#twc poetry

[creatingnikki]

another year is ending and I want you to know that it is okay if you:

have not healed from the things that happened/did not happen from six months ago. just because the year is ending it does not mean your grief is too.

don't have any "fun" NYE plans to ring in the new year. this life is yours to live across days and months and years, and you can celebrate days other than the ones heavily marketed and shoved down your throat to shroud you in severe FOMO.

have no resolutions or goals for the new year laid out in elaborate lists or shared on social media or with your friends. you are braving through this life trying to do your best every day and hold the fort and so of course you know, deep down you know what is needed from you for you going forward and of course you are going to work in that direction. good luck love.

have not become a "better" version of yourself by any of the tangible or conventional measures. that kind of bettering is mostly to serve others, not yourself.

are not happy with yourself/your life as it is now. you're a work-in-progress, remember? and if you're progressing in a direction you do not like, then it's time to change the blueprints and the strategy.

take time off social media around this time to protect your mental health and whatever little joy you have managed to keep.

don't want to spend too much time reflecting on how this past year went and doing various forms of 2023-wrapped. again, it's your life. you can also revisit this year in memories and pictures and feelings whenever you'd like. it's not like you don't still visit 2012, 2017, and 2022, right?

feel disconnected from your friends, family, lover. I know this is "ideally" a time to be celebrated with your loved ones. but life is not ideal, is it? it's just life. and if right now you are not feeling the love, the joy, or just don't have the headspace or social energy to engage , that's alright.

are finding comfort in simpler things like a TV show from the 90s or that book you first read at sixteen or that slice of strawberry cake or a random post like this you come across.

don't feel hopeful, encouraged, or excited for the new year. given everything that's happened in the last couple of years, on the macro and micro level, it's only natural for you to feel weary as well as wary. when the good things happen, when the healing happens, when things begin working in your favour over time, you will automatically feel all those things. it's okay if until then you choose to be neutral.

[goneahead]

2025 Poetry Roll Call!

Let's give everyone more poets to follow in 2025! Reblog if you are a Tumblr poet!

I'll start - I'm @goneahead & I write original poetry. I also reblog other people's poems twice a day👋

[tomalbon]

Poem #85

You rose in the North with a wax lance

And marked the first mountains

With such enthusiasm the world shook.

Canyons charged with bear-eyed

Guide-light emanated from your toolmarks,

Waypoints for my fingers

Tossed in Southern oceans like strange

Porpoises, carriers

Of aquamarine promises that spirit

Grottos to distant places.

Great trunks transfigured from their bodies

Sprout skyward, unburdened,

Seeking green anointment from your migrations,

Ascendant in the East

Where prevailing winds now carried your interest,

Dog-curious, arrow-bright,

Risen as balloons of an egg yoke sun

Unshadowed by purple clouds.

You coronate them so gleefully,

Dappled in apple hues

Instinctively circled in Spring flightpaths,

Anthologising countless

Ley lines that glide, swallow-bodied, to you,

Nested in a starlit smile.

Pilot our penmanship to the West

Where I fear I cannot go

Alone; the swan-crowned hazes of the West

Where stranger life begins -

The second life, the one where no-one

Comes to save you;

Where ink-black strands lie illegible

Beneath a squid-beak moon.

Fathom its deep lamps for guideposts

Where the sea becomes ichor

Of that beast. Flense its shapeshifter skin

Into chrysanthemums

And weave their violet flakes into lifeboats

For my unshattered senses,

And I am carried as in arms as in song

As in memory

As in dust in a sunbeam, weightless

As your watercolour hope.

-

[astriloquus1]

There was a time when I was desperate to be in love. Now I'm desperate to be out of love.

I forgot to ask to BE loved.

I can't keep trying for someone that doesn't want me.

Don't like you anymore. I love you, I'm damned with it. What matters is that you don't.

It's okay that its over

I've learnt that I can love. That I can feel so strongly, overwhelmingly, obsessively. I know how not to do it now.

You've taught me to never trust You've shown me how much it can hurt.

And I'm worth it. More than you are.

I'll never love anyone like I loved him. No one's ever gonna love him like I did.

[sweetsweetperil]

If you cannot escape it,

As it will always be a part of you,

What do you do

When the bruises heal

But the pain lingers and continues to bloom?

[almaaspoetry]

• The Art Of Letting Go •

Letting go is a subtle art, one that requires the patience of an artist and the resilience of a mountain. It's never easy to release the hold on someone who captured your heart with a smile, a touch, a whispered word. The connection, once vibrant and life-affirming, now feels like a weight, dragging you into the depths of sorrow.

It's in the quiet moments, when the world is still and your mind is loud, that the pain sharpens. You replay memories like an old film, each scene filled with what once was and what might have been. Their laughter echoes in your mind, their scent lingers in the air, the mental picture of their smile haunts you and every place you revisit seems like a torture. The heart, fragile ,breaks under the strain, splintering into pieces that feel impossible to mend.

But letting go is also an act of courage. It means choosing to see beyond the hurt, to recognize that your worth isn't diminished by their absence. It's finding the strength to wake up each day and breathe, even when it feels like the air has been stolen from your lungs. It's accepting that love, in its truest form, sometimes means setting someone free, even if it means facing the darkness alone.

The process is not predictable. Some days, the wounds will feel fresh, the pain as raw as the moment they walked away. Other days, you'll catch a glimpse of a new dawn, a hint of hope that maybe, just maybe, the future holds promise. Each step forward is a proof to your strength, a quiet victory over the ache that tries to keep you bound.

In the end, the art of letting go is about rediscovering yourself. It's about finding joy in your own company, celebrating your own achievements, and nurturing the dreams that were set aside. And as time weaves its healing thread through your heart, you'll find that the pieces, though changed, come together once more, creating a mosaic of beauty.

[heartofmuse]

The sound of your voice is the undoing of my soul, the surrendering of my all. The crystalline clarity that is your voice is the sun as it moves over a flower-filled field in spring. I hear the chime of bells in your laughter, and it calls me from afar to pray. I recognize the sound that calls me home, I turn, I search, and I find the one my heart belongs to. 

e.v.e.

[she-wears-glasses]

I’ve always been afraid, because

the moment someone gets

close, and

looks deeply in my eyes they’ll see all of my

demons

swirling around in my eyes.

I don’t want to dim the light in

someone else’s eyes.

They don’t know

what they’re getting involved in.

[creatingnikki]

why do I need constant reassurance? multiple forehead kisses and a good morning text. being checked in on and constantly being in the loop with your whereabouts. a good night text even after we had a 2-hour call before bed. why? I don't remember being this way before. sure, I've always known to be more of a anxious attachment style person and I know I have abandonment issues. but I never felt this in need of reassurance. this constant presence and expression of your existence and feelings. and in the books and in the movies and even in the poetry, they say things like the right person would give it to you. the hundred forehead kisses and the thousandth reassurance. that the person who really loves you and cares about you would do it all. but the truth is, it's both a yes and no. the willingness will be there most times but what about the ability? a lot of times that may not be there. why? because they too are living a whole life with work and family and their own emotions and needs. so they can be there for you a lot of the times but all the time? no. that's unfair and unreasonable. and you aren't that, are you? unfair or unreasonable? so, please learn to calm your mind. don't let your emotions fluctuate so quickly. if three hours ago you felt so very loved by them, not hearing back from them for a few hours shouldn't make you feel abandoned or unloved. take a deep breath and drink your coffee and go look at the sky and finish your work and text your friend and dance to that old song and finish that cake and remember that you are loved — by him, by others, by the universe. I'm not forcing you to loveeeee yourself. I'm just reminding you that you are in fact very loved.

[env0writes]

Cicada Sentences Vol. 2, 7.9.24 “Lunch Break"

@env0writes C.Buck   Ko-Fi & Venmo: @Zenv0 Support Your Local Artists!   Photo by @env0

Call me up out of the blue (bedsheets) And exhale me with hello’s into the sky Dressed and impressed where sky and land meets Tear up the scene and a slice of pizza (and sigh)

Send me into your space, before any embrace How the fire holds the wood How the humidity endears sweat to your face Must that sweet moment, tender as it should

Glimmer like golden starlight on the blank canvas Hurried am I called to order (lunch) Is this sun-cancered-burnt flush or blush come to pass Reaching towards a bite–towards her

Speak to me and I will smile (brimming ear to ear enraptured) Against the blue sky, your sunrise sight, worth every while

[tomalbon]

Poem #84

On The Convalescent (Gwen John)

There is no scenery, no staging

To gatekeep nor bind in scrutiny

By the line’s deliberate dissolution.

Just simple paraphernalia interlinked

In spells of blue and beige inventing

Their own deathly transitions. Finally,

The world asserts the drabness of its fixtures;

The strange world where I was a mere stray.

Just the calm, the obliterating calm

Dredging songbirds form the celebrated

Dead to peculiar animation.

Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird!

They said to them, but those ghoulish men

Picked clean their ethereal remnants

Long ago. Mounts empty as fallow

Vowels, rummaged by body snatchers,

Gave only cairns, and they took them for

Punctuation the same shade as her wallpaper.

No, not death inside them, but use,

Harping through wind chimes of bird bones.

Her downcast eyes could easily be dreamt

From litanies of those unredeemed places,

Sprawling from the pages’ ant-marked script

Like malaria, misting the graveyards

Of their egos. Flightless, rooted, earthed

By afflictions of mock deathlessness,

This is the grief of every life we

Never live. The songs are spent, slaughtered,

Hollow as birdboxes, and their liquids

Dissolve the lines and smudge the colours

And muddy things they could never really say -

And we face its enormity and it looks like peace

Only because we succumb to the same

Tongueless stupor. Yes, she could be sleeping,

If only words still opened to immortal dreams.

-

[astriloquus1]

I was sitting in that broken balcony

Watching a little bird

This little bird, with a loud orange beak and bright green feathers

There it was on the saddest trees, that shed all its leaves 

Standing crooked and bare among the other lush tall trees

And right on a scanty small branch at the very top

Sat my little birdie, on the lookout.

Looking for something, restless and alone

The way his neck went all around

Whenever he heard any sort of a sound

He waited a while and started singing, 

It wasn't pretty bad, though I couldn't judge by birdie standards

Other birds flew around, some perched for awhile

And flew away after awhile

My little bird ruffled his fluffy green coat

Brought up his wings showing off his beauty

A sight to see, though I wasn’t the one he sought to impress.

Looked here and there, hoping to find his mate

But now how much longer would he wait?

Now I was watching myself,

In that little bird.

He was nothing wrong

But had to wait too long

We were a lot more the same

Not knowing when to let go

We waited, and waited

And waited,

Nothing.

I was about to get up

This was starting to hurt

And then showed up this crow,

There were a lot more around

Together, in their nests

This one, came up to my birdie

Sat down on a lower branch and watched

My guy didn't care at first

Then he turned around

They were nothing alike

Big and small, dark and bright

But they were alone.

I watched

They stared.

A lot went through

A lot I saw

A lot I won't say

And then they flew away

Each their own way

Opposite to the other

And all I could think was

Maybe we werent so different

This little bird and I

Only he knew,

When to walk away

While I was still here

Sitting in that broken balcony

Cause somewhere, in a dream I dare not say

I see them fly away to gather and build their nest.

[sweetsweetperil]

This winter of my life,

Cold and dry ice

Windows fog,

And tears have dried

Yet they stain my cheeks,

Forever immortalized

[forestgirlpoems]

you have all this sadness inside of you and you don't know where to put it

you try to bottle it in your tears then run away from them in dreams

but sleep evades you until the small hours of the night

you're afraid of tomorrow afraid of carrying the pain for yet another day

so you try to talk to your friends eat dinner and laugh and forget about the demons in the shadows

you try to spend time alone and listen to your heart be kind and not pick yourself apart

but no matter how hard you try

it's a never drying well and even though you attempt to brush it off and scatter it in the corners around you

in the end

you still have all this sadness inside of you and nowhere to put it

[almaaspoetry]

6:30 AM. The morning stirred with the gentle chirping of birds and the sharp bark of a dog nearby. I opened my eyes slowly, stretching my arms and letting a smile take over my face. The thought of seeing him filled me with a quiet joy. Rolling over in bed, I let myself linger on the memory of his smile ; the way his lips curved just so, the way his eyes crinkled and seemed smaller in the warmth of his laughter. It was a smile that made my heart feel light every time I saw it, the kind of smile you couldn’t help but fall in love with.

I dressed with purpose, my thoughts circling him as they always did. As I walked, my heart quickened. But, as always, he was late. Every time the door opened, my head turned, hoping it was him. Minutes stretched on, and then, finally, he arrived. He waved at me, his smile more radiant than the sun, and sat down.

We talked about everything - life, dreams, little moments. He spoke of her, the woman who still held his heart, and I saw the pain in his eyes as he talked about her. I listened, swallowing the ache that rose in my chest. His heart belonged to her, and mine belonged to him. I knew I could never be what she was to him, and he would never look at me the way I look at him.

Still, my love didn’t ask for more. It was pure in its longing, asking only to see him smile, to hear him laugh, to feel his presence beside me.

As we parted, I walked home alone, my thoughts heavy with the truth I couldn’t escape. He would never be mine to hold, never mine to love fully, never mine in the way I wished. Yet, despite the sadness, my love endured. It was enough to love him, even if it was only from afar, even if it would never be returned. His happiness was the only thing my heart ever asked for.

[heartofmuse]

Your words enchant the soul like an endless song, a promise of paradise, madness and fire, a whirlwind of emotion in the soul that opens up the sky.

e.v.e.