#attempted poetry
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there is something so pure in the way that as kids we are taught not to share direct food with our friends, we’re told to cut off a piece of that sandwich or to ‘waterfall’ our bottles, and we do this for years and years until one day, we just stop. and our best friend takes a bite of that sandwich, or her lips touch the bottle. and nothing happends, no one gets hurt, no one dies, we have these memories of splashing water onto one another in failed waterfalls turn to ‘give me back my soda i swear to god’. meticulously cutting the sandwich to exact measurements turns into ‘hey do you want the rest of this?’ without a second thought. it’s a weird form of purity and i cannot stop thinking about it.
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That day
Fall in love
Fall again
Like we did
Under the berry cane
Fall again
Fall again
Fall again
Under your honey name
Fallin in love
Loving in fall
A sweetly charm
Holdin hands
Closin eyes
Slowin time
Closin lips
And the kiss was nice
Fall again
Again in love
Like we did
On the day of rain
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An old poem I found in my notes that has Jackieshauna brain rot and listening to too much Boygenius written all over it:
I take back what I never said
And I hope that when I’m dead
You’ll lay roses at your feet
Whispering for mercy
If love and hate really are the same
Then why can’t neither of us be to blame
Would you really die for me
Or would it just be some reluctant deed
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I see you in green, distant yet warm.
Eyes smiling of clear, bright dews.
But you die black and blue, where crimson your lips have drawn.
Now all the colors are faded, a hell with no hues.
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There's a tapping tapping's ticking sound
The wood clicks and creeks
Expanding and contracting from the cold of the autumn air
I'd go outside
but the wind is blowing
My coat is thin
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i am healing. i am listening to text book by lana del rey while thinking about my new love. potentially, it may have healed my heart purposely. although i had to endure pain for the past unbearable weeks due to the thing i loved most was being shred up in front of me, i don’t care anymore. fuck you. i am happy. i will be. i am.
(i can’t stop playing every love song known to man, but what’s a girl supposed to do?)
#love poems#lana del rey#hopelessly in love#help me#feminism#literature#girlblogging#the perks of being a wallflower#phoebe bridgers#phoebe waller bridge#the smiths#sadgirl#fleabag#derry girls#the 1975 self titled#the 1975#the 1975 songs#the 1975 album#the 1975 lyrics#attempted poetry#poets on poetry#poetry#poet#poetsdaily#young poets#poetsandwriters#female poets#poets on tumblr#poets corner#diary entry
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a crush & a love
when i fall in love, i fall deeply in love.
completely consumed in whoever it is.
my first crush was a girl, her name meant angel. and she was just that in my eyes. no one else would think that. in fact, if you met her, you would laugh right in my face.
she was cool. way cooler than i was. she was open to anything.
she inspired me to keep my mind open. dress the way i wanted. say what i wanted. but without forgetting who i was.
i will never forget her.
my first love was a boy, his name was beautiful. and he was just as beautiful. he was more of a fantasy. i fell in love with him over a sport rally. he seemed so out of my league that i could not bring myself to even say a small "hello" to him. the time i smiled at him, i could swear my guts had been emptied into the atlantic ocean.
he was the perfect first love. i never got past longing stares, and conversations through mutual friends. but it was the most typical middle school type love.
and i will never forget him.
and i think the main difference between my crush and my love for that boy, was how i percieved them. my crush was soft, and playful. i could conivnce myself out of it if i really tried. but with that boy, no matter what i did he always managed to appear somewhere. whether it be my dreams, or short-circuited hallucinations, he's always there. i could travel to the opposite end of the world but this would not stop.
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and you know it. You're worried that you're gonna get started and it's gonna be
way harder than you expected it to be and you'll be completely out of your depth
Breaking fucking news, Paul, but it's going to get scarier. Be glad that you are
too. Less force may be required to push the damn box up the incline if it wasn't
chock full of fear. Sure. But a better poet once said to Do it scared. Act upon
it, you external force. Pen to paper; cursor to tab; feet to the ground. I'm not
saying it's not scary. I'm not saying it's easy. It's quite hard, actually,
which is why you're making this tumblr post to convince yourself to Do. It.
(Also, does anyone know how to work polls so you can write more text in them?)
So maybe you'll realize that it was, actually, within you this entire time.
And for fuck's sake, put down the mug. You know coffee gives you a stomach ache.
#wheee#attempted poetry#my polls#poll poetry#I should print this out and put this on my desk wall so I have to look at it every time I get up to make myself coffee#anyways imma do it thank you for coming to my ted talk
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Waking up to see the sunset, Staying awake to see sunrise.
#what is a sleep cycle these days#lossing the joy of seeing these cycles of nature#sunset#sunrise#solar system#reversed bodyclock#late night#comedy#attempted poetry#poem#shift work#escape
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an original piece of mine. wrote this after i realized i will forever be waiting for my first love, even with the knowledge they will never want me like i want them.
#sad quotes#femcel#schizoposting#unrequited love#i'm sad#sad poem#unrequited feelings#is this poetry?#poetic#first love#poetry#attempted poetry#sad thoughts#sad but true
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unclench the fists at your sides
and rest your heavy head
slow your fluttering heart
so your ichor may lull its rapid spill
close your eyes and blink away
the wells of dust and tears, glittering
and turn your eyes up one last time
to where the stars shine brightly tonight
and I promise
it will be over soon
it will be over soon
it will be
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Sometimes I hold my own hand
to remind myself
I'm not alone.
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It might come with a warning, but still it suprises me.
It's bound to happen on the days i start anew. Because I know history to repat itself.
And Agony will follow, as it always does.
We know it will pass. We know it won't last forewer.
Still we hope to control it, knowing full well that nothing can be done.
The next time it returns, we all know it will, there's still nothing that can be done.
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Thoughts on the thunder wizard again.
Genuinely, I find Gale's relationship with Mystra to be fascinating when you consider all its facets. Unhealthy, imbalanced, definitely poisonous, but also very, very intricate with a lot of blurred edges to it. One of those things where you're both like "wow, what the hell, that's horrible" but also "that makes perfect sense for their characters, and while I would NEVER, I know why they would, and why it happened."
You've got a wizard who doesn't know what real love is, who thinks he's finally being shown it by the person he adores most. His greatest fantasy, his most potent joy, his most heartfelt aspirations, and they were all offered to him.
And he wants to see what all she's hiding from him, because of course he does. She's the keeper of all things forbidden to him. The empire of Netheril reached magical heights that will never be touched again, and all that knowledge is beyond her curtain. She loves him, right? Surely, if he proves himself enough, she'll let him grasp that power he so desperately wants.
And not even in the power-hungry sense! All that magic Mystra's locked up was accessible during Mystryl's reign. Think of all the answers to theories about the universe that are back there. Every question of "can this be done, and what would it do" would be answered, if he could just bargain hard enough.
She loves him, right?
Surely, if he proves himself enough...
And then, on the other hand, Mystra. Once Midnight, her human personality has been subsumed by the goddess of magic and her duty to the Weave. She has a responsibility to magic, she IS magic.
Then along comes this mortal boy who knows how to handle her Weave. Who doesn't try to wrestle with and dominate, who sings to it. He handles it with such ease and grace—it's not just that he could be Chosen, but he deserves it. To put her Weave in the hands of someone so intrinsically in tune with it, who understands its potential with a wonder like no other. Few enough can handle the raw power that comes with being Chosen, but this one? This one is perfect.
And he adores you. And you adore him, like one would a beautiful butterfly that's landed on their finger. And he's willing to be devoted to you in all things, not out of transaction like most of your worshipers are, but out of love for you, your craft, your magic. You're so deeply and utterly charmed by him.
And it's not like Mystra hasn't walked this path before.
She gives him what he desires, because what he desires is her. And, in a different way, she desires him. She wants him to be her representation in the world. She indulges his adoration with her own presence, and takes indulgence herself in mortal comforts. He's never satisfied with her answers, but who could blame him? She keeps a whole world away from mortals, because she knows what such unfettered power might bring about (again).
And the wizarding prodigy's ambition is lit (again).
And the height of power is reached for (again).
And she stops him (again, again, again).
She does care for him. She doesn't want to see her little butterfly burn himself, and she doesn't want to be the one to ruin those wings.
But then he's not a butterfly. He's a mortal, wielding a weapon of murder, of her murder, and he's brought it to her doorstep because she told him "no." And he's cut himself on it, he doesn't know what it is, but it's hurt him—and it's only a fraction of the hurt it could do to her. How dare he want her help after threatening her?
(He didn't mean to.)
(He only wanted to help.)
(He only wanted. How human.)
She doesn't help him. If he wants to pursue Karsus' weaponry, it's his responsibility, his hubris, that led him to injuring himself on it. She's furious. She's hurt. She's cold.
(What fools these mortals be.)
But then, there's a greater threat to her. Something that could drown the Material in Karsus' failings. And that little boy, who nicked himself on the sword he lifted, still wants her help.
It's a fair trade, isn't it? She'll forgive him, let him into her domain again, if he accepts his punishment and goes into battle for her. He picked up a sword, it's appropriate that he learns to use it in her name, right?
If he was telling the truth, he wouldn't hesitate. If he really wanted to serve her with the Netherese Orb, he would jump at the opportunity to do so. He would have to give up a few petty things in the process, ("petty," she calls mortality, as if family and home mean nothing, as if friends and love are finite. Because to her, they do mean nothing. Because to her, they are finite.) but it isn’t atonement without sacrifice, is it?
It's the tactical move. She's not above hurting one man to save a nation. It's not even the first time she's done it.
(Dornal Silverhand sends his regards.)
If he loves her, he'd die for her, because she'd let him into her paradise. If he doesn't love her, he won't, and she was justified in removing him from her grace.
He doesn't love her. Not anymore.
Does he hate her enough to try to take his dues?
Ambition has always been man's greatest folly.
#bg3#gale dekarios#gale of waterdeep#mystra#listen. go watch steven universe where rose says 'i'm not a real person'#pay attention to how rose laughs at greg and how funny and sweet humans are#that's how i think mystra sees her chosen#but she lacks rose's willingness to change and dip into mortal life#gale is cute. gale is precious. gale is wonderful. but gale is amusing.#and he's not equal to a god. certainly not the goddess of magic. and his attempts to insist that he is are only met with a pat on the head#long post#oops i turned a ramble into poetry again. i swear it's not intentional#the parentheses got me :/
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To the you who I adore, I love you so.
To the you who I can't forget, I miss you so.
To the you who have forgotten me, I long for you still.
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No Cost Too Great:
No cost too great, no price too high,
For you, I shatter the earth and sky.
No cost too great, no tears left to cry,
A broken heart of gold, all too kind.
No cost too great, dark eclipse light,
The faint glow of stars shine brighter at night.
No cost too great, to eternally see,
Cut through the chaos to victory.
No cost too great, witness be heavens sublime,
All too cruel and healing has been the flow of time.
No cost too great, no hope too pure,
Through the madness, broken memories endure.
No cost too great, ravaged by war,
This land once beloved, now defiled and torn.
No cost too great, to cut the sworn path,
All whom defy us shall know true wrath.
No cost too great, to start anew,
With my desires, our will and hearts be one and true.
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