#poetry whatever the fuck.

[rhymingslangsblog]

Dancing around my thoughts

An my daughters questions

We could have been special

An I pretend to hate you

It's the easiest thing to do

When in reality

I loved you

Or maybe the thoughts of you

In reality your a twisted de ja vu

It was never real

The daughter we tried for

Was a burden

I supposedly trapped you with

The hardest pill to swallow

My dream family

You thought was a mistake

The bruises and victimisation

The sleep deprivation

Never ending tears in silence

I remember walking into boots

I said to myself

After this test your life will never be the same

I never expected the biggest change in you

An so it....

Broken dreams another broken family

Yet you blame me

Truth be told

Spinning up the Thames

On the 25ft dawncraft

Going under Tower Bridge

In beautiful sunshine

Your face still haunts my better days

Because when you winked smiled

Toasted parliament and called em cunts

How we laughed spilf and vodka in hand,

An it replays like groundhog day in my mind

You couldn't have hurt me more

I still wouldn't have got off at the Woolwich ferry though....

My love and my regret

Lie at your feet.

I changed me,

You could never change you. X

[sentientsky]

“To The Daughter Who Secretly Longs For Her Mother’s Affection,” Lynne Shayko

today i learned that i’m not above using my own fanart as a backdrop for angst <3

[liorlen]

Pyr y’n gwna ni byrhoedled? / Digawn llawryded, / kywestwch a bed.

[in-the-mists]

It Ends Or It Doesn't by Caitlyn Siehl

[applestorms]

the fact that he’s looking directly at himself…

horror at the sight of your own innocence. the first thing you re-learn is that you were always cursed to fall. the rapture, the upside-down ascension, the death of the human— overcoming, overwhelming. transcending mortal bounds, crossing the bridge to the other side, seeing what makes the shadows without ever leaving the cave. self-consciousness, and the übermensch. in order to attain true godhood, one must first fully relinquish the vestigial traces of their depleting humanity. animal origins grow into human, social acceptance as the “civilized” man— but what comes next? where to go, where to run, when you fly into the sun and mistake its light for your own?

do you think it hurts, to remember?

it always shocks me how quickly he recovers after this point, how far his denial goes, the repression of his remaining empathy. the impressive extent of his dedication— and, ultimately, all for the sake of self preservation, to continue seeing the purity, the wholesomeness reaffirmed. light yagami has the survival instinct of a prey animal overdosing epinephrine. he kills two people by accident, and then takes down half the world just to prove he was right.

who is he, at this moment? where does he go when KIRA takes his body back? it seems like he accepts possession so easily, so long as it is done by the correct god— his own god, his own self. a=a, tautological identification, a soul shared between two names until the face in the mirror stops looking like yourself.

i was searching, earlier this week, for a clear instance of when he grows up— that classic coming of age moment, Manhood finally achieved. there are a few potential options to consider: his coming of age ceremony, marked by his first suit, tears shed by a chthonic companion as he matches a face to the name of the man behind the cameras. or perhaps a bit later, as he builds up to taking over the title of L, a slow transition over yotsuba as he stops automatically bowing to his father's will and takes on his role as hidden director instead. or maybe, at the very beginning? watching the notebook fall, writing his first names, his earliest stumble into grace and heavenly sanctity...

none of these moments fit. in not one of these cases does light yagami grow up. he changes, sure, he shifts, he goes through the motions, sneaks out of old cycles and breaks in the new ones. but not once does he Grow, does he sit back and truly Reflect. he looks into his past and he grieves his younger self, the stain on his soul he must take for all the lesser beings onto which he bestows his glorious salvation. he calls his actions criminal, but a necessary evil for the sake of a world, to achieve the moral standard he was always taught to uphold. he graduates. he moves out. he leaves his family behind.

but not once does he grow up.

he grows older. he watches his sister's health decline, sits by his father's deathbed and listens to him regurgitate his own lies back at him. he crawls across the dirty floor of a warehouse, soaked in his own blood, begging for the impossible as his 40 seconds tick away. he spends six years reigning as a god, believing the same lies he told himself when he was seventeen, when he made his first mistake and didn't know how to accept it. he does not move on. he does not grow.

perhaps that's the true tragedy of this moment, that for every memory he regains of the past, he learns nothing of the future. such a static entity, in the end.

compare the framing here, between ch.1 and ch.53. he never stops looking at it the same way, sweating and nervous and terrified. he knew what this entailed, right from the beginning. tragedy is to be found only in the lies he allowed himself to believe in the interim. note the addition of headphones, in the previous spread— he won't even allow himself to hear his own screams.

pack it all away, buddy. you'll face the reality of your finite, mortal lifespan soon enough.

[jellysshitpoems]

No title - Poem by me (jellysshitpoems)

[shitty-proendo-blackout-posts]

endos who aren't systems, I love you!! endos who are systems, I love you!! endos who are polyfragmented, I love you!! endos with a small alter count, I love you!! endos who are neurodivergent, I love you!! endos who are lgbtqia+, I love you!! endos who are therians/otherkins/alterhumans, I love you!! endos who use xenopronouns, I love you!! endos who have mental health disorders, I love you!! endos who hate cringe culture, I love you!! endos who are trying their best, I love you!!

endos, I love you!!

endos, I love you!!

endos, I love you!!

[im-an-anthusiast]

Divine Punishment

Prometheus, first punishee of mine

For your ears were deaf to my words divine

I will miss you, ‘till it is time to dine

The pain will blind you, ‘till you grow a spine

I am your mountain, I am your hawk

I am the beak piercing skin, I am chained rock

By sharp reminder, you are made aware-

Though you are bound to me, I am not there

I weave everything, from nothing at all

Deaf to silence, you refuse my call

The pain blinded you, then you grew a spine

Gladly and rightfully, you rebroke mine

My dearest Atlas, my longest captive

Sweet on my tongue, the most addictive

Dead in foreign tracks, the least reactive

My weight will crush you, as long as I live

The sky on your back, the ground beneath you

A pressure far greater, than you were due

I am both, your most omnipresent ache

A punishment, for your torturer’s sake

I waste everything, from nothing at all

Deaf from screaming, you refuse my call

The pressure choked you, then you chose to live

Gladly and rightfully, refused which I give

Sweet Sisyphus, oh, how you have suffered

So sweet, we both were, until I soured

You promised, then realised – and tired

This isn’t the fate, for which you scoured

Do you not love the heights, to which we go?

Aren’t they worth going a little low?

Push me up again, up our little hill

I am it and the boulder, you push still

I ruin everything, from nothing at all

Deaf to pleading, you refuse my call

The cycle trapped you, at last, you broke out

Gladly and rightfully, chose life without

I lose everything, from nothing at all

Doomed by silence, screaming, pleading – it all

For the living out there, buyer beware

If my love doesn’t hurt, it isn’t there

[allblackeverithing]

𝐎𝐡 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥, 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫… 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝.

[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.

[rhymingslangsblog]

The curse of the verse

Spinning in your head

Felling over wrought

Lighten the load

Pen to paper

Emotionally explode.

[hermitw]

Thinking about how Sukuna just wants to chill in the gardens but wants to be left alone so badly that they made this indoor habitat with a boulder and everything...

[mostmagical]

can't breathe

quick poem about garrus on omega, bleeding and dying, hopes and regrets [ao3 link]

-

This is it—an end. He had known, and he thinks, yeah, it should hurt like this Air breaks from his lungs, like fighting surface tension as he gasps But he tries to breathe and— he can’t breathe Why can’t he breathe? His lungs burn with fire and he can’t breathe

Time—he doesn’t think he should have time, but he’s still here The ground is cold, no, it’s warm beneath his face It’s slick and damp and warm and he’s on the ground gasping Why is it damp? His lungs fill with water and he can’t breathe

His rifle—his rifle, its barrel is solid in his hand, a tether to reach He pulls it to him, a safety net, an impulse, he needs He’s drowning, he thinks, as his lungs still fill with water, or wait— Could that be blood? His lungs fill with his blood and he can’t breathe

“Garrus!” he thinks he hears, somewhere over the ringing in his ears It’s hope, he knows—but he shouldn’t have let himself hope He didn’t deserve to get that second chance Why, when they can’t? His lungs’d filled with hope, now he can’t breathe

Hands—there are hands on his arm, rolling him gently to his back Shepard is leaning over him; hope haloed just out of reach “We’re getting you out of here,” she promises, “Just hold on.” How can she know? His lungs fill with Shepard, still he can’t breathe

Choking—he’s choking, just like when Mom once scolded impatience He still remembers the fearful look on his sister’s tiny face, And the way his heart had felt as if it’d beat its way out his chest Now what’d Mom say? His lungs fill with his heart and he can’t breathe

Regrets—he has so many regrets, all wound up around him He should have been a better leader, should have seen it coming If he had, he wouldn’t be here, dying and drowning Why’d he trust Sidonis himself? His lungs sting with ash and he can’t breathe

Her words—Shepard’s words, they fade in and out, failing signals He closes his eyes, focuses on her hands, on his rifle "He’s not gonna make it,” someone says, and he clings to it Yeah, maybe he won’t His lungs are burnt and drowned and he can’t breathe

.

.

Light—there’s light shining in his eyes when he wakes, too white He doesn’t remember falling asleep, he only remembers: Harsh burning failure, plastic canvases, Shepard in his sights Where is she now? His lungs still burn and he can’t breathe

“Garrus.” Familiar hand presses to his shoulder. The doctor. “Rest.” He shakes his head, pushes her away. “Can’t. I need to see her.” “You took a lot of damage,” she says. “Lost a lot of blood.” Why would that matter? His lungs squeeze tight and he can’t breathe

He rises anyway, against his body’s screams, repeating, “I need to see her.” There’s a Cerberus logo emblazoned on the wall and his tension rises He won’t know what’s going on until he finds her again He doesn’t need ‘why’ His lungs weigh heavy and he can’t breathe

The side of his face aches, throbbing like a second heartbeat He grits his teeth against it, willing his body obey, his lungs to fill After all, it’s his duty; he’s a sniper, he needs to breathe Else what good’ll he be? His lungs fill with fire, he tries to breathe

The doors hiss, and there’s Shepard—alive, her head in her hands “Shepard,” he greets, tongue dry, throat tight, but shoulders back She about faces, lips turned up in a smile—a smile at him, and— How can she just...? His lungs fill with air, and he thinks he can breathe

[jar-of-maise]

She takes his hands gently, cradling them in a manner that made Lyney unsure of how to respond. Those hands could never lie. They shook with an awful tremble, like the last flutter of a dying butterfly's wings.

“I’m sorry for loving you,” she says softly, her eyes filled with unshed tears. 

That was the burden of the unsaid, you never once thought that nightmares could be dreams too, until they were there in front of you.

Dread settles in Lyney's chest, it drops like a heavy stone into a still pond, sliding in without resistance. It sinks to the bottom of his chest where it's weight aches with a dull pain, “Don’t say that," he clears his throat awkwardly, "please, don’t say that.”

She stares back at him, unseen dread haunting her dull eyes, “What?”

Lyney swallows thickly, his breath shuddering in his chest, rattling like fragile marbles in a glass container, “don’t say things like that,” he whispers.

She drops his hands, where they hang like dead weights. She searches his eyes for something she can't find, for something she won't find. It was like the sun, desperately trying to reach the moon, yet finding only it's reflection in the burning daylight, “Things like what?”

She does not want to know the answer to that question. But a burning sensation compells her to ask. Perhaps, with a single word, an entire tragedy could be rewritten.

Looking at Lyney now, she knows that the feeling is mutual. That is an awful realisation to come to, she turns her head away to avoid looking in the mirror.

Lyney, the other half of her, the mirror that she never needed to look in. Lyney, who was the only one who could attune to her soul. Her Lyney who had never been lost for words like he was now, who'd never fumbled or been uncertain.

"Things like what?" She cries, when met with silence. Her hands twitch uncontrollably, and then she's lunging forwards her hands reaching out like desperate claws which latch onto Lyney's shoulders.

These hands of hers were gentle, they were kind. So now, seized by grief as they were, her fingers could not quite grasp the hatred that she wanted them to.

They were strangers to force yet they exerted a violence that was comparable to a monster, "tell me!" It's not a scream, by the time the words drag out of her mouth, it's a mangled, broken tangle of words.

"It's not fair, it's not fair," she says hoarsely, "why do you- you can't-You don't get to do this to me!" She yells, and it's a sound that wretches at Lyney's heart.

"Answer me! What things?! What things shouldn't I say?" Her hands were not made for violence, they were crafted with love in mind. But they tightened on Lyney's shoulders, trembling all throughout.

“Things,” Lyney finally chokes, blinded with tears, “that make it sound like loving me was a mistake,” his hands reach up clumsily, with none of the dexterity or reflex they usually moved with.

She was silent, tears streamed down her face in long, ugly rivers. They fractured her face and drew shadows across her face that did not belong there.  

“It’s not a mistake. This wasn't a mistake,” Lyney whispers desperately, not trusting his voice, yet continuing treacherously.

This is a one way path, a lonely dark road with no return tickets, “you loved Lyney, just plain Lyney. You would never lie," he pauses as his voice wavers, "you didn’t take me by accident, you chose me…didn’t you?” 

“I don’t know,” she admits, lowering her head, she had never admitted defeat. Giving up was not an option, yet she could not conquer this mountain. The shadow of its height, and sheer slopes rendered the fire in her heart cold and frigid.

“I don’t know you. Do I really love Lyney? Who was I in love with?” She asks herself, there is no reply.

This is another question that she doesn't want to know the answer to. But perhaps there is no answer, she's left grasping for strings that have already been broken. The gray cannot be defined, nor described, and in the face of such uncertainty, she doesn't know what to do.

Neither does the magician standing before her. His face is the image of forced apathy, like a puppet with no strings.

"Lyney..." Regret, and immutable yearning surge into her chest, where they mix together like a tapestry woven wrong. The strings are tangled, and the only remaining option is to cut the fabric entirely.

"Perhaps the greatest tragedy of it all is, the more I talk to you, the less I know of you..."

[beedreamscape]

One thing I love about the locked tomb, that Tamsyn was a genius for, is how you simply can't predict what is coming next.

Who would've thought, after reading GTN even with *that ending* that our golden girl Gideon would only show up for the last ten percent of the next book?

Who could've predicted Harrow giving herself a lobotomy and fantasizing an alternate reality?

Who would've called it that the lyctors of old would be three bitter scraps?

Who in their right mind would theorize Gideon as god's daughter conceived from a lyctor scheme to open the tomb??

Dios Apate Minor??? Hello???

Who correctly guessed that the Emperor Undying's name would be John.

And with all the new info from HTN it gets easier, right?

WRONG.

Camilla Hect sharing a body with Palamedes, a brand new character who is a milf in the body of the guy request to kill/test Harrow, Harrowhark but not really possessed by The Body who is also a baby are our new protagonists and they're playing house.

Also... where the fuck are we? What- The dog has how many legs!?

In between that John is podcasting his descent into madness and corruption AND YOU WOMT GUESS WHO HE BASED ALECTO ON. Also he's a streamer, cowhater, and likes coke zero.

Prepare yourself also for Chussy, Friendship Bracelets, another betraying duplicitous slut, John's depressed hoe era, Sarpedon booty call, Get in line thou big slut, etc, etc.

And what here could've prepared us for The Unwanted Guest??? Huh? "Theater of the mind you say? DULCINEA?? French Maid Ianthe???"

[syn4k]

i tried to find myself in the stars but i was too small for them. then i tried to find myself in the trees but i moved too much for them. then i tried to find myself in the sea and i cared too much for it to accept me. then i tried to find myself in god but i wasn't divine enough for her. then i tried to find myself in the government but i don't enjoy having power enough for them. and i tried to find myself in the work of my hands and of my mouth but it was always imperfect and i got too tired too quickly and i tried to find myself in stories but i never leave my room and i tried to find myself in the void of space but it's nothing and i'm something. i even tried to find myself in myself but i couldnt recognize anything id ever done. exhausted eventually i went back home to find something familiar but i was a stranger in my own house and nobody recognized me anymore for the world had changed me in ways they couldn't understand so really what the fuck am i supposed to do now?