#remwantsmorewords

[remwantsmorewords]

The times where I wake

With lines in my skin

And creases on my cheek

From pendants and pillows

Pressed to me whilst I sleep

I lay there and wonder

About what marks you'd leave on me

If we were curled closely

Skin and clothes warmed with touch and sleep

Would you leave your tender creases on me?

Would I leave them on you?

[psychelockswriting]

@remwantsmorewords thank you for your perfect tags. you get it.

it was never mentioned whether rin knew about what happened to kakashi's dad or not. when minato told obito, it was late at night and we were supposed to think that everyone else was asleep, but who's to say she was actually awake and heard them anyway?

i vaguely remember a short filler arc about rin, kakashi and gai going on a mission together. but it was mostly a kakagai thing? no rin character study bc we can't get anything in this house :/

i think it was kakashi who eventually got distant. it was too painful for either of them to talk about obito's "death" - probably more so for rin, since he was her best friend and she was closer to him. (i could be wrong)

i just wish we could learn more about her life outside of team minato? how did she come to learn medical ninjutsu? why? what were her goals in life? was it her clan's specialty? maybe her clan are all seasoned warriors and she hated violence and so she decided to be a medic instead? or was she born to a normal family of civilians?

she and shizune were the only medics in their year, were they friends? were they both tsunade's students?

(i imagine she and shizune and obito used their collective power of the Puppy Dog Eyes to convince tsunade to train them -- tho obito was only there for emotional support lol)

also was it around that time shizune left the village? was she also affected by rin's death? (this turned into a ramble too, sorry about that 😆)

also it's been almost a decade since i last read/watched naruto, so i don't really remember much about shizune's background, her leaving the village might be completely unrelated to this.

thinking about rin again and it's making me feel a mix of emotions. i wish we could learn more about her, not through the eyes of other characters, but from her own perspective. there’s no way she was okay after witnessing the death of her best friend. (she was understandably very reluctant to leave obito behind, regardless of the danger they were in)

what was it like for her, now that the person she spent most of her time with was gone?

did she ever go to the places where they usually spent their time together expecting to see him there and then remembering that he's gone now?

did she keep her habit of reserving an extra seat for him because she knows he'd be late again? or taking an extra copy of the mission report for him before aggressively crumbling it and throwing it away?

did she take a page out of kakashi's book and try to "kill" her feelings?

did she ever blame herself for getting captured in the first place? did she feel frustrated for not being as capable a combatant as the rest of her classmates? did she spend her free days training until she couldn’t move anymore?

what were her interactions with the rest of her classmates like? did she feel any resentment towards them? towards kakashi? minato?

how much of her sacrifice was madara's manipulation? how much of it was rin's desperation to do something "right" for once?

kishimoto i have so many questions please call me back.

[remwantsmorewords]

I am reaching for the sun

With shaking hands

Bruises beneath dark eyes

Telling of nights lit by the moon and lamps

Accompanied by my pounding heart

And it's all too-hot-too-cold-too-much

As I desperately grasp for that which I cannot reach

The heat of it like a brand against my skin

Sickly pale, sallow, like a weak reflection of the moon atop murky waters

Fleeting flashes of warmth

Not enough to bring colour back to my features

And darken freckles scattered like distant stars across my cheeks and hands

Nor to streak my hair with sun-bleached strands

I think I understand Icarus

For I, too, if given freedom, would reach above

Aching for the burning heat

To warm my skin and cradle me

Even for a moment

For a beat of my pounding heart

Even if it meant I'd face my fate

Crashing to the cold embrace

Of sea water, akin to the tears I've shed

I ache for the sun

For its heat

For its warmth

For I love the sun

Like a plant, I ache for it, reaching, begging

Even if the sun does not love me

Distant, nigh-unending seeming swaths of space between it and I

Flames tempered by the distance

Until it is something I can yearn for

I miss the freckles on my cheeks

The golden hue of my skin

Sun-lightened roots

Faded now, gone like the light from my eyes

Months of avoiding the sun culminating in exhaustion

In desperation

I lean towards the warmth

Tired

I ache for it

In the depths of my battered, bricked in, heart

Yes

I think I understand Icarus

Who flew too close to the sun

Who longed for its warmth after so long bereft of it

Who found joy in its brief embrace, golden light on shade-kissed skin

Who aimed for the sun even as it spelled his inherent doom

For even in the ocean

Even in the sea

Beneath thrashing blue waves

Does the sun's light reach

Beautiful, golden, warm

And I yearn for it

[remwantsmorewords]

When I was younger, I once asked a friend

"How do you stop feeling?"

And that friend told me, after looking at me for a moment, bemused and concerned

"I don't think you want to."

Now I am older, and I ask myself

"How do you feel again, how do you fill that emptiness in your chest, how do you feel alive, real, human?"

And my lips stay sealed shut; my emotions slipping between my fingers like sand.

You can hold them, feel them, and cling until your nails meet your palm, until they dig beneath your skin, blooming red that seeps between your nails and skin.

And the sand will still keep falling, leaving nothing but the barest grit clinging to clammy, bloody, palms.

At times I hear people ask

"What makes us human?"

And my only answer, spoken softly, for the question was not, has not, will never be for me

"You're alive. And that's enough."

I do not feel alive, despite the fluttering beats of my heart, or the shaky breaths that fill my lungs, the trembling of my hands, and the pain that seeps into my flesh and bone.

I do not feel like enough, still waiting outside a locked door, peering into my own disquiet house.

I do not feel enough, in a locked car, my cup almost emptied, the melted drink in it warm and syrupy.

I do not feel enough, tears running down my face, words hurting deeper than any punch.

Eventually I just stop feeling.

It is not relief then, that burrows beneath my skin.

But rather resignation.

But my heart still beats, and my lungs still heave. My limbs are heavy with pain and my hands still shake.

So then I must be human, for I still live, even if I do not feel alive.

So I must be enough, even if I do not feel.

[remwantsmorewords]

My chest aches

At the thought of being alone

The want, the need

That haunts me, longing for someone

To trust and rely on, to know inside and out

To stand beside and support whilst supported

But so too does my stomach churn

And my throat tighten

At the thought of trusting someone

Allowing them so close to my heart

When too often I've found myself with

Knives in my back

Phantom aches of past betrayal

Digging deeper into my flesh

And so I set it aside

Painfully carving that want, that need

From my own hands and locking it away

[remwantsmorewords]

Some days I am so angry

So angry that every word I speak feels like a knife into the throats of those who surround me

So angry that I feel an all-encompassing nothingness in the bitter, jaded, pit where I think souls might reside

So angry that everything else feels like sandpaper on gaping wounds

On those days all we seem to do is argue

Loudly, viciously, cruelly

Where my every soured hurt lashes out at those who left me wounded

Picking at my half-formed scabs and smearing the blood that wells up across my skin

I oft say that "I know I need anger management classes" and it's a joke, despite the seriousness I implore

Those outside my house think it's funny

"You wouldn't hurt a fly!" They'll laugh and say, and I laugh with them, hollowed and thin

With them I can be sad, I could be sad, with them, once

But not angry

I am unbelievably angry

And I lash out at the worst times

I bury it deeper and deeper beneath everything else, because I am not supposed to hurt, to cry, or rage

I clench my teeth, dig into my own skin, isolate myself because I know how easy it is to hurt and be hurt

Burying my anger as deeply as I can seems only to make it spread, like roots in loose soil

My own misery and hurt watering it until it blooms into bloody bursts of vibrancy

I am angry, angry that I've never felt safe enough to angry unless I'm screaming, louder than the other person who screams with me, at me, to me

I am not the best person

But I don't know how to not be angry

[remwantsmorewords]

I can feel my heart beating in my chest

If I close my eyes for a moment I can tell you in detail about every chamber

I can feel it so strongly it hurts to breathe

My throat feels tight and my eyes burn with tears

I can feel them scraping against my eyes, hot and sharp

They cling to my lashes and trail down my cheek, past where my jaw is clenched and down onto my pillows

I am tired

I am so very tired

My ribs hurt and my sternum aches again

If I close my eyes long enough to fall asleep will it hurt any less?

If I close my eyes long enough- If I close my eyes- it hurts too much to sleep

My heart pounding in my chest

Too fast, too slow, unsteady, too much

I cannot find my pulse as I press fingers to my neck and wrists and against the juncture of my thigh

But I feel it throbbing in my elbow and my calves and underneath where I pressed my fingers though too far beneath my skin to be found

Even when I press my hand against the space between my breasts, I feel nothing at all

And for a moment I wonder if I've finally died

But I know I haven't. I never seem to

I can hear my heart

Tha-thump-tha-thump-thump it goes in my chest, ringing in my ears

Heavy and weak all at once

My joints ache

I want to sob

I cannot find my pulse but I hear it so clearly throughout my very flesh

I can feel my heartbeat if I press my hand beneath my left breast

My skin's too warm and the delay between the pulse thrumming inside of my veins and underneath my hand is odd

It hurts

I cannot sleep

And so I shift

Over and over and over

Nothing is comfortable

All the whole my heart beats

And I breathe as deeply as I can

The only ways I really know I'm still alive

If I close my eyes long enough can I tune it out?

I don't know yet

[remwantsmorewords]

Go gently

And turn your face from warmth

Blinding in its light

Turn cheek and close your aching eyes

Far too accustomed to the shallow light of shadows

And the haunting depths of misery

Lean away from such soft care

Its touch far too light for comfort

Yet still it warms your cheek with tender embrace

A lingering kiss upon the curve of your face

A moment stood within golden light filtered through sheer curtains

Shift away from the warmth left in your bed from where you'd lain

For you have grown into the cold

Into the lonely peace of night

Where you've since closed your curtains on the moon

And cast gentleness and tenderness both aside

Decision yourself unworthy of such things

Such lovely things

Do not even delight in the still of midnight

Or the wonder of pre-dawn skies

Of thousands of stars light-years away and yet seen by your eyes

Do not long for full moons and fireflies

Or the embrace of warm sweaters

Turn it all away

[remwantsmorewords]

It is quiet

How time slips past us

Our past touches

Lingering gently, merely ghosts of memories

As we unclasp our hands

Pulling apart intertwined fingers

My hands feel empty now

The side you once pressed against, like ice

I still choose things that make me think of you

Scents that bring comfort

Colours you wore

Songs that we sang

Foods we had shared

But friendship is tricky

And growing is bitter

It's quiet

How quickly time rushed past us

Slipping through spread fingers

One year becomes four

Which then becomes eight

And then becomes a dozen and more

Soon the years we've spent apart

Will double, will triple, in length

Memories awash with sunset colours and

leaving the bittersweet taste of cheap

lemon-black tea sitting on my tongue

But childhood is long gone

That sun has since set

And the tea is long finished

Growing is bitter

And leaving is strange

But sooner or later

Maybe it'll all eventually fade.

[remwantsmorewords]

What do you call it?

When your chest feels like it's caving in and your heart flutters painfully within your too-tight ribcage.

When your throat aches, sharp and stinging as pressure builds in your sinuses, sharp and burning.

Your limbs tremble with something- anger, fear, exhaustion- or maybe with acceptance.

Even as you shove the tears threatening to overwhelm you down and aside, carefully boxing up that feeling of too much, too long, too done.

Even as your breaths are shaky, just shy of too fast, too shallow.

It's that feeling when you've drowned beneath the current, dragged beneath the river's surface while the clouds hide the sun; only for it to shine through the water after you've sunk too far down, inhaled enough water that it no longer burns, only fills.

It's the feeling of almost, but not enough.

Of hope being snatched away, as though Pandora had been abandoned by dearest Elpis, left with only Moros for company.

What do you call it?

When you've already drowned, and simply give in.

When you drift down, away, silent in a mockery of sweet repose.

How long till your corpse begins to bloat?

Lips blue and body swollen- will it sink or float?

Will they know you've already died?

When your struggle and screams were swallowed whole, muted and unnoticed.

When you wander ashore, your eyes glassy and tongue limp, will they know- know that you're already dead.

That your chest does not heave with breath, only with water sloshing in your organs.

That your blood has cooled and stilled within your veins as your soul roots within you.

It was not peaceful, nor kind, the not-death you have suffered through.

Your words escape discoloured lips, but yet not one person notices-

You're too cold, still wet from the river, when people go to touch you-

Limbs heavy and stiff with rigor mortis, though it'll fade eventually-

Your return amongst the living goes unnoticed, as you shuffle forwards.

For you do not look as though you've already drowned to them.

You can feel it in your bones, the way your body seems to fade away, drowning upon dry land.

But no one will notice, and you'll drift, unafraid.

For you've already drowned, despite what they don't see.

You're already dead on your feet.

[remwantsmorewords]

Linking my most... Popular(????) poem from AO3 + putting down below 🥰

Like Icarus

There is a part of me

That will always reach for the stars

Long for the chance that Icarus lost

To take to the skies and achieve freedom

With wings of wax and plucked feathers

Or wings made my own blood and bone

Whatever will keep me in the sky

But I also long for the waters

The depths that swallowed Icarus whole

Unforgiving and filled with the unknown

Dark and deep, ever churning

To fade into the midnight waters

And never again long for air

To become one with the tides

Never again have to care

But my feet are bound

Firmly to solid grounds

Shackles invisible, ever tightening

Choking my voice and hindering my limbs

And somehow, like Icarus, I still fall.

[remwantsmorewords]

Blue Stone Rings

Blue Stone Rings

Wrapped in silk

In the middle of the night

A long white skirt lays over my knee

A backdrop for jewelry of silver and gold

Of stone and glass

Enamel and bronze

And I am surrounded by jewelry boxes

Some are old, others are new...

All have been filled to the brim

As I carefully sort through yours and my own

My touch lingers on every piece-

My heart almost hurts.

My hands are shaking

And the spot where my heart lays

feels empty, lacking.

Tarnished silver and age-worn clothes

Have been handled and pushed aside.

I have no trouble not clinging to your memory

But...

The stones on your ring are blue-

The stones on mine are also blue-

Now they both pass through my hands.

Topaz and Sapphire look so different on my fingers

I can feel the threat of tears press against my eyes

Though none will grace my cheeks

But you- for the first time in my life

You are gone

(I can remember your hugs as well as I can remember your disdain)

And I remain- stubborn and torn

(Do I mourn who you were or who you could have been for me?)

Time passes on.

I compare our tastes-

They strike me as painfully similar-

Blue stones, silver bands.

They shine, glinting in the dim light of my desk lamp.

[remwantsmorewords]

Ajdhsksjaiajhhjjjhhhhgghhsj- Hi.

22, ENTP 6w5, ignoring my own pronouns rn, beyond socially awkward and surprisingly extroverted, aspiring to be something, maybe I'll figure that out.

Sideblog for my main, playingplayer2

Feel free to check out my poetry on my AO3 @ magpiewantsmorewords, feel free to ignore my really shitty drabble/shorts that have to do with a 3year long project (so far) that are so jumbled I got lost, I also keep forgetting I made this so 🤷🏻‍♀️

#remwantsmorewords for posted poetry

[remwantsmorewords]

The Finer Things

I'd sell my bones

For sanguine stones

To fill the scars

That I still trace

And everytime

I close my eyes

I can see the stars

In the dark of my mind

I'd trade my flesh

For the verdigris of copper

To remake my voice

With cold metal

For everytime I speak

Nails fill my throat

I'd offer my blood

For Sable wool

To be my hair and

For the warmth of the sun

As it burns my skin

Of honey and milk

White gold adorned

With dravite and silk

And I'd ask for liquid gold

To fill my soul

Since my heart

Is filled with ever melting ice

I'd tear my body limb from limb

To hear a silent winters night

And I'd ask for peace

If nothing else

Because I have always

Fought in life

I wish to remake myself

Erase the old and embrace

The finer things

I can imagine

Stones and gold and wool so fine

Body, mind and soul

Crafted with an artists hand

Some unforseen masterpiece

That takes the world by storm

And then, come time

It'll collect dust

Forgotten and lost

To the forward-march of life

A masterpiece no longer

On display

And when it is found again

It shall be a fine thing

Shine the metals

Polish the stones

Replace the wool

And mend the silks

And they will once again say

What a fine thing