#poetry after midnight

[vampyscorner]

Enough

Loving someone hurts

Especially from afar

Knowing that you could never be enough

Never be able to give them what they want

So, you sit and watch

Watch them glow

With every remark

Every breath and wonder

Why you couldn’t be different

Why you cannot be

Enough

[exmotranny]

the green carpet scratches at your pink heels. bile rises in your throat.

they talk about womanhood- but it’s not quite right. there is the pink and compliments and talk of boys

i am a beloved daughter

but there is also something else. it digs at your flesh, it feasts on your skin. your mother motions at your chest, bigger than hers and you're not even done growing yet! how lucky.

of heavenly parents

you pray to a man every night, finish it in another’s name. on your knees. you were sent a shady link as a kid. the woman on her knees, tears streaming out of her eyes, i don't want this, she said

with a divine nature and eternal destiny

blood on the inside of your underwear. you were told this meant you were a woman now. you were ten years old. what the fuck did you know about being a woman? your mom said you weren’t allowed to touch between your legs, but it's normal to want to. you didn't know what that meant, either.

as a disciple of jesus christ,

you wanted to be desired. you daydreamed of being the trophy for boys around you, of claiming that role one day as a wife. you came from a long line of women married young. you don’t know their names, but you were taught about their husbands in church.

i strive to become like him.

pressing your breasts down as much as possible, trying to give the illusion of a flat chest. badly cropped jpgs of jesus photoshopped to have top surgery scars are the secret currency you pay to get past the hours of church. you hold them like diamonds.

i seek and act upon personal revelation

you thought god was talking to you. you almost threw away everything you owned. you thought you were a prophet. total fuckin’ ego death! holy shit! god speaks through me!

and minister to others in his holy name

and then the next morning. when your faith crashed, when moroni abandoned you, did it feel unreal to you too, joseph?

i will stand as a witness of god

oh god, no. please. i don’t know what’s real anymore.

at all times

leg hair peeking from under your pretty sunday dress. they all stare. you ignore them and open up to D&C 132.

and in all things

emma, did you love him to the end? i don’t think you wanted him. did you watch as he married a 14 year old? did you tell him you burned the commandment? did you cry when he died for the church that he loved more than he loved you?

and in all places.

blood on the floor of carthage jail. this martyr will be remembered forever. do they talk about you, emma? or are you just joseph’s wife?

as i strive to qualify for exaltation,

when i marry, my husband will be a god, and i shall cleave onto him. when i marry, i will go to his universe and bear more of his children.

i cherish the gift of repentance

heads bowed low as the sacrament is passed. my hands clutch onto the bottom of my skirt. pleasure outside celestial marriage is forbidden. i apologize for loving the wrong way.

and seek to improve each day

i tried to kill myself, last time i got home from girl’s camp. i got home and cried and found the pills and shoved them into my mouth until i cried more and more until i was gagging. i hunched over the toilet. my hands on the grimy floor.

with faith, i will

forced to sing in front of the congregation. my head spun from anxiety. my stomach turned with nausea.

strengthen my home and family,

loving wife beautiful kids loyal husband church once a week work weekdays weekend mom monthly round on the business end of his cock forever and the vomit threatens to make an appearance.

make and keep sacred covenants,

an old man is in a room alone with me. he asks me if i masturbate.

and receive the ordinances and blessings

i tell the man no. i receive a card so i can be ordained.

of the holy temple.

that's just how it goes, isn't it?

all around are paintings of god and jesus. we learned about heavenly mother. why don’t i see her in paintings? did god have plural marriages? did heavenly mother make us? why don’t we pray to her? did she watch god marry a 14 year old? did she cover her eyes? when she saw blood on her underwear, was she told she was a woman? did she touch between her legs? did she ever believe herself better than god? does she cry when she cant talk to us? why do i cry? was heavenly mother scared of singing in public and did she press her chest flat and did she cry when god forced himself into her mouth? did she burn his doctrine too?

i am given flowers on mother’s day. i will be one eventually, after all. and i vomit in the church bathroom quietly like the perfect woman i am supposed to be.

[moonlight00318]

The stars are the poetry of the night🌌,

silent verses written in the language of light🖤

[pinehutch]

The Silt Verses my absolute beloved: I'm relistening and was so excited to get back to Chapter 17, and the way that most of the episode just sweeps over you with an unexpected degree of kindness. Important to be reminded that kindness — or something like it — is possible, even in this brutal world.

[my-divine-rhythm]

At last, the night surrounded me, star-studded but dark nevertheless..©

- Louise Glück, from "Midnight"

[3amfanfiction]

You know what I honestly hope and believe comes after death?

Nothingness. The same thing you feel when you’re deeply asleep. No awareness. But not in an ended sort of way.

Bear with me here.

There’s a cartoon sketch I remember reading of two snowmen looking at the spring sun and one says do you believe in the water cycle? And the other scoffs and says that they just water the grass when they melt and he’s okay with that.

I think we go through our own water cycle. I hope that after we die, we’re broken down to our smallest pieces that are reused in a trillion different ways.

Our pieces break apart and attach to other’s pieces. These new pieces become something a little bit bigger before mixing with 2 different pieces and morphing again.

Some parts of us soak into the ground, seeping down, down, down until we merge with groundwater.

Some parts of us evaporate and get carried away by the breeze. Mixed and swirled with things moving through you that you can’t observe.

Some of us get drank. Entering another’s bloodstream until you are carried far away and are once more expelled. What do snowmen know of the bloodstream of a squirrel?

You never die— you’re still all there just not in a format you recognize. But keep in mind that for as infinite as the water cycle is, our pieces’ cycle is just as long. The odds of anything are possible which means sometimes, when everything happens just right . . . a few pieces of you happen to match back up together in the next cycle.

If we’re going back to our comic we would say that after the snowmen melted, all the atoms/pieces that made up one specific drop of water manage to keep themselves together through the water cycle. They evaporate into the sky. They move into clouds. The clouds release water. The water freezes and becomes snow. And all those original atoms which happened to stay together, become a single snowflake again.

The odds are low but they’re not zero in the infinite.

I think we see this in the people who say they can remember a past life. For the ones who swear they lived in different times. I think enough of their pieces came back together to give them a small glimpse of who they were.

In no way are they the same as the original. They have a mix of too many other pieces for that to happen, but what they do have is enough for an echo. An echo of the energy that it once held.

It’s not reincarnation but it’s certainly not death either.

[robynshaikucorner]

Ag mothú na mothúcháin sin,

Faoi mo chorp is faoi m'inchinn.

Ceapaim nach bhfuil ann ach tromluí,

Go n-éireoinn sa gcorp ceart,

Nuair a thiocfadh an t-am ceart.

Ach níor tháinig an t-am sin.

Níor dhúisigh mé sa gcorp ceart.

Dhúisigh mé i gcorp lofa,

Le na tréithe firinscneacha seo...

Cuireann sé fonn múisce orm agus

Leanann an tromluí mé.

I mo dhúiseacht, i mo shuimhneas,

Ní thagann deireadh leis.

Ba mhaith liom éalú uaidh.

Ach tá rogha ar bith agam.

[deviltownresident]

i used to be scared of the dark. but now, i find there's something so hopelessly beautiful about fluorescent lights in the dead of night. the stark white of the city will shine wherever the light falls, but there will never be enough to begin to combat the immense black of the darkness where the streetlamps aren't looking. there's nothing to take away from what shrouds us when humanity forgets us, and when we forget humanity; that same darkness that's there when we close our eyes at night, it never really goes away. it lives inside us, where the city lights cannot find it. we may fear it, we may seek it, but we will never be close to it, except for the moments when we close our eyes, when we forget, and it envelops us wholly.

[ihaveonlymydreams]

.

[pen-and-prose-nw]

[strawburrymeadows]

art

there’s something inside my chest, bursting

bursting at the thought of you

it aches with that of a young girl

staring out at the sea for the first time

but it burns with that of a smoke-filled sky

in a city well known

i think it’s funny we call it love

or at least akin to that word

because isn’t that what the artists are trying to prove?

the painter paints a portrait of home

of a person or thing

they have come to hold dear

but will frustrate themselves

when it’s not exactly perfect

when it’s not exactly right

something off in a way they can’t visualize

the musician composes a melody

one that’s beautiful and unified and lilting

one that sounds like their childhood

but the sheet music goes unfinished

one note left imperfected

for it won’t sound like it’s supposed to

like it’s impossible to hear

the poet writes a million words

all describing her

in a million ways and a million tounges

but they know, deep inside

it only covers half of what she is

half of what they love

it’s such a difficult thing to capture

in words, in sound, in pictures

for we have tried for centuries

centuries of searching for the right way

to represent something we all feel

so intensely

but it overcomes our ability to qualify

“you’ll know when you feel it”

everyone says

and that’s really all it comes down to

the painter paints and i feel love

the musician composes and i feel love

the poet writes and i hope

she feels love

[cuyberpunk]

{after midnight: a confused stream of consciousness}

you start to sob into your pillow  because some fucker left you for Bottle Blondie. 

i find myself with my arms wrapped tightly around your neck. 

you guide  me to the bathroom and immediately start to press kisses over my slightly chapped lips. 

i giggle.

i don't know why. 

after midnight is when when us  girls show their true forms, 

when we exist to our truest extent. 

when the loudest noise in the world is the light snoring of the woman draped over you. 

oh, so please, beautiful creature, let me bask in your radiance for a moment until this is all over, 

and let me lie here in your satin sheets. 

after midnight is when when us  girls show their true forms, 

when we become the witches we once were. 

the witches he never wanted us to be. 

you start to weep again breaking the kiss, 

salty moondrops falling from your eyes, again. 

your unshod feet trembling as you shove your hands in mine, 

as you said something, i don't know what. 

i use my free hand to graze your cheek. 

my hands turn lavender from your moondrops and you kiss me again. 

and then again. 

and again. 

after midnight is when girls become the goddesses we truly are, 

and radiate the most beautifully blinding lavender light.  

i love you before midnight, 

after midnight, 

and forever midnight. 

[sandmanalone]

It is the day before my birthday,

And I read poetry and cry.

I speak with my therapist.

I take pictures of myself, and try

To look at them without judgement.

I try to make room for my feelings,

Make room for my words.

I try to be present.

I fail a little, I succeed a little.

I go outside, and I admire the glint

Of a dragonfly's wings, and I worry

That I'm not doing enough.

I text a friend, and I think

About how much I miss another.

I try to reflect on the totality of my life

Without being overwhelmed by it.

I fail a little, I succeed a little.

I make dinner.

[mega-delicatelysuperbcollector]

AFTER MIDNIGHT

After midnight he’s writing, About his dream exciting…. ‘Twas only a dream, His show-and-tell scheme At first glance was exciting! – But after rational thought He finds the project not… Very wise It’ll compromise And threaten the service he’s got. – Questions no answers remain, You’ll ask and ask in vain…. Suffice to say He was blown away, By what happened all the…

[culturevulturette]

After Midnight   

The dark streets are deserted,

With only a drugstore glowing

Softly, like a sleeping body.

With one white, naked bulb

In the back, that shines

On suicides and abortions.

Who lives in the dark houses?

I am suddenly aware

I might live here myself.

The garage man returns

And puts the change in my hand,

Counting the singles carefully.

Louis Simpson

[v1ntagefvck]