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dobaara · 2 years

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god is countable and braids my hair at 11:30 pm every night. 08/08. S.R.

transcript under the cut:-

god is countable and braids my hair at 11:30 pm every night

I

My mother braids my hair every night, weaving purity and flowers of jasmine into it. She twists and pulls and eats up my reminders for her to be gentle. I lick the desperation off my fingers, mixed with the chilly curry made for dinner. It spreads like poison (an old friend), one which saunters into my bloodstream and makes love to the blood cells. The sun withdraws her rays from my face only for the moon to throw out beams upon everything, I want to be loved the way the moon loves each brick.

II

I speak to god and I grieve and wail at him about what I want.

I WANT NOTHING MORE THAN FOR THEM TO LOVE ME. I WANT NOTHING MORE THAN FOR YOU TO LOVE ME.

god is now a countable noun. He resides in my closet, seated on a black shirt of mine which says "I think about you sometimes" and during the nights at 11:30, he braids my hair on the days when my mum sleeps early. God follows the woman and weaves flowers of jasmine, this time interweaving the desperation ("I do not want it to be mine" I say. "You have no other choice" says god) and weaves it into my body. With god by my side, I think I am helpless now.

III

Since childhood, I have wanted to be loved, in a way where flowers bloom from my ribs to my fingertips (I hope they were jasmines). With each petal clasping a suppressed trait of mine that would erupt in full bloom the moment I am completely loved. There is so much of everyone in me that I hold my heart in my hands and teach it and god on how to love. Even when I am distant from being loved by everyone. At night, the person from the mirror sits by my bed. She speaks of being loved and held, one where her face is not struck with blood when she asks for it. She loves me more than I love her. She flees me with a tight hug and a promise to wait for the swaying trees to fall on my side. I walk with god behind me and with one craving. I want to be wanted more than anything in the world.

-S.R.

#so this is...something #i'd love to hear your thoughts on this!!#my writings #my poems #napowrimo #napowrimo 2022 #poetscommunity #writerscommunity #spilled ink #dark academia aesthetic #litblr #writeblr #poetblr

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salovie · 2 years

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This stretch of road is too familiar.

It wakes a longing in my soul, like a

never recovered lover could discover

against all odds their darling lives;

their future no longer ruined, peace and joy could be again—

like they might turn and run on buckling knees into embrace,

so this nostalgia grips my heart

and reaches out to stroke my face.

#poetry #rhymes #Homeric simile #NaPoWriMo #NaPoWriMo 2022 #prompt: write a poem that contains a Homeric (aka epic) simile #which is basically a simile that takes shape over multiple lines… anyway here’s my attempt!

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semicolonsoliloquy · 2 years

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consider what the maggot wants

It is spring again

and the snow has turned green

and the mouse of your heart

with its long red tail

longs to scurry out your chest

to eat crumbs of star,

and, if not the moon,

then your delicious head-cheese brain.

.

And you are a cat

carcass, lily petals

between your teeth,

maggots in your death-fragrant

esophagus,

and you feel like such a fool.

.

You wanted something beautiful,

and the want made you ugly,

and now you are nothing but worms

squirming about your skeleton.

.

The mouse, still in the darkness of your body,

has no idea anything went wrong.

It’s still thinking of bouquets

and charcuterie boards and love

when you, the maggot, slip through its eye.

#poets on tumblr #spilled ink #original writing #napowrimo #napowrimo22 #napowrimo 2022 #day 29 #animal death #maggots

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pattricias · 2 years

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convenience store icarus

you think this is where you belong, between the lines of tile and fluorescent lights between the aisles of sugar-high rush and sea-salt crackers and saltines you think this is where you belong wedged between discolored shelves and aluminum packaging like a tin-foil man, you fold into the space they call liminal, familiar, nostalgic– but you have never been here, foreign man, no-name stranger,…

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4lornly · 2 years

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A stray seed falls on dry dirt

The farmer sees this, but does not pick it up

Everything withers and dies these days, what's one seed amid acres of loss?

The drought continues

And so the farmer (who is no longer a farmer) sells the land to look for greener pastures in a place where there are none

Gets a job in the city and an apartment with a balcony that goes unused

Buys produce at a grocery store and swears it all tastes better fresh from the farm

But the farmer isn't sure

Maybe it was better back then, or maybe it all tastes the same

One day, the farmer has reason to return to the little hometown

A family matter, perhaps

And so the farmer (who is no longer a farmer) sees that the farm is no longer a farm

But there, by the side of the road, the stray seed has grown where it lay forgotten and now bears ripe fruit

Fruit of this seed would surely taste sweeter than anything stocked by any store

The farmer knows this, but does not pick it

Drives home, instead, to the apartment in the city

But the next day the farmer (who was always and never a farmer) goes out to the balcony with a pot of soil and a seed

--stray seed // 4lornly

#poetry #napowrimo 2022 #napowrimo #writerscreed #poeticstories #poets on tumblr #spilled ink #idk what to call this style of writing #fable #flash fiction #my poetry #mine

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sunriseantebellum · 2 years

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“a cento for richard siken’s ‘crush’”

I.

look at the light through the windowpane. we know how the light works, we know where the sound is coming from. the radio aches a little tune that tells the story of what the night is thinking. it’s thinking of love. tonight you’re thinking of cities under crowns of snow and I stare at you like I’m looking through a window, counting birds, night spilling over them like clumsy hands in a dark room.

II.

the light is no mystery, the mystery is that there is something to keep the light from passing through. your world doesn’t make sense. the one person in the world who loves you isn’t the one you thought it would be, the orange juice and toast of it. in the dream I don’t tell anyone, four dreams in a row: a sudden glow.

III.

imagine this: you’re pulling the car over. somebody’s waiting. make a wish. make something happen. there is the road, and there is the story of where the road goes. it’s night. it’s noon. he’s driving. he reaches over and he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist, and everything’s okay. close your eyes.

— j.a.

escapril day 30: it’s getting dark

#jade writes #escapril #escapril 2022 #napowrimo #napowrimo 2022 #glopowrimo #glopowrimo 2022 #poem #poetry #spilled ink #cento #found poem #richard siken #siken #crush #richard siken crush #crush by richard siken

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aielylois · 2 years

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stay human

Must one really talk to humans to stay human? Is it not enough to watch life pass by and ride on the eddies of its momentum to spin the next tale?

Must one always try to be good to stay human? Is it not enough to wake up every day just to see the sun only to close the shutters and wait for the stars to come out?

Must one always create to stay human? Is it not enough that one learns not to step on cracks not to make a sound not to take up space because to do so would create a problem and then you'd be less human and more problem- wouldn't you?

Must one always strive for reclamation, a proclamation, a cry in the night to prove the echo has substance in order to stay human? Is it not enough to cling to the trellis grow on the walls hold on to everything you come across just to pass the time?

Must one always crave intimacy to stay human? Is it not enough that one becomes the eyes in the dark blinking slowly in time with one's breathing even if there is no one to watch?

Must one remember to stay human? Is it not enough that one has déjà vu for a life that was never theirs?

Tell me: how do you stay human when you feel like a ghost haunting your own body?

-ylm

Prompts: trying to be good + act of creation + intimacy -Escapril on ig // reclamation + espalier + eyes in the dark - @nosebleedclub // déjà vu - bynicoleting on ig

#napowrimo #napowrimo 2022 #haunting #haunted #2022 poetry #escapril #poemsbyylois

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asthadwivedi · 2 years

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And then the thunder said

You've been selling words

Saying that you own them

"Pick whatever you like:

The trending ones are four lettered

Here's the top choice - LOVE

You can use it in place of illusion

The second ones is solid red - LUST

Well, you can use it in place of love

Or maybe just buy - LIES

That can be proxy to both

We also have HOPE, HATE, HELL

Which will stay with you like stains

No matter how many times you wash

Take a handful of BRAVE and SORRY

They come in pair and will cost you five

Although when you see me measuring

You might think that the scale is broken

But it's just that the latter one

Has been used too many times

To be able to weigh the same

And hey, before you go

Don't forget the GOODs

and the BYEs

They also come in pair

But no body knows why"

Yesterday night it rained,

And now your store is a Holi aftermath

All shades of polish washed away

Into a pool of almost beautiful pallete

You see, you kinda overdid it

And now you can't separate the whites (lies)

You pick up the bare words like pebbles

Laying done and naked on river bed after floods

And I'd like to see you getting ripped off

Of the tainted money, back to rags

Haven't you heard, honey?

Words and misery spread like wildfire

Especially when stirred together.

Everyone is asking for refund.

But why are you so surprised finding me

Being the first standing in front of a long queue

#poem #writers #writerscreed #poetry #poets on tumblr #spilled thoughts #spilled words #spilled ink #writing #spilled poetry #napowrimo 2022 #napowrimo

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cherry-whining · 2 years

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Day Eighteen; "Hometown Blues"

#writing #writer #poet #poetry #my poetry #poem #writeblr #napowrimo #napowrimo 2022 #original poetry #poets of tumblr #spilled poetry #spilled ink #poets on tumblr

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cruentaquevivere · 2 years

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Worthy

You are worth more

than words scribbled on a page,

no matter how good

or valuable those words may be.

You are worth more

than the grades that you receive

or the amount of work you put in

to completing anything.

You are worth more

than the adjectives others use

to describe who you are

or how they see you.

You are worth more

than the expectations placed

heavily upon your shoulders

and locked there with chains.

You are worth more

than how you see yourself,

than the fractures you believe

are your soul’s summary.

You are worth more

than your past mistakes

or even successes

or really any action.

You are worth more

than the number of friends you have,

than the number of contacts listed,

than how well you’re known.

You are worth more

than I could ever say

because you simply exist

and have value that’s infinite.

28 April 2022

#national poetry month #napowrimo 2022 #napowrimo #poets on tumblr #poetry #my poem

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enzymedevice · 2 years

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NaPoWriMo 2022 Day 29 - malice

the grey wall stares back

as not quite an abyss

but a mirror of

how i'm perceived by

my blisters

and how many charities

they’ve seen me cherish

then repeal

there is a carseat

abandoned in grass

at the corner house

blasted by road dirt

and years with

no children

i breathe in grey air

and it swills in

my mouth

like a sandstorm

but tiny

and all-permeating

#my poetry #napowrimo #napowrimo 2022 #poets on tumblr #spilled poetry #poetry #free verse

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dobaara · 2 years

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my anger and loneliness are lovers. 08/24. S.R.

napowrimo day 24 using @mercuriian's prompts (x): a poem about something you can't do

transcript under the cut:-

my anger and loneliness are lovers

I

The bodies on the olive branch writhe. The leaves fall one by one when I cut the tongue of Nemesis. A clean swoop, a bloodied strike. It falls to the floor writhing like the fishes I caught yesterday to eat. It whispers to me, secrets that are not secrets anymore. What is the point of the world when it is not hidden anymore?

I find myself in a cracked mirror each night. From a world where every heart is a stab wound, some with the knives still buried in them. It scorches my skin when I try to pull them out. The knives find a home in my hand, I find a home in the edge.

Let me be clear: every version of this story ends with rage licking my body all over before slaughtering me by feeding me ignorance.

II

My anger and loneliness are lovers. They stroll the gardens hand in hand and each kiss of theirs turns my world to dust. My loneliness throws a fit of rage each night if they do not get to sleep on either side of me. When they get married, I can do nothing but sob and stare at the sparkle each knife has. There is no fire to extinguish this wounded rage.

When I was seven, my father taught me to make a fist. He taught me to make a fist when I was seven and I carry those punches in a sack that chars my hands. And my anger is all early apologies as it throws me to the ground, tears it apart, and feasts on them like a servant of hades.

III

I cannot let them go. While anger and loneliness wander off for their sojourn of the world, I feel alone without them like a picture in a stained glass window. Immovable and longing for someone to see them and not look.

I get down on my knees and pray at a shattered altar. I pray my anger is enough to die out. I pray that my loneliness dies with it too, two lovers in a locked embrace, reunited by demise. I pray the enemy (hope) is strong enough to stop me. I twist the serpent and bee in a reunion of mayhem. I do not wish for them to leave. I would be all alone then. I do not want to be alone. I do not want to let them go…

Forgive me, I have eaten up all the anger from the store-bought box. I think I should buy one more in another flavour.

— S.R.

#my writings #my poems #napowrimo #napowrimo 2022 #napowrimo 2022 day 24 #poetscommunity #writerscommunity #poems on tumblr #poets on tumblr #writers on tumblr #poetblr #litblr #writeblr #spilled ink #spilled thoughts #spilled words #spilled poems

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salovie · 2 years

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she was born to run—

strides like a shooting star and

monsters at her back

#poetry #haiku #senryu #NaPoWriMo #napowrimo 2022 #prompt: write a poem that explores a gift you received at birth and a curse you’ve lived with #this poem started with that inspiration and then I took a turn and made it cooler than my actual life lol

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semicolonsoliloquy · 2 years

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Slobbermouth black clam-pearl snout

soft fur from forehead to wiggle-waggle.

Bonethin tip-tap fourpaws. Popcorn butter

skin, sniff sniff. Up-down silk triangles

headside, tell you the wolflike

no matter how yellowfangs, size of rabbit

or bear. Scoops of eyes coffee jelly

or melon, shining akin to tears or teeth.

#poets on tumblr #spilled ink #original writing #short poem #napowrimo #napowrimo22 #napowrimo 2022 #day 27

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pattricias · 2 years

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the value of saying no

I want to learn the meaning of no I want to taste it, become it I want to say it–again? No, I want to say it Single syllable I will say it You, listen to me– No. Day 9. I am twenty years too late when I realized that the most important word is “no.”

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4lornly · 2 years

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I wish I could stand in the river and let it wash me away and I wish someone would hang me on the clothesline to dry until I smell like wind and the sun has bleached me a blank slate. I want to walk through the world with all the grace and moxie of an old Hollywood star. To see the world through the lush lens of black and white. I wish my bones didn't ache and my head didn't hurt. I want to feel clear without being empty. I wish bobby pins would stay in my hair. I wish.

--bobby pins for @nosebleedclub poetry month challenge // 4lornly

#poetry #napowrimo 2022 #napowrimo #spilled ink #poets on tumblr #prose poetry #my poetry #mine

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