#writing my feelings

[aminawriting]

My first love

You still haunt me and I do not dream

Your laughter still rumbles even when you have left me.

Your smile still lights up my darkness even if you no longer smile at me.

Your tears break me even though I've never seen them.

And you're my love even if we'll never reunite again. My first love. One I'll never forget.

[naeemajusthasthoughts]

Dismalness

Countless hours are broken. unable to leave, unspoken To a life unresolved in the open.

an unreliable heart unable to let go reading a memory unprovoked. forgotten hardships left on their own , silence as golden brought in their own hope.

The heart was a silly instrument. violence on a violin shuttered melodies rested on slighted shoulders, Heavy without any burdens it broke that hope all on its own.

Sorrow travelled and settled in the heart so far down, it became lost. a hole formed at last black to the touch, consumed even the very soul. Now nothing can go there anymore.

[heyitsthatweirdo]

My opinion on Kyoko is kinda flip flopping over here between contempt to interest, and I'm not really sure how I should feel about her right now.

But I'm only halfway, so I don't know. Maybe I'll end up loving her

Edit: I ended up loving her

[autumntay]

Sometimes I like to write my thoughts, I'm unsure if this counts as poetry though.

can you tell I like cannibalism as a metaphor for love

[silentthoughtsvoiced]

It’s not funny.

I laugh.

It’s not funny.

The aftermath is that I’m stuck with this pain.

The pain stays.

My misery persists.

My what ifs and what do I do,

They don’t leave me alone.

I open up…to my sketchbook.

To them?

Please…don’t make me laugh.

My pain is within the drawings…within my writing.

I let it create,

I let it free.

This pain seems like forever.

When it’s me, myself, and I.

How can I complain?

There’s a roof over my head,

There’s food at the table,

There’s nothing but me, myself, and pain.

How can I complain?

The cup of fear has overflowed.

I can’t afford to spill anymore.

I’ve ran out of tissues.

I’ve done everything to not feel.

[propheciesanddreams]

a little writing for you

They never tell you how unsettling it is to be a stranger to your own brother. Here’s someone you feel that you’re supposed to have some connection with. You remember them, with baby fat still clinging to their cheeks, and you remember their favourite toys, and the song that made them smile every time they heard it. Then you look at them as an adult and you know nothing about them. What’s their favourite colour? What type of music do they listen to? Do they hate me? 

That last question, that's the one that haunts Sirius the most. Glancing back up at the stranger in front of him, he swallows down his fear and tries not to see his mother in his brother's eyes and in his cheekbones and most of all in his frown. The one that is full of resentment and judgement, and he tries with all his might not to fall back into that space. Sirius tries not to feel five again, or ten, or twelve, or worst of all, sixteen. He tries not to remember when Regulus' sweet chubby-cheeked smile became the grimace they only associated with Maman. 

"Hello, Sirius." Regulus speaks first, curt but respectable all the same. 

"Hey." Sirius responds, his voice a bit unsure and then, "it's been a long time." What a foolish thing to say. 

"Ten years." Regulus says it as though he still remembers that day, an odd thing that. 

They stand in silence for only a moment before the toddler at Sirius' feet grows impatient and whines. 

Regulus doesn't ask, no, he's been taught to be polite and to be polite you don't bring up uncomfortable topics such as this. Sirius was once taught that, he's long since forgotten. 

"Teddy." He gestures to the toddler now pulling at his arm and muttering something about getting ice cream which Sirius swears was never brought up but knows instantly he will be talked into. 

"He's…" Sirius pauses on how to explain best who Teddy is to him, "my stepson I suppose you could say." 

Confusion crosses Regulus' brow but again he does not ask out of politeness. Sirius doesn't get a chance to explain because at that moment they're reunited with Teddy's dad, who comes up besides Sirius, throwing an arm around his waist and prattling on before he registers the stranger… the family… the person before them. The weight and warmth of his side is welcome against Sirius, dulling the shock, as Remus leans on him. He didn't bring his walking stick and now he's feeling weak. Were Sirius in a better mood, he'd chastise him for it. 

"They didn't have it, but the owner was so kind he said they'd order it for me by Wednesday and then gave me some recommendations for a few other books I might enjoy and– oh. Hi." 

"Hello, Lupin." Regulus replies, again he's terse but not unkind. 

"Right, well, we had better be off. You know, little ones." Sirius gestures to Teddy now seconds away from a proper tantrum even though he knows full well that Regulus does not and would have no reason to know the nature of toddlers. 

"It was good to see you." Sirius adds, Remus nods his agreement to the statement. 

"And to see you." Regulus replies, politely. 

Sirius doesn't know why he does it. They've exchanged the proper pleasantries. They've said what was needed and expected of them. It has been ten long fucking years. A lot of time in therapy and far too many cigarettes smoked over the balcony after midnight. Too much has passed for him to look back. So he isn't sure what makes him turn around then but he does. 

"Come to dinner. We're having–well it's just a small thing but we're already expecting guests tonight and–it would be lovely to have you. To… catch up." It falls flat, they're both aware of it, the words hanging between them. Regulus will politely decline and that will be that. They won't see each other for another ten years and then they'll do the whole dance again. 

So the next words out of Regulus' mouth shock Sirius to his core. 

"I'd be happy to." 

[mirofmagma]

There is a weight on me, I think it's the same one my mother carries

She hates the way we live, a house that's always dirty and cluttered no matter how hard she tries.

She's tired every morning, sometimes she can't get up, and when she does she's only rewarded by our tired grumbles over oatmeal,

I understand

There is nothing heavier than the weight of what could be done, what life we could have lived

-if you could see yourself now how would you have felt? (Mirofmagma)

[panalien]

If Dazai and Chuuya had actually had a heart-to-heart

[not that they would because they're sarcastic, manipulative shits but I can dream] [this is my own little headcanon in which Chuuya and Dazai actually talk about Dazai leaving the PM and that Chuuya didn't follow.]

Cuuya: “We used to be so close, what could have possibly happened to you?”

Dazai: “What could have happened to me? What happened to you? You’re the one who stayed after everything they did.”

C: “I had no other option!”

D: “Of course you had an option! I did, I got out. You could have too.”

C: “No, I couldn’t. You had nothing to lose. I hav…”

D: “You’re wrong.”

C: “What do you mean I’m wrong?”

D: “I did lose, I lost you. Not that I wanted to or even thought I would. I thought you would come with me.”

C: “Come with you?” Shaking his head. “ You never said you wanted me to come with you.”

D: “I didn’t think I had to. You literally knew me better than anyone else, words didn’t seem necessary. But then you never came.”

C: “I hate that you threw away so many years because you thought I would just know. How stupid are you?”

D: “I know.”

They look at each other with so much caring and sadness, a drastic change from their previous expressions in the heat of their fight. Silence fell over them. Neither really knowing where to go from here until…

D: “So, would you have?”

C: “Would I have…? Come with you? I..” Sighing “That was four years ago, I don’t, I don’t know. I don’t remember.”

Looking away, he avoids eye contact with Dazai because he knows the truth and he knows Dazai does as well but neither can say it.

[this is my own little headcanon. ]

[procrastiel]

The Want.

The desire is so strong, the want buried deep inside becomes alive from time to time, when you brush hands or stand too close, or when you find yourself staring again and Crowley’s not looking, or pretending not to notice. These are the little twigs that fall into the hot coals of your desire and the flames are lit again, the serpent stirs, sometimes fast and sometimes slow but always gripping you so tight, rising, swallowing your heart and then the panic and shame overwhelm you.

You blush. Cannot hide the want, not fully. How do you make it so no one can see the fireplace burning in your stomach? Do you dress it up, or drape two extra layers over it? How do you stand without the want dragging you down, without your spine buckling or snapping in half?

How do you look in his eyes when you’re trying to protect him from yourself?

Fleetingly. Do not prolong, it will hurt too much.

If you can’t fix it, Jack, you gotta stand it.

inspired by this beautiful art

[aminawriting]

Even if my mind tried to hate you It would be betrayed by my heart. For its calls for you are deafening and it would fight wars to be connected to yours.

- A.B

[runningminds]

Heavy

My mind feels so heavy. There's no more space inside for new thoughts to take shape, yet they keep forming at a rapid pace.

My eyes are heavy. If I could've measured my tears in the last three weeks, I bet I could save us from the drought forecasted. I have ball bags for eyes that keep filling up and watering at any given time, announcing unexpected rain.

Am I too heavy to be around? Do I take up so much room in rooms that people judge me and say "fuck that". Can they feel it? Is "not good enough" seeping out of my skin? Can they smell "crazy" on my clothes? Is "stupid" tattooed above my eyebrows? Can they taste "loneliness" on my tongue?

Healing isn't pretty, I can't say I enjoy it all the time. Tapping out what no longer serves me and tapping in all the good energy. I'm tapping so much I think I'm losing brain cells.

I'd love to meet "Inner Peace". So I can tell her to go fuck herself for making me climb mountains, run through rivers, endure chaotic storms and wildfires, just to finally sit down with her.

Then I'd hug her and kiss her and ask her to please never leave me.

Afterwards, I'd apologise for saying exactly what I wanted to say because guilt engulfs me. Then I'd become completely obsessed with her and question her every motive because I have attachment issues.

Healing is a bitch.

[somedarkhollow]

regional magic

I’m not sure what they put in the twilight movies and gilmore girls and certain corners of warm evenings on the east coast, but there’s something mystical there. I remember the feeling so distinctly because I spent most of my life living on the west coast. there is west coast magic, don’t get me wrong. the tears in my eyes as I drive down the pacific coast highway with my windows rolled all the way down listening to the indie alternative radio station or the coo of a morning dove in dry air or even most of Lana del Rey’s early music all contains the glittering magic of my former home region. but here I lay, belly down on my bed less than a hundred miles from where I lay the first time I felt the east coast magic. it was a warm, late summer night and the air was thick before it began to softly rain. I lay with my window pushed up ever so slightly to feel the warm air after sitting in air conditioning all day at work and lit a candle. it was earlier then, still light, I remember laying there looking up at the ceiling and not knowing how to think about the future at all, but I thought of the hustle on the freeway just a hop and a skip away from where I lay my head, I thought about new york and simon and garfunkel and falling in love. it seemed so nostalgic but somehow pulled me present. 

I’m wondering if moving to the south will reveal it’s own special kind of magic. when I lived in West Virginia I mostly felt specifically West Virginia magic. The kind that pours out of a bottle of moonshine and teaches you to be brave, almost a confrontation and private reckoning in the woods as you learn how people are just people and where the ridges connect and divide. 

Whatever the magic is in virginia, I hope I can keep the magic from the west, the east, and the hill country tucked into my jacket pocket or sewn into the hem of my skirt like little stars. I hope i can stop running and let what needs to be let go be gone. maybe the magic of virginia will be less like magic and more like a balm for the girl living out her days warped by a past she barely remembers, enchanted by magic she’ll never forget. 

[alivingtypo]

you can pry starting sentences with 'and' or 'but' out of my cold, dead hands

[soul-from-another-era]

Unconditional love isn't a free pass to hurt me.

[inbabylontheywept]

i did wrestling in middle school. on one hand, i was actually quite good at it, which was nice. being good at any sport was a new achievement for me. on the other hand, i was bi, and i was trying very hard not to notice that i was bi, and getting folded into knots by very kind, very muscular dorks made that task somewhat difficult.

adding fire to the problem was that my parents and my grandparents wanted to watch my matches, because they were very proud that their Gangly Nerd Son was actually Sporting, and they wanted to cheer me on. which would've been sweet and all, but if there are four people you do not want there during a key part of your Burgeoning Sexual Awakening, it is your mom and your dad and your grandma and your grandpa.

right? i mean, imagine some guy's got your head in his armpit, and you're going you know, old sweat smells bad, but fresh sweat has a sort of and then you make eye contact with your grandpa in the stands and you remember you're swearing spandex so if you pop a boner people aren't just going to be able to see the outline, they're going to be able to count the veins, and the only way you will be able to restore your family's honor after that would be by moving to siberia and renouncing joy, forever. that, or lift your entire body up by your kneck then twist 180 degrees without paralyzing yourself.

it’s a lot of pressure, is what i’m saying.

still it did motivate me to win my matches really fast. because i was so tall and skinny, i was stupidly good at the double leg takedown, and then once someone was knocked down, i'd just do the half nelson and kind of flip em over for the pin. then the ref would count to three and i’d win. EZPZ.

i had one match where that went great. won in the first ten seconds, sat back down, and prepared myself for a good hour or two of doing fuck all. didn't even feel bad the parents/grandparents were gonna be bored. the matches went up from me in 5 pound increments (i was in the 115 lbs division) and it was going great until we got to the 145 lbs division. the other school's wrestler stepped onto the mat, and she turned out to be a girl so our guy flipped, because for straight guys, wrestling a girl is not a pleasant experience.

i'm not entirely unsympathetic. my experience wrestling dudes was definitely a little traumatic. but also, i dealt. guy could've dealt too. instead, he refused to wrestle, and the coach went - fine. not even worth fighting over.

so he went to the 140 pounder, and that guy said, nosir, my mom said mormons can't wrestle girls. next guy down, 135 pounder, now he knew he could pull the same card and thus did. 130 pounder, 125, both tapped out. he got to the 120 guy, and that guy was catholic, but he said he was considering being mormon, and thus would have to pass. as a precaution.

coach blew up a little at that. he said "is there anyone - anyone - on this entire goddamn team that is willing to wrestle a girl?" and then he pointed at me and said "YOU. MAT. GO."

and i'll be real, if i'd been paying more attention, i'd have pulled the mormon card too, but i'd just been putting all that audio into a buffer file because i was reading, so i was halfway across the mat before i even processed what had been said and by then it was too late to turn back.

still i had a plan. and my plan - my beautiful, perfect plan - was to do what i'd always done. tackle, flip, pin, win. sit down. read. bore my family to death. move on.

i got the first part right. she was bigger than me, but she wasn't taller. just an incredibly stout woman. god built me like a snake with glasses, just as he built her like a combat cube. the problem was the half nelson. soon as she was down, i tried hooking my arm under hers from behind and for both genders, the defense for this move is just clamping your arms really fucking tight against your sides. if you're a guy, that's whatever, but if you're a girl - especially if you're god's chosen combat cube - that pins your opponents hand right against your boob.

so, i got the hook in, she clamped, my whole arm pressed against something soft, my coach was yelling THE HALF NELSON. BABYLON! JUST FINISH IT! FINISH THE HALF NELSON! and i was just trying to press hard enough to finish, when then my brain went

...oh.

and i flipped out. of course i flipped out. i like girls, and touching a boob is an elemental experience, and i was not ready. i was not prepared. i had not committed the sacred rites. i recoiled like i'd just brushed my arm against the surface of the sun, stood up, and backed away. nobody in the room knew why i'd given up. all they saw was me, right about to win, suddenly flailing around and scrambling. so everyone started screaming at me to just get the half nelson again, and i couldn't really yell back there's a fuckin' boob in the way and it was very distressing, and the only way i could think of to make them stop was just doing it over again the right way.

so i did.

i hunkered down and prepared myself for Wrasslin' Attempt #2: The Sequel.

i knocked her down again, EZPZ. i went for the half nelson again, but she knew what i was about to do so she super clamped, and i knew she was gonna super clamp, so i wound my arm back like a pop-eye cartoon punch before swinging my arm through the gap between her bicep and her side, but the amount of time i spent winding back super signalled what i was about to to do, which gave her time to clamp even harder, which somehow redirected the entire force of the popeye punch to the bottom of her bra.

it spat out a single boob the same way an action hero might spit out one single tooth after getting a solid crack across the jaw. as if to say:

*ptooie.* "that all you got?"

i did not actually see this. my experience was that first there was an arm, then there was a bit of boob, but i was braced, i was ready, forward at all costs, tatakae motherfuckers, and then the boob went away, and i didn't know where it went but my team, and the audience, and everyone who was in front of me, they all gasped like i just kicked them in the stomach. except for my coach. he was behind me, and thus one of the four people in the room who did not see the boob. now my mom, my dad, my grandma, and my grandpa, they all got flashed but nooooooo, coach thunderbutt was behind me, and he didn't see shit so he was still yelling NOOOOOO BABYLON WHAT ARE YOU DOING JUST FINISH THE NELSON! GO FOR THE KILL! BABYLON! BABYLON!

but i did not go for the kill. i stood up and she stuffed her boob back real fast, and we just kind of circled each other awkwardly until time ran out and i won on points. that's not technically allowed, but the ref had some mercy on me.

my coach did not.

i barely had time to sit down before he strode over to the bench to chew me out.

"babylon," he said, in that very calm way people get when they're too pissed to yell. "why didn't you pin?"

and i didn't know how to say well coach, i tried, but there was a boob, and it kept getting in the way, and my mom was watching, and so was my dad, and so was his dad, and his mom, and god (like bible god) and that's a can of worms because i'm pretty sure he was already mad at me, and i'm wearing spandex, and i think i might have to move to siberia, so instead i said

"i uh. i forgot how to do the half nelson."

which is actually impossible. forgetting how to do the half nelson is like forgetting how to swallow your spit.

and he looked at me, like i was the dumbest person in the entire world, and i looked through him like i'd just survived my 250th day in a trench at verdun, and he said: fine.

fine.

but we're all going to practice it for an hour tomorrow because you forgot.

and then he left.

and my buddies had the gall to be salty about it. i got so many comments saying "dude, why didn't you just tell him the truth?" and i said "you can if you care so damn much. you could've wrestled the girl too. maybe someone else should do the hard thing today."

but they didn't. so the next day, we did an hour of half nelson drills, and i spent a decent amount of time getting thrown around the mat, and it was pleasant in exactly the way that i hated and the year after that, to the surprise of everyone but myself, i quit wrestling and joined the trivia team.

and if you want more reasons to love my mom, my grandpa joked after the match that i might have to talk to my bishop about it, and my mom told him he would be allowed to make jokes after he stood in front of a crowd of 110 people in spandex underpants while wrestling a woman that was not his wife.

he paused for almost five seconds after that. then he said: aw. hell. sorry babylon.

and i'd have preferred my apology from god, but getting it from him was pretty good too.

[silentthoughtsvoiced]

Talking Back

Ouch, I did not know how much this would sting.

This wound keeps opening.

I don’t think they make stitches strong enough to keep my heart intact.

I feel hopeless when I’m in the room.

Am I the enemy?

Why do you take my silence as an alliance with your last mistake?

Why do you hurt me?

Words sharp as a knife.

That stare that poisons the mind and fills me with disgust.

You hate when I’m silent.

Breaking news, everyone does.

They poke at me with questions like “What’s wrong with you?”, “Do you talk?”, “Why are you so quiet?”

Every question felt like a punch in the stomach.

That’s how I am.

That’s who I am.

I can’t force myself to speak,

Believe me, I've tried.

It’s not just with strangers, its with family.

Family. Stranger. It's all the same to me.

No one knows me.

Not even me.

I lost my voice a long time ago.

I was just a kid.

My world was black and white.

Whenever I felt joy, it was robbed.

Before I could learn about myself, I was told who I had to be.

Talk back, that's absurd.

Talking back only means getting hurt.

Kiddo, I’m sorry.

If I could go back, I would hug you.

Kiddo, you're not alone.

You have a place in my heart.

You are lovable.

Kiddo, it’s okay to cry.

You’re not a mistake.

You’re allowed to play with your barbies.

You’re a kid.

Kiddo, I hear you.

You deserve to feel safe.

You matter.

Life is weird.

Kiddo, talk back.

Never apologize for who you are…for what you feel.

Deep down, I know, a hug wouldn’t change a damn thing.

It felt like pouring salt on the wound.

Why show that you care if you knew you would only hurt me in the end?

It’s mind games.

Aren’t games suppose to be fun?

I can’t complain.

Talking back is bad,

Obedience is the only way.

Sorry kiddo.

It seems like I’ll rest for a while.

Don’t look back.

The monsters won’t show up if you don’t look back.