#words from a poem i wrote

[koops19]

The destination will always be there, but the journey can always change, and I want to be there when it happens.

[tetheredtomemories]

Does your mind wander back to that place sometimes?

Where everything was serene, the waters were smooth, the sails were still.

We could exist in that moment for as long as we wanted. Nothing else mattered, nothing else was real.

Words unspoken, still understood by the look in our eyes.

Does your mind ever drift back?

To that glimmer of hope, where our hands intertwined, and our hearts ached quietly for the other.

Our laughter filled the air, a sound I cling to, but yours is beginning to fade further with each passing moment.

I find myself returning back to that place time and time again, wondering how a love so big could ever be so alive and so effortless. Perhaps it lingers there still, waiting, like a memory half-dreamed, yet somehow as real as the air we breathed.

- to the boy with the red car

[hakaan05]

kill me now

when my heart beats for you, where all my neurons hold not one doubt about you, while the cells of my skin still remembers your touch, and my muscles still ease with the thought of you. Bury me in the ground, and watch as it brings life around it, as my body nurtures the soil as it would have to you.

and when historians unearth my bones

they shall see your name carved in each of them.

[coffeexxcigarettes]

Astoria

-

Happy enough to leave me in darkness

Until I knocked the fucking light out.

Until I insist I'm happier here,

I'vealwaysbeenhappierhere,

Than I ever was when I had to beg

For a shred of basic human decency-

I have spent years

Feeling guilty.

Fighting battles for others

Who sit back and relax

In my misery-

Yes, I'm mad.

I was lied to.

Told to believe love is sacrifice

And yet even as you ripped flesh from bone,

I could not give enough-

There is nothing left.

There is a freedom in that.

Leave me to the dark.

x

[creatediana]

"Wow, bitch. Who tf are you?" - a free verse poem written 12/22/2023

[crmsnmth]

Scene: An Early Morning in The Kitchen

She enters the room, yawning loudly. I'm sitting at the table, staring at my laptop. The only light provided in the room is the light above the oven, and the glowing white screen. A half-full cup of black coffee sits on the table, still steaming.

"Hey, what are you doing up?" I ask as she comes up behind me, wrapping her arms around my neck. She kisses my cheek.

"Wondering why your not in bed." Her voice is rough and potholed from the quiet of sleep.

I look at the time and there is visible shock on my face. The last time I looked it was just after eleven. The clock read 3:52 AM.

"I guess I got caught up again. Sorry, I'll be in soon." I say, staring at the screen, waiting for the perfect way to end this to magically appear in my head. It's been waiting for quite some time now.

She points to the coffee cup. "Is that decaf?" She asks with playful accusations dancing around her tones.

"Yeah. I figured I should switch if I'm ever going to get some sleep." I look up at you, grinning. The room is warm in it's dull light. Outside, the blue white of a streetlamp beams through the window, just barely adding to the glow.

"That's probably a good idea." She looks down at me, and kisses my forehead.

I smile and go back to staring at the screen. She walks across the room and pours herself cup, adding oat milk to cool it down and soften the bitterness of late-night coffee pots.

"Did you figure out the problem you were having yet?" She asks as she leans against the counter and takes a sip of the hot liquid.

"No. Not at all. I've been trying though. I'll get it eventually." And I know I will. And she knows I will. But we both know how frustrating it can be sometimes.

"I know you will. Just don't force it. Everyone can tell when you force it." She knows this dance all too well, the insecurity I hold in every single thing I do.

"If I could force it, this would be finished."

"Don't stay up all night. Come to bed." She purrs, setting her cup down, forgetting it, for just one sip.

I look over at her, and she is beautiful. Even in her woken up from sleep look. Her hair was wild, almost forming a lion's mane around her face. Her imperfections stare out from, and it only adds to how absolutely stunning she really is. In an old white robe, and bare feet on hardwood floors. I smile into the dark. She squints her face at me. I quickly control-s, and shut my laptop.

"That sounds like a great idea." I say standing up from the kitchen chair, only now realizing how sore my back is. I groan. You laugh softly. As we step out of the kitchen, I flip the oven light off.

[mrcowboydeanwinchester]

From Every Tree

for spn poetry month, day 4: grief @spnpoetryrenaissance

will every poem i write this month be somehow linked to mary? the answer appears to be yes. this is about blue the sky is when dean and sam find mary's body in that field after jack brings her back. the grief they sing is an old song (and they sing it anyway)

transcript below the cut:

From Every Tree

My grief came to me in sunlight.

There was no rain;

We were not underground,

Already buried;

There was no darkness,

And no fire, either:

No one was burnt 

And nothing was broken. 

The sky was blue the morning you died,

Spring unfurling in green from nature’s palm.

Everything was beginning.

My grief,

my grief,

my grief,

The birds sung it from every tree.

It was an old song,

and it sounded beautiful.  

[mai-library]

And I need to know my dear, if you could stop existing for just one moment, would you? Would you disappear like you never existed? Would you finally become that ghost you have desperately wanted to be? Do you think anyone would mourn you? Probably not. It would be for just a moment. Barely a full blink really. No one would realize you were gone, not because you wouldn't be missed, but because you wouldn't be gone long enough to be missed. But I need to know my dear, if you could take one deep breath and hold it forever, would you?

~things I wrote at my job I hate instead of doing my job: part 4

[medusa-was-innocent]

Wow this sucks

[screamintothevoidd]

I was born with a heart that only knows how to expand.

A heart that can accommodate madness and sanity in their entirety without a crack, without a single stitch.

Love, Once a shelter from the storm, has left me shedding crimson tears, like spider lilies beneath my feet.

[tetheredtomemories]

If I made a list of things to erase to rid myself of you,

music would fall silent,

roads would lie empty without midnight drives,

blank screens would replace movies,

and my hunger would simply fade.

You’re woven into every part of my world; no matter what I do, you linger.

- to the boy with the red car

[kotaromita]

i couldn't sleep so i wrote an entire song at 4 am and its nothing like my usual stuff what was i on

[thesewordsaremymusings]

“I still carry so much of you with me,

I remember your secrets, like they are my own,

Do you still dislike your stepfather?

Is your father still a prosecutor?

It’s like there is a never fading photograph of you forever etched in my periphery,

I think of you on the train,

I think of you, no matter the weather

I think of you ( all the time)

I don’t know how else to say this, but it goes something like this

I fear,

The rust that has grown between our bones is no match for the garden,

I have planted with just fleeting thoughts of you

It never will be,

I’m planting new stories about us

I’m growing versions of you,

Where you always chose me,

In the end”

-m.n. | “I’m writing this poem, so I can finally put a little bit of you down, after all these years.”

[miss-oranje-disco-dancer]

[futur3lov3r]

Did you read the book I recommended? Do you understand now, my Dorian?

There were so many ways you could’ve spun the end of us, and you chose to paint me as a liar? Well, I suppose I shouldn’t worry how you paint your words. You were never the artist you portrayed yourself as; too technical and logical, you never stitched your very skin to what you create like I did. You could’ve easily shown your work to anyone, without feeling like it bore your very soul. Maybe you made the right choice in separating yourself from your work, my heavy involvement, no, my obsessive entanglement with my work, has only been a deficit. I think there’s quite a bit of truth in the saying that the muse longs to be the artist, and the artist yearns to be the muse. For years I prayed to be in your spot, to exist in the world beautifully, I paint my face 100 layers thick and am considered as much as art as plain grey wallpaper, you’re considered worthy of sculptures in your honor without effort. I longed to have your ability to convince others that your whims were their very own, to have those who you simply consider amusing occasionally, writing hundreds of poems, even entire books about you. But I could never give up my devotion, even if it meant a beautiful youth like yours. I am unfortunately the most known artist to display you, I have burned my paintings and ground my sculptures to dust, now all that is left of the works of you, are my words.

[alittlebitofrainbyyourside]

feeling extremely emo about the incredibly emo poetry I used to write.