fear growing into the earth

and being ripped from its flesh

a clutched newborn,

still a misshapen star.

I do not fear the warmth of ruin,

only the silence I came from:

A beginning and end

without the eyes of god.

[ily-beyond-measure-carstairs]

The sound and flow of words. The melody of nature. The song of the soul. All move endlessly like a placid river by the trees. As life speaks in its soft tunes as my fingers glide against the tree bark; the rough and smooth edges beneath my touch. It felt as though there was a string that tied me to this beauty. To this life. As if a thread woven into cloth, making a beautiful tapestry. A story. The beats of my heart translated in the depths of this earth. Rooted. Alive.

[maispeakslove]

- sapphire blue

[ineedibuprofen]

cigarette daydreams, cage the elephant // pinterest //@obsob // little women // girlhood, cecily parks // @deanwinchestersfloralwallpaper // // anti-curse, boygenius

[stardustthroughthecracks]

I’m sorry I didn’t realize how thin the string was between you and me; how rare these ties would be.

[eitwrites]

I like you a little. A little because i'm not sure if i'm allowed to like you a lot.

We're standing around in groups but it feels like there's only you and me. You recall small things about me and my heart does a little flip because you took the time to notice those things and it flops just as quick thinking you must be that type of person; too nice to let anything pass by, too kind to not make friends with everyone.

I like you a little. A little because if I don’t keep reminding myself, everyone else might realize it's a lot.

[adornself]

unfinished rought draft

[as-nowilove]

you never have to ask

though wish you had

been there when i planned

to see you again, to feel you

between distant twitching descriptions

across the room; and the rest

assured unsaid,

the best still coming yet every caught gaze is

the same consequence to our nine

o clock angels sent to save morning,

their scalding luminescent

mis handling

of those glorious unfolding fables

for reading quietly

in secret communities

their harmonies now

growing across the sky,

as i

climb

induced by

where you demand to be seen, where

you cry to be noticed for how lonely you,

continue to believe,

as you lower yourself to

my believing in what’s likely to be just

as terrifying,

aren’t i in white,

but you are so unwary

in your bed,

with my imaginary

motivated for more body

glowing on your phone as

not your only joy to provide

with time, but your shadow

of scarlet and hunger (by night which

Is satisfied) still knowing

for the better, that i

keep your dreams kind,

in some greater chastity i am

alive by your mind’s

revaluation of love, through life, and protecting

your impulses by disguise i, under now

hoping your demons want mine,

wonder to realize how

right it isn’t really, to be loving

you so freely when you

only need me for the sky’s

harmony to bleed, though

i suppose i leave every evening only

needing you tomorrow

for the same thing, and

isn’t it humiliating?

but do we

both know

how evil uses our spirits for

fulfillment, that what we

want is always wicked to

the modesty we lived

without it —

the needle eye of eros

glows with inimical certain ness,

we are what we ask everywhere , continue

i may regret to dare though

truly some of us must

succumb: as love does ask, humming

through all of us eventually so certainly

your turn is coming, though i cannot wait — for already

each time we meet i am

wide-eyed and in duced by the

constancy

of your wordless honesty, my

can did darling should

you later

want to find me by free will, i care

be not waiting between realms

but glittering back and forth

creating layers across our ghosts ,

and seeking for what compels you most,

do resonate this need, held

unapparently, send me

across hells separating

our distant heavens,

there marry may i,

quiet your singing bell

[umabokil]

I am the walking blueprint of a shattered heart. The veins in my body are the cracks in my interior, the blood spilling from the broken shards and flowing in unapologetic rivers. Ironically, the blood flow is keeping me alive. They call it circulation, apparently. But how do I explain to the world that what they’re summing up scientifically is nothing but the weight of carrying love and loss gushing and rushing to every corner of my body, imprinting itself into my being, when all I want is to detach myself from the burden? Why can’t I weep blood onto my sleeve and scrub my face from any remnants of my vulnerability? Why must my brokenness circulate within my body when my heart is as though mechanical—pumping but not feeling? Why is this the darkness before light? Why is this the evil before good? Why is this the cost of my becoming?

— walking blueprint of a shattered heart / weight of carrying love and loss / cost of becoming