#this isn't a poem

[soulaanadelrey]

My life kinda feels like a romantic musical right now

Every time I think about him I sing and dance

I sing Sinatra

I sing Etta

I sing Whitney

I sing Lana

I sing Stevie

It's like all of a sudden I know every love song by heart

Serendipity

Or repeated mistakes

Concurrencies in synchronicity

I don't like to question it too much

What we have feels like God

Enough to make me wake up every Sunday morning

And sing praises

I hum when singing is an inconvenience

But I like to whisper a few lyrics when no one is around

Someday

When I'm awfully low

When the world is cold

I will feel a glow just thinking of you

And I'll hum the rest to fill that void

I created a secret playlist of every song that reminds me of him

And I daydream of singing every song to him

No stimulate needed

He gets me high

He's like the coin to my jukebox

That last line is corny

But so is singing love songs every day

[thatweirdomarissa]

We are all cursed with emotions unable to withstand

A evolutionary feature gone out of hand

The moment we ate the forbidden fruit was the moment we all sunk deep into guilt and fear of repeating the first of our many sins.

self flagellation was our saving throw, but it made us sink deeper and deeper into the abyss of hell.

every action made us sink deeper and deeper until there was no air to breathe.

we thought we were demons, but in reality we were just their puppets.

There's nothing left here in this fevered mind.

I can't go to heaven when these demons are whispering to me all the things they think I am.

please understand

[dancesingay]

16 was the age I discovered feminism.

16 is the age I became a vegetarian.

16 is the age I decided I would never read another 17 magazine again.

16 is the age I realized I had been indoctrinated to hate women, to hate myself.

16 is the age I was diagnosed with an eating disorder, not because it started then, but because it was then that I decided to get help.

This isn't a poem

or anything it's just me

me at 16.

[forever-1ntime]

16/09/23

And for all i am and all ill ever be - i would give anything and everything in this world , right now , to just not be .

This is how I be feeling sometimes,

[she-wears-glasses]

"Just The Way You Are" by Billy Joel is the all time best love song. Ever. In the history of love songs this is the best one. Frankie Valli can't compare, and John Legend can't touch it. Bruno Mars can only dream to write a song like this. No other musician that I've listened to from rock, to R&B, to pop, to country, to jazz, and so on don't come close to this song. It's raw, authentic, passionate, and real. It's the one love song that doesn't act like it's all up in the clouds; or that it's all about the person's looks. From the instruments to the words this song is beautiful.

[lunarwednesday]

Wasn't it love?

[rainbowpopeworld]

[until-i-set-him-free]

Slightest accidents open up new worlds.

"The White Room" by Jeanette Winterson

[welcometogrouchland]

I understand that literature nerd Jason Todd is kind of overblown in fanon compared to it's actual presence in canon (a few issues during his pre (and post?)crisis Robin tenure that highlight it) BUT consider that I think it's hilarious if the unhinged gun toting criminal has strong opinions on poetry

[markantonys]

– Langston Hughes

[pityroad]

Teaching the Dog Not to Nip, Jim Moore (2005)

[text ID: Do you think it's easy, not biting the one you love? Try loving someone so much your mouth is only at home in the place where your teeth meet the flesh of your beloved. Try not tasting the flesh, not taking in your mouth the beloved, not going all the way.]

[arthursfuckinghat]

The wolves have long forgotten you, but the scars on your skin still remember.

John and Old Boy - Outside the map

[thehermitsacedia]

Le sang coule à longs flots de sa poitrine ouverte ; En vain il a des mers fouillé la profondeur ; L'océan était vide et la plage déserte ; Pour toute nourriture il apporte son cœur. […] Et, regardant couler sa sanglante mamelle, Sur son festin de mort il s'affaisse et chancelle, Ivre de volupté, de tendresse et d'horreur.

The blood runs in slow waves from his open chest In vain has he plumbed the depths of the seas The Ocean is empty and the shore deserted To provide food for all he offers his heart. […] And, watching his bloody breast drop On his death-feast he sinks and staggers Drunk on pleasure, on tenderness and horror.

-Alfred de Musset, La Nuit de Mai

[sirlancenotalot]

[the hunter’s son watches the hunter. the hunter paints more rings on his glasses. everything is a target, says the hunter. no matter where you look. the hunter’s son says nothing, and closes his eyes.

- the stag and the quiver, richard siken | war of the foxes]

[the-fire-within0]

SKAÐI

"Wife of Njörðr, woman of cold. She the wanderer of woods; the huntress in the snow. The winter's moon calls to her, with the wolves that follow her. With her bow and arrow, she aims ahead on a stag with no place to roam."

[artificial-absinthe]

Close ups of the post below.