#weed poetry

[firmamentoverload]

the stars hither and haste, only connected by time and space,

i remember a night at the lake - the big dipper scooping

the water in front of me, pouring, pouring,

into a memory i bring up now,

into the present

[headspace-hotel]

"Disaster Taxon," poem assembled using text from Wikipedia articles

[timegeist]

Acid or weed will do this to you.

“I don’t know who God is exactly. But I’ll tell you this. I was sitting in the river named Clarion, on a water splashed stone and all afternoon I listened to the voices of the river talking. Whenever the water struck a stone it had something to say, and the water itself, and even the mosses trailing under the water. And slowly, very slowly, it became clear to me what they were saying. Said the river I am part of holiness. And I too, said the stone. And I too, whispered the moss beneath the water.”

—

Mary Oliver

(via entheognosis)

[420blzzitfggt]

[barf90]

[nico-nico-suavecito]

I am so excited to announce that my full-length poetry book "The Weeds Grow Anyway" is available for preorder. This first edition handmade Iimited run is going to feature a linocut printed soft cover and I will be binding the books at home.

A blurb about the book, by Mallory Everhart:

Nico Wilkinson's debut full-length poetry collection "The Weeds Grow Anyway' is a celebration of that which lies beyond resilience in the face of adversity: audacity. Writing from Colorado Springs amidst a time of anti-trans violence, they examine the relationship of trans people to this world through the lens of nature's relationship to humans. What makes a plant into a weed, something deemed unacceptable to the landscape? The poetry within much like the local flora and trans people who live there is rooted in the experience of queering the inhospitable landscape that is Colorado Springs.

About the book's creation:

Last year I made one hardcover copy of The Weeds Grow Anyway (pictured above) to visualize the manuscript I'd been working on as a real tangible book. In doing so, I remembered just how much lenjoy the bookmaking process. I realized it would be a joy to make these books myself.

I will share the book-making process as I go on my social media, mostly Instagram (and possibly YouTube, coming soon). If you are a poet who would like to learn how to create their own books, follow along and show you how.

This book is made possible by community. By the people I create alongside, the people who support my work, who connect with me about the experiences we have living in this world. It is such a gift to finally be able to share these words with my community, including poems that have been known and loved, and many, many poems that have never been seen before. I can't wait for you to read them.

The photos of the first hardcover handmade book above are by my friend Corri Mercy.

[sleeplessv0id]

my favorite part about smoking, aside from the getting high part, is watching the smoke as I exhale it. It's a different kind of peace, watching the smoke dance. It's freer than I could ever dream of being.

[onherway]

From my debut poetry book: Dangerous Sessions: The Black Room

[letterstokareokay]

Weed makes me horny lol.

[xenonsreturn]

The lovely silhouette of @sometimess-maybee aka @sometimessmagical - blended with some of my photos, some of hers, some of her artwork, some poetry, some prose, her butterfly, her weed, and Lionel Richie. 🖤😊

[420blzzitfggt]

happy friday 🎃✨️👻

[barf90]

[hauntedbythenarrative]

Waiting for This Story to End Before I Begin Another, Jan Heller Levi//Accident Report in the Tall, Tall Weeds, Ada Limón

[the-final-lullaby]

Wild Medicine

I swear I can only breathe weed

I’m stuck do not make me plead

Alien flowers

Give me the power

Once I Exhale I will finally be freed

I want to be clear as day that I used ai for the background. That being said the overlay is from my alarm every morning (trying to cut back on smoking weed) and it is Mostly me standing there. The head and torso are me to be exact but the legs and partly arms are not mine (that’s kinda a morbid thought. it also made my arms way too long lmfao). I don’t think I will use ai for many more of my photos but I really liked how this one turned out.

The Poetry is always mine of course 🩶

[sunnykittyzz]

A poem I wrote about my childhood loneliness and the first time I hurt myself

TW: SH

Butterfly weed

I'm open to criticism on how I could do better, but please don't cause any hate. If you don't like it then just scroll

I close my eyes, and met the darkness that I know so well.

Then I saw her.

The young girl, paper for skin and an empty bottle for a heart. I was all to familiar with her.

The butterfly child. A weed.

I watched silently as she stood outside of her friends class. The friend she admired so much.

She knew that her mom would be upset that she stayed after school, but her friend told her to.

So she did

She opened her eyes as the bell rang, the familiar pang in her chest as she watched the halls slowly fill with others.

When the girl saw her friend, she ran over and held her hand with a smile.

Her friend looked at her, a look in her eyes that the buterfly girl knew.

The girl went to hug her friend goodbye, but was greeted with a wrinkled and ink stained folded paper instead

My poor baby...

The butterfly childs eyes ran over the blue ink for the fifth time, sitting all alone in her room

She reread the words. Gross. Annoying. Stupid. Useless.

She read the signatures at the bottom of the paper. 3 friends and 1 teacher

Her body shook, her face was soaked with warm tears and everything around her got to be too much

A weed. That was all she was

I watched silently as the little girl sobbed so hard her body hurt. Painful gasps of air and hysterical cries filled the silence of the room

She didnt understand...

The girl wanted nothing more then to be normal. To get rid of the weed inside of her.

She closed her eyes, the metal clenched between her small fingers

Her body filled with fear, though she felt she deserved this. She took a deep shaky breath, and I opened my eyes. I knew what came next. I'm reminded of it every day

That was the first time the butterfly child cut through the papers.

[goblewolf]

FUCK YOUR FRIENDS !

By gigi

Fuck your friend before brunch.

Tell all your mutual friends about it over home fries,

and one of them will ask you all to their place later

to touch each other

and play charades.

Go touch each other

and play charades

and know that you’re better friends because of it.

When you’re too drunk to drive home,

crawl in bed with the host

and his girlfriend.

Play with each others’ hair

until you fall asleep, and

in the morning you can hold each other

while your headaches subside.

It’s not weird unless you make it weird.

I won’t make it weird,

will you?

Fuck your friends!

Or maybe you already do.

When the two of you write that song together,

are you not making love?

What’s the difference between helping someone move

and fingering them?

You’re giving a hand either way.