#real life poetry

[myhiddenquerencia]

Look at you, Wiping your own tears With the same hands That long to be held

Ayesha Zahra

[lupus-sanguinem]

The universe wants us to be together so badly that...

Even when I force myself apart from you.

We're still near eachother in vicinity.

I travel home from work and stare out the window and I see your car over there.

The distance closes in and I see your bright smile and soft eyes staring back at me. We both laugh at each other, in the moment.

We almost race eachother home.

Home.

Home is back to you.

The Universe made me a home in you.

[harrison-abbott]

They didn’t let me used the paint

If it was from one of the

Other classrooms.

Shoo

They said,

Off you go.

They told me I shouldn’t draw pictures

That were based from photographs.

And then hung the better ones

Up on the hallway walls.

When I devised pictures of battle

Scenes from books

They were bemused and couldn’t

Express any positive opinion.

They frowned when I did sketches

Using pencil with outlines.

Portraits of musicians and artists

Were simply not allowed.

And they asked me what was

Wrong with me?

They said my level was in the upper

Class,

So they put me in the lower grade bracket.

They had no clue about the essays

I had to write.

So in the exam I didn’t write anything.

And I still got an A

For the entire course

Because it was somebody else

Marking it from afar.

They failed the entire class I was in.

Then joked about it the next year.

They used to go to art college.

And they didn’t paint or print or draw

Anymore,

Or they would say something like,

“Hmm, I might try that in the future.”

They got so angry with the drear of the

Environment that they would simply

Leave the room and go and get coffee from

The staff room.

They got snarly if you put the dry clay in

With the raw clay

And they passed the girls who did acrylics

Of fruit bowls and their pet animals.

[You could use photographs of

Cats and dogs but

Musical icons and movie stars were

A straight no no.]

The studios were constantly having

People come to check how light they were –

For the students needed strong illumination –

Because the upper parts of the building

Allowed dimness from the rainy clouds

Out yonder, and they were all high up too,

And no doubt many a person wondered

What it would be like to jump from this height

And land with a splat on the concrete

Playground far below.

Some of them had their own families.

One of them was pregnant for a while,

And left. When she came back

Nothing was different.

They churned out the same examples of art

From the ‘big names’ of history from, oh

The 19th and 20th centuries; and they

Weren’t even sure whether they liked

The material anymore.

After they flunked me one of them said

“But it’s okay, I think you’ll be a famous artist one day.”

And she would have been in her

Forties and still kindled that bizarre

Egotistical sentiment that had never gotten her anywhere

And did not fit with anything to do with imagery

Or how to influence people with iconography or graft.

I once made an entire portfolio of portraits

And spent a week doing them in different styles;

Oil paster, watercolour, pencil, and so on.

Flat out they told me the folio would be rejected

By the examination board.

When I eventually left, the other teacher wouldn’t even

Look up at me.

I walked out down the echoey depressed corridor

For the last time, with a thick sense of gladness.

They weren’t the worst department but weren’t far off it.

[poet4days]

[wordswithloveee]

[themanlykittenkayden]

The Victors-

Grian- a man of rebellion and leadership- the sole survivor of a season where he pledged loyalty to another

Scott- a man of survival and loyalty- the sole survivor of a season where bonds were meant to be broken by bloodlust

Pearl- a woman of independence and endurance- the sole survivor of a season where she was meant to rely on her “other half”

Martyn- a man of ambition and determination- the sole survivor of a season where death was ensured from the beginning

Scar- a man of open-hearted friendliness and charisma- the sole survivor of a season where secrets ostracized him from camaraderie

And Cleo- a person of steadiness and consistency- the sole survivor of a season of chaos and uncertainty

[idliketobeatree]

listening to Too Sweet for the first time and, damn, Crowley never got his flat back, did he? can't believe he's been crashing on Hozier's couch all this time drinking booze and waxing lamentations about his angel. strange world we live in

[inkwell-chronicles]

Heroes often become villains when consumed with fighting for what they believe in... take it to an extreme. We, humans, are the same.

[carolinatsversion]

timdamas

[powdermelonkeg]

Thoughts on the thunder wizard again.

Genuinely, I find Gale's relationship with Mystra to be fascinating when you consider all its facets. Unhealthy, imbalanced, definitely poisonous, but also very, very intricate with a lot of blurred edges to it. One of those things where you're both like "wow, what the hell, that's horrible" but also "that makes perfect sense for their characters, and while I would NEVER, I know why they would, and why it happened."

You've got a wizard who doesn't know what real love is, who thinks he's finally being shown it by the person he adores most. His greatest fantasy, his most potent joy, his most heartfelt aspirations, and they were all offered to him.

And he wants to see what all she's hiding from him, because of course he does. She's the keeper of all things forbidden to him. The empire of Netheril reached magical heights that will never be touched again, and all that knowledge is beyond her curtain. She loves him, right? Surely, if he proves himself enough, she'll let him grasp that power he so desperately wants.

And not even in the power-hungry sense! All that magic Mystra's locked up was accessible during Mystryl's reign. Think of all the answers to theories about the universe that are back there. Every question of "can this be done, and what would it do" would be answered, if he could just bargain hard enough.

She loves him, right?

Surely, if he proves himself enough...

And then, on the other hand, Mystra. Once Midnight, her human personality has been subsumed by the goddess of magic and her duty to the Weave. She has a responsibility to magic, she IS magic.

Then along comes this mortal boy who knows how to handle her Weave. Who doesn't try to wrestle with and dominate, who sings to it. He handles it with such ease and grace—it's not just that he could be Chosen, but he deserves it. To put her Weave in the hands of someone so intrinsically in tune with it, who understands its potential with a wonder like no other. Few enough can handle the raw power that comes with being Chosen, but this one? This one is perfect.

And he adores you. And you adore him, like one would a beautiful butterfly that's landed on their finger. And he's willing to be devoted to you in all things, not out of transaction like most of your worshipers are, but out of love for you, your craft, your magic. You're so deeply and utterly charmed by him.

And it's not like Mystra hasn't walked this path before.

She gives him what he desires, because what he desires is her. And, in a different way, she desires him. She wants him to be her representation in the world. She indulges his adoration with her own presence, and takes indulgence herself in mortal comforts. He's never satisfied with her answers, but who could blame him? She keeps a whole world away from mortals, because she knows what such unfettered power might bring about (again).

And the wizarding prodigy's ambition is lit (again).

And the height of power is reached for (again).

And she stops him (again, again, again).

She does care for him. She doesn't want to see her little butterfly burn himself, and she doesn't want to be the one to ruin those wings.

But then he's not a butterfly. He's a mortal, wielding a weapon of murder, of her murder, and he's brought it to her doorstep because she told him "no." And he's cut himself on it, he doesn't know what it is, but it's hurt him—and it's only a fraction of the hurt it could do to her. How dare he want her help after threatening her?

(He didn't mean to.)

(He only wanted to help.)

(He only wanted. How human.)

She doesn't help him. If he wants to pursue Karsus' weaponry, it's his responsibility, his hubris, that led him to injuring himself on it. She's furious. She's hurt. She's cold.

(What fools these mortals be.)

But then, there's a greater threat to her. Something that could drown the Material in Karsus' failings. And that little boy, who nicked himself on the sword he lifted, still wants her help.

It's a fair trade, isn't it? She'll forgive him, let him into her domain again, if he accepts his punishment and goes into battle for her. He picked up a sword, it's appropriate that he learns to use it in her name, right?

If he was telling the truth, he wouldn't hesitate. If he really wanted to serve her with the Netherese Orb, he would jump at the opportunity to do so. He would have to give up a few petty things in the process, ("petty," she calls mortality, as if family and home mean nothing, as if friends and love are finite. Because to her, they do mean nothing. Because to her, they are finite.) but it isn’t atonement without sacrifice, is it?

It's the tactical move. She's not above hurting one man to save a nation. It's not even the first time she's done it.

(Dornal Silverhand sends his regards.)

If he loves her, he'd die for her, because she'd let him into her paradise. If he doesn't love her, he won't, and she was justified in removing him from her grace.

He doesn't love her. Not anymore.

Does he hate her enough to try to take his dues?

Ambition has always been man's greatest folly.

[whendidmythoughtsgocrazy]

If you don't have these problems with any other person in your life, why do you think you're the problematic person in this one?

k.b. // therapist quotes

[usefulquotes7]

Just be yourself. Let people see the real imperfect, flawed, quirky, weird, beautiful and magical person you are. Unknown

[ziggystqrdust]

i had a dream about you // alucinatio by alexmeg

“He stares at the ceiling, blinking blankly every now and then, until his eyes close and he falls asleep.”

hey so what the fuck

bonus

caption translation: “you’re an angst enjoyer”

video translation: “that feeling like where it hurts so much but it feels good, you know that feeling when “aww im so sad cuz they didnt end up together😞” but its also satisfying in a way that they didnt end up together😁”

[purebbyfawn]

[poet4days]

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