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strawberryloveyyy · 10 months

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You remind me so much of the stains on my bedroom ceiling. No matter how much I want them to fade, they don't. No amount of cleaner can rid them away. The rain has already stopped, I can no longer hear its voice. Your voice. Yet your ghost is looming above me, staring at me. The same way I've stared at it whenever I want to talk to you, but can't. You've seeped yourself into the one place I feel at home, and I let you. Every time it rains, I think of you. You come, and you go just as you please. You can be a pain in the ass sometimes just like rain, seeping through places it shouldn't, such as my old home. As well as my heart. You've stained it. You've stained me.

#the teenage girl is teenage girling #not sure if this makes sense #can this be considered a poem?#Poetry #Poetry?#or is this much more of a monologue?#i dont know

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justaguywritingstuff · 1 year

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HUSK

a warrior who fights a long forgoten war

stranded in the battle field yearning for combat, for meaning

because it is no man but just a tool of the gears of conflict and gore

the same conflict it's heart has been bleeding

for decades and decades

#original poem #poems #poems on tumblr #I am still figuring out how to make poems #can this be considered a poem?

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goatmeatstew · 2 years

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idk if this could be considered a poem, but if it can be, I dedicate it to @bloodredrosevampire my amazing fiancee. I'm tagging her so she can see it when she wakes up and heads to work <3 and if she asks, no I didnt write this at 1 am(I totally did)

As I lay in this bed in the dead of night, the love of my life sleeps peacefully at my side. We are safe in our new home, away from family that would wish us harm. There is so much to worry about but all I can think of is the warmth of her arms around me. Her smile, so bright it could rival the sun. And the stars in her eyes when she talks about things she's passionate about. Life may be full of uncertainty, but with her at my side, I feel invincible. She makes me love the little things about me that I used to hate, she makes me smile when all I want to do is cry. I hope I make her feel the same, I hope she knows my love for her will never die. It just grows with each day she's by my side.

#mosstalk #my poetry #can this be considered a poem?#idk im just feeling very in love right now

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worm-writes · 2 years

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There are those who love

And those who seek it

You can be one or both

But there's always something that persists in it

Something that's constant

As everyone deserves to be loved

#my works #can this be considered a poem?#idk

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loafofryebread · 4 months

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there is something so terrifying about wanting to be held, a years deep ache in my bones, like a child sobbing pleading for someone to notice, to care.

come here darling, I swear I will not bite, come here please, smooth away the cracks in my skin, piece me back together with the gold of your love, like the japanese would repair their pottery.

there is something so vulnerable about wanting to be touched, undoing me with a mere brush of the fingers, peeling back my layers like the skin of an orange, and each golden segment of my soul, is an offering (i love you).

oh, do you think you could hold me? just this once? kiss the backs of my knees when they ache? trace the divots of my spine like exploring a foreign land? memorize the shape of my nose, my jaw, my eyes, turning the terrain of my body into something familiar.

Perhaps it is selfish of me to ask for such a thing, I have always been a rather demanding creature, a dog, scratching at the door, begging to be let in.

I will be gentle I swear, curl up in your chest, your ribcage can be a temple, your heart the god I bow before, praying you might hold me, if only for a little while.

#this can be interpreted as platonic or romantic #it probably sounds more romantic #but i didnt really intend for it to come across any specific way #i am kinda proud of this one tho #considering i wrote it in my notebook in like 20 minutes #and then rewrote it here with only a little editing #it doesnt have much of a flow but i still like it #poetry #poems #physical touch #touch starved #skin hunger #physical affection #physical love #having a normal one tonight boys #shitty poetry hours/pos

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filmnoirsbian · 8 months

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Spilled Inktober day 4: folk horror.

#i know I'm late but like. i haven't gone to bed yet so I'm still considering it wednesday #also this is the first stanza of a longer changeling poem which can be read at the link #tcp #spilled ink #spilled inktober #poetry #the changeling effect #my writing #id in alt text #patreon

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gripes-withthesun · 4 months

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why have you carved me out of flesh?

[ID: It Writes Back - Hritvika Lakhera

Lord above you have carved me/ out of flesh;/ will you return/ to stem the bleeding?/ You have left me rotting,/ repulsive,/ hard to breathe around./ Blood left on the sheets/ is harder to scrub out;/ blood left on the floor/ wafts of rot instead of iron;/ you are my butcher/ casting me into offal.

I am immortality./ I am the shifting darkness,/ the echoing cliff –/ why/ have you made me/ out of bleeding,/ rotting/ flesh?

/end ID]

#new poem after ages 😅#posting poetry has felt demotivating for a while. and i realised i was starting to hold myself back while writing #so I've decided to get rid of some stuff that is getting in the way of expressing myself and just demoralising me #just gonna treat this space like my own personal archive that anyone who relates can dip into #if you like the poem tho please consider sharing!#the few times my poems have reached a larger audience I've had the loveliest tags to read on them by people who relate #and that makes it all worth it really #poetry #original poetry #writeblr #poems #w #writings #words #queer poetry #described #writblr

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dropthedemiurge · 9 months

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and if i’m too hot to handle, let me drown in the ice cold water float down to the bottom of the darkness like a heavy burden that i am

// Ray – Only Friends (Episode 4)

[My other OF fanarts]

#tw suicidal thoughts #only friends #only friends the series #ofts #poem #ofts ray #thai drama #dropthefanart #my works #art #dropthefanart ofts #i said myself oh let's do some warmups before big drawings #then i blink and uuuuhhh something a bit dark happened xD #i'm just mesmerized of all the heavy metaphors and symbols and lines that Ray's arc has so far #tbh i thought of this caption in like 30 seconds 1 minute max so #can it even be considered a poem xD #well i drew this sketch in 1-2 hours too so #i wish i had lots of time to do serious fanarts but recently i don't have it .__.

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wonder-worker · 2 months

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Margaret of Anjou’s visit to Coventry [in 1456], which was part of her dower and that of her son, Edward of Lancaster, was much more elaborate. It essentially reasserted Lancastrian power. The presence of Henry and the infant Edward was recognised in the pageantry. The ceremonial route between the Bablake gate and the commercial centre was short, skirting the area controlled by the cathedral priory, but it made up for its brevity with no fewer than fourteen pageants. Since Coventry had an established cycle of mystery plays, there were presumably enough local resources and experience to mount an impressive display; but one John Wetherby was summoned from Leicester to compose verses and stage the scenes. As at Margaret’s coronation the iconography was elaborate, though it built upon earlier developments.

Starting at Bablake gate, next to the Trinity Guild church of St. Michael, Bablake, the party was welcomed with a Tree of Jesse, set up on the gate itself, with the prophets Isaiah and Jeremiah explaining the symbolism. Outside St. Michael’s church the party was greeted by Edward the Confessor and St. John the Evangelist; and proceeding to Smithford Street, they found on the conduit the four Cardinal Virtues—Righteousness (Justice?), Prudence, Temperance, and Fortitude. In Cross Cheaping wine flowed freely, as in London, and angels stood on the cross, censing Margaret as she passed. Beyond the cross was pitched a series of pageants, each displaying one of the Nine Worthies, who offered to serve Margaret. Finally, the queen was shown a pageant of her patron saint, Margaret, slaying the dragon [which 'turned out to be strictly an intercessor on the queen's behalf', as Helen Maurer points out].

The meanings here are complex and have been variously interpreted. An initial reading of the programme found a message of messianic kingship: the Jesse tree equating royal genealogy with that of Christ had been used at the welcome for Henry VI on his return from Paris in 1432. A more recent, feminist view is that the symbolism is essentially Marian, and to be associated with Margaret both as queen and mother of the heir rather than Henry himself. The theme is shared sovereignty, with Margaret equal to her husband and son. Ideal kingship was symbolised by the presence of Edward the Confessor, but Margaret was the person to whom the speeches were specifically addressed and she, not Henry, was seen as the saviour of the house of Lancaster. This reading tips the balance too far the other way: the tableau of Edward the Confessor and St. John was a direct reference to the legend of the Ring and the Pilgrim, one of Henry III’s favourite stories, which was illustrated in Westminster Abbey, several of his houses, and in manuscript. It symbolised royal largesse, and its message at Coventry would certainly have encompassed the reigning king. Again, the presence of allegorical figures, first used for Henry, seems to acknowledge his presence. Yet, while the message of the Coventry pageants was directed at contemporary events it emphasised Margaret’s motherhood and duties as queen; and it was expressed as a traditional spiritual journey from the Old Testament, via the incarnation represented by the cross, to the final triumph over evil, with the help of the Virgin, allegory, and the Worthies. The only true thematic innovation was the commentary by the prophets.

[...] The messages of the pageants firmly reminded the royal women of their place as mothers and mediators, honoured but subordinate. Yet, if passive, these young women were not without significance. It is clear from the pageantry of 1392 and 1426 in London and 1456 in Coventry that when a crisis needed to be resolved, the queen (or regent’s wife) was accorded extra recognition. Her duty as mediator—or the good aspect of a misdirected man—suddenly became more than a pious wish. At Coventry, Margaret of Anjou was even presented as the rock upon which the monarchy rested. [However,] a crisis had to be sensed in order to provoke such emphasis [...]."

-Nicola Coldstream, "Roles of Women in Late Medieval Civic Pageantry," "Reassessing the Roles of Women as 'Makers' of Medieval Art and Culture"

#historicwomendaily #margaret of anjou #my post #henry vi #yeah I don't necessarily agree with Laynesmith's interpretation (that it was essentially Marian with an emphasis on shared sovereignty)#which she herself says is 'admittedly very speculative'#as this book points out that interpretation tips the balance too far on the other side and has a somewhat selective reading #It's also important to remember that this interpretation was not really reflected across wider Lancastrian propaganda at the time #which isn't really talked about - let alone emphasized - as much by historians but remained focused on the King #For example: look at the pro-Lancastrian poem 'The Ship of State' which hails Henry VI as a 'noble shyp made of good tree'#and emphasizes how he was widely supported and defended by many great Lancastrian lords and the crown prince #but not Margaret who was entirely absent #also look at the book 'Knyghthode and Bataile' (presented to Henry) and Fortescue's various pro-Lancastrian texts in the 1460s #even the recording of that Yorkist trial which was iirc reported in the 1459 attainder #all of these were entirely conventional and highlighted the presence and importance of the King. Margaret was not emphasized.#so either the Lancastrians were impossibly inconsistent about what message they actually wanted to convey about the role of their own queen #or the Coventry pageants were not actually meant to emphasize Margaret in the lieu of Laynesmith's interpretation #and would not have been viewed in such a manner by contemporaries #I think we should also keep in mind that we don't really know what Henry VI's condition was like at the time of MoA's entry to Coventry #we know he had been injured in St. Albans and had only just recovered from his second illness #this is especially important to consider since we know he had also arrived at Coventry before Margaret but much more discreetly #and was not welcomed by any pageants that we know of. This is VERY unusual and can be best explained if we consider the fact that he #may have simply not been in the right state (be it physical or state of mind) for it at the time #in which case the pageants for Margaret should be viewed as more of a improvisation/cover-up/temporary measure to bolster prestige #or Henry may have deliberately taken a more discreet role to emphasize the position of his heir - especially important after the long wait #imo I think Kipling's interpretation (ie: that they addressed Margaret but really referenced the prince & heir) makes a lot more sense:#'Coventry [...] regarded Margaret's entry as a kind of triumph-by-proxy: the Queen entered the city but Coventry received its Prince'#though I think he tends to view Margaret as more of a cipher (and has a very questionable view of Henry VI) which I also don't agree with.#The pageants very much DID focus on and reference her but they most prominently emphasized her 'motherhood and duties as queen'#ie: I think Kipling and Laynesmith tip too far on opposite sides and I think this interpretation takes the most realistic middle ground

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m4rcyonstation · 18 days

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an ai looks into the night sky

it sees a black plane

sprinkled with white dots

they are known as stars

every night, they stay in the same place

but when it moves to another town

some parts look familiar

yet ever so slightly different

predictably so, though

soon enough, it knows where every dot is

and where every dot would be

at any given place

and any given time

a human walks up to the ai

"Don't the stars look so beautiful tonight?"

the stars? they are the same as ever

"Don't you see it?"

see what?

"The bear."

#marcyonstation #196 #ai discourse #art #idk how to tag #maybe the ai now knows there can be bears.#and crabs and twins and scorpions and whatever the fucj else goes on there too #but it would never have even considered it without being prompted by a human #and it never would have been there #like how it knows a sunset can give humans feelings of warmth #comfort and even melancholy #maybe it even knows how humans show that to other humans #but its never been there #and thats why its square #poetry #poem #the bear #THE BEAR IS COMING

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noranezu · 4 months

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i found a thing i wrote the day i realized i wasn't human, like it's cringe and definitely not how i would write now but i thought it was pretty cool that little me thought to write about that realization

dude younger me was so cringe and emo, i'd def push them into a locker if they started spewing this to me ngl 💀

To The Stray Dogs

They live, they feed, they die

What a simple life I one day wish to live

To have the rush of adrenaline that simply surviving gives

But until then I live chained down

Bound with money and greed

They run through alleys and forest alike, their home

They protect one another with their lives, their pack

They still know how to live by themselves and that is beauty

But humans are selfish, the believe that they need to be chained down

We stripped them of their instincts

Replacing them with meaningless tricks, to sit, to speak, to beg

We made them dogs

Hunters, runners, fighters, no matter the job they are still trapped

But not the strays

The strays don't wait for humans to tell them when to eat

The strays don't need to do a trick to be fed, they simply eat

The strays are the lucky ones

Forever wild at heart, the strays are truly lucky to not be bound

No chains, no collars, no money, no greed

Just plain living

But in the end I am simply a house mutt

Forced to sit to get food

Chained up at night

Told to fetch, and to drop it

So I wait by my chain for the night I feel the weight around my neck disappears

The night I can join my stray comrades in the alleys and the forest

The night I can eat without having to sit

The night I am free

The night I become a stray dog too

#alterhuman #otherkin #therian #dogkin #old poem #can this even be considered a poem #this is cringy #yikes young me #try again next time

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flickeringflame216 · 3 months

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.

#feel *so* pretentious using a line from one of my own poems in my tumblr bio #but consider it fits the Themes and also. i can do whatever i want

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cluster-b-culture-is · 1 year

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BPD culture is feeling like violets are growing from your knees, like clovers are sprouting in your lungs, like dandelions are blooming around your nails. i want to be pretty, and nice, and smart and kind and funny and thoughtful and worthwhile and enough! but i’m just a weed!

i’m just a weed

.

#cluster b culture is #bpd culture is #cluster b #bpd #Mod Reef #anonymous #violets are part of one verse of one of the most famous love poems (roses are red / violets are blue / sugar is sweet / and so are you)#clovers (particularly four+ leaf clovers) are popular good luck charms #dandelion leaves can be used in salads and all parts of the plant have historically been used in medicine (esp. in northern hemisphere)#and if you blow dandelion fuzzies away when they get to puffball stage then you get to make a wish #and not to mention. ''weeds'' are considered weeds because they're hardy plants that ''ruin'' the look of a nicely manicured lawn #but they're also part of the first steps in natural regrowth of plains and forests and other such grassy/woodsy habitats #being a weed doesn't altogether have to be a bad thing

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dust-to-dustier · 6 months

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Sat in a cathedral for an hour yesterday. Wasn't fun but the building was beautiful. Anyway here's one of my longest poems:

(Forewarning: uhhh... it's set in a Cathedral? So religion and religious guilt the whole way through)

ENTRYWAY TO HEAVEN:

The sign on the door

Claims it is the

“Entryway to heaven”.

So I enter, a non-believer

(It is how I will leave)

Fuelled by respect to the dedication

Of generations who walked these halls-

This building is their Heaven,

So I sit as they sing

And know I am excluded from them

In my disbelief.

They pass me a candle

My hands are warm.

(It bends under my fingers.

My grip is too tight.

It snaps, just a little.

They do not see.)

When we sing,

Their great building-

Their “Heaven”-

Echoes with the voices of hundreds

Yet still it feels empty to me.

So many can sing here

But nothing will fill this great space,

For the glory of the building

Far outshines their Lord in my eyes.

They preach,

Their words are shining and meaningless,

Full of dedication and fervour I cannot share-

I grip my candle a little more.

A man comes along with a lighter-

His robes denote this Heaven as his home,

And the little fire starter looks strange

In his “holy hands”.

My grandfather lights my candle,

And we sit together,

A little bubble of cynicism and heresy.

Now all is aglow in little flames,

Each person holds their own light

And together we sing songs

Which feel wrong to me-

I do not share the care of the choir boy,

The dedication of priest,

The belief of the bishop-

And in this “Heaven”

I feel it is seen.

I stand in “The Home of the Lord”,

Clutching my broken candle,

And I pretend.

Sing like I believe, just a little while,

Just for now,

Whilst this little flame burns in my hands.

Sing like I cannot feel the eyes,

Sing like I have not long turned my back,

Sing like here is my Heaven too.

The candle melts away slowly-

So too does my patience,

Ticking away slowly in this meaningless place,

And I stare as it burns

The words of the speakers meaning nothing

In the face of this precious light,

Little fire blown by a breeze I cannot see,

Reaching towards me,

Flickering gently,

Enthralling.

Peace is found in this Heaven,

Shelter and relief from the deceit

Of my facade.

Burning blue becomes bright orange,

Static but moving.

In this Heaven,

This work of art,

This building that houses history,

I care for nothing more than this candle.

But we are singing again,

And more do I praise a child born

Far too long ago for me to understand

The dedication of the people around me-

Something in me

Aches for their strength of belief,

Their faith,

Which seems to shield them from so much,

But it is not mine to have,

And so I leave it to others

With fires in their hearts

Stronger than mine-

My incomprehension distracts

From the fact

That the candle has gone out.

I sit with burnt wick and melted wax

In a Heaven that is not mine

And I tremble,

Isolated in a crowd

Singing for a man who may have once walked

In some other great Heaven-

But not this one,

Where I sing his name and praises

With sorrow of someone who cannot believe

Not now.

And so I sing and I shake and I ache

And I sit alone in this crowd,

With burnt wick and broken, melted candle,

Aware of how empty this Heaven seems

For all that it is full.

And they are still talking,

Preaching, praying,

Teaching their lessons and telling their tales,

Like their words can hold value

(And they do but not to me,

Never to me,

No longer)

Like their words mean something here.

But the candle has gone out

And they are talking no longer-

An instrument plays alone

In this full and empty Heaven

(A Heaven that is not mine,

Can never be mine)

And I weep here.

The instrument plays-

slightly off,

Out of tune-

Or perhaps it sounds wrong

Because it is not played for me-

It is played for the people who belong

And this is not my Heaven,

And even the music tells me this,

The tunes mock me,

As I sit alone and fight away the tears-

That for which I weep

Deserves better locations for my grief

Than this Heaven where all I do is lie.

And we are singing again,

And the music sounds right again

For this is not my Heaven

But this music was once home,

But I am still grieving

For all that is and never was and can never be

For that which will never see this Heaven

And never wants nor needs to,

But I am far from here now,

And every lyric is meaningless

As desperation clings to me-

The injustice of it all,

Fuelled by this empty, empty, empty Heaven

Where the singing holds the power of so many

Yet means less than the voices of the few

Who hold my heart in tender grips now.

I am not holding my broken candle

And they are talking again-

They are so grateful to be here,

To share their love in this great Heaven

Where others have done the same

For generations-

Outlier as I am,

I sit and the sorrow of these stranger’s injustices,

Their burdens and fears

Adds to my own.

The sign on the door said

It is the “entryway to Heaven”

And I have never wished more it was that easy

But we sing our final song

Voices echoing with the hollowness

Of people who don’t really mean it-

But I know it is just me,

Choking on tears for matters distant from here.

And the organ plays as my heart twists

And we file out

And I leave,

A non-believer,

Exiting the Heaven that will never be mine.

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tasavvur-e-jaana · 10 months

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Chand panne aur wo

Badi der se jhaank rahi thi, Woh kitaabein dur hi se taak rahi thi. Woh jo unhe karme mein sajaaya karta tha, Woh jo unhe seene se laga kar soya karta tha, Uski yaadon mein apne din naap rahi thi… Badi der se jhaank rahi thi…

Wo jo gulaab ki paati chhupaya karta tha, Baar baar ek hi ghazal padh muskuraya karta tha, Wo jo apne yaar ke liye nazmein chunta, Wo jo apne dildaar ke liye harf-e-moti bunta, Un unglion ki muntazir woh kaanp rahi thi… Badi der se…

Ab wo nahi, na uska ishq hai, Panne ab nau-rason se muktalif hain. Har aahat pe usi ki aas hai, Har saheefe mein usi ka ehsaas hai, Pehle panne ki sukhi syaahi use hi jaap rahi thi. Badi der se…

Badi der se jhaank rahi thi, Wo kitaabein dur hi se taank rahi thi.

#doodles poems #original poem #spilled ink #urdu poetry #rrr poems #can be considered a standalone too #rrr #urdublr #yes i love ram's books

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calliemity · 6 months

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OH MY GOD the egg poem made me feel physically ill that was so demonic are you serious??/?/?/ you are incredible. Write more plzzzz. What the fuck

oh my god hi?@?@??@? i have a lot of poetry in my backlog i could post if people would be interested! im also glad people reacted so well to my egg poem, i think people saw a lot of different meanings in it which i find beautiful and fascinating. i wrote it while trying to process and come to terms with my own..... personal tastes, so to say, and each section of the poem represents the different mindsets i get into when introspecting. but either way i really enjoy the reactions ive gotten to it!!!

sorry i used this as an excuse to rambles, oopsies! if people show interest ill post some of my other poetry ive written already. i also have a lot already available on an instagram account called "calliopes.pen"!!!

#thinkin about that one person who tagged my poem as being about william and michael afton #considering my intentions while writing it was a Bit awkward on my end #but im glad my writing can appeal to a variety of views

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