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persephoneshellhounds · 20 days

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Eve's apples rot in the kitchen, black peel sinks further into the flesh, tainting, leaving marks of her sin until it turns into fists — rotten to the core. A young girl slowly grows up to be like her mother, peeling apples in the kitchen but they have a bad habit of turning black and rotting in the refrigerator, untouched, uneaten. a young girl slowly grows up to be like a wife — rotten to the core, tied to her core nightmare's theme.

When I started writing this poem, I thought I was writing about love but Eve's lover takes a bite of rotten apples in the kitchen and it isn't love — a heart is just the shape of a little girl's fist in captivity, just a rotten apple that I finger and toss and squeeze inside my angry fists until it bursts into a swarm of flies plaguing the air my lover breathes, like Eve's first sin — the downfall of man, an apple, now rotten, now small enough next to my fists, small enough for my precisely-cut corruption — the anger in my chest caves in on itself to tailor-fit, snuggles like a baby bear, it almost looks as soft as my grazing fingers but i know better than to trust my hands, my age, my plastic mirror saying "You are her, you are her, you are her." I am my mother's ultraviolence daydream — I leave teeth marks on your neck, like Eve licking the poison on Lilith’s neck, taking a bite at her demise, microdosing a prayer addressed to the wrong god. I am my mother’s cackling shadow — motherhood's anti-thesis — a rotten apple for fuck's sake — rotten to its infested core it's tempting to slice and lick and eat it all up — my madness, my rage, my femininity and its ironic tendency to destroy like a man don't you think? (I am beyond god’s forgiveness)

— Fray Narte, "Eve Outside of Eden" | Written November 29, 1:54 am, Revised December 27, 2023, 12:44 PM

Photo screencapped from: Ovoce Stromů Rajských Jíme (1970) // Dir. Věra Chytilová

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manicpixiedeadgirl · 2 years

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eight months

eight months.

eight months have flown by.

yet, there are still midnights where i find myself dialing your number, hoping you’d pick up. my befallen hopes get repeatedly crushed as it goes straight to voicemail.

there’s still midnights where i leave messages, short clipped ones. i tell you about a meme i saw or something a colleague has said that irked me. i tell you my favorite and my least favorite ones from the new album of the band we used to listen to. i tell you about the weather and my plans of moving away. i tell you how much i miss you. i tell you how i want us back.

and there’s midnights where i just listen to the voice on the recording, thinking how your phone must probably be on airplane mode, like how it always used to be when we were still together. when it was still me. when it was still just me.

you’ve never really been fond of calls. you were more of a message type of person. your phone’s probably on airplane mode and you probably have your arms wrapped around her right now, both of you leaning against the headboard, a thin blanket covering your bodies. a horror film's on the tv, one she picked even though horror’s not really your genre. you don’t even have to reach for your phone and keep declining, and she won’t have to keep on asking you “who was that?” and you won’t have to come up with an excuse that it was from a wrong number.

there’s still midnights where my persistence wins and i redial and redial hoping you’d pick up even just once and we’d make small talk, as if nothing happened and everything’s still normal.

there’s midnights where i hope you’d pick up and your voice would sound like steel and ice and you’d tell me to stop calling, that it’s been eight months since for fuck’s sake and that you never want to hear from me ever again.

to think about it, you never even bothered to block my number. or my social media accounts. you couldn’t even be bothered to give a decent explanation when i found out about her. when i confronted you how it happened. how you met her in the midst of us. how you ended up with her even when i was still in the picture. as if you were just waiting for me to get out of it, both of your lives. like we never even happened to begin with.

there’s still midnights when my hands shake, my phone screen blurry from tears, my head pounding from the countless shots i’ve taken. midnights where i want to ask you “how?”, how you both are alright and happy and over the moon, while here i am, still stuck and miserable, still hopelessly pining for you-it's all unfair. how you got the guts to fall for her when you claimed you loved me with your unending professions. how you were able to walk away from what we had because you decided it’s her you wanted to be with. how you didn’t even have to move on from me. how all of these, those eight months seem so easy for the both of you. the hangover the morning after’s what makes me realize i did send you the recordings.

i tried to reach you again the midnight after, but the recording said that the number i have dialed has either been disconnected or no longer in service.

i guess you have finally changed your number.

-at least i know my messages reached you.

-caela m.

#poetry #poems #smitten by poetry #poets on tumblr #new poets corner #poets elixir #poetic sighs #poets daily #poetryportal #writeundertheinfluence #spilled ink #spilled thoughts #dakota warren #poetic prose #new poets society

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thespaceinmybed · 1 year

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I only remember that I love you when I’m drunk

When the liquor goes down the throat quicker

You stop tasting it

And start feeling

Everything you

Meant not to feel

I only love you

When I’m drunk

When I’m too real

Too open

Too lost

To remember

I should not

#poems #poetsandwriters #poetry #poetrylove #poets corner #poem poetry writing #poets on tumblr #spilled poetry #spilledthoughts #prose #poets daily

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jiannaeloise · 2 years

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Poem 002

Meet me in the quiet misty morning,

In secret gardens where leaves are falling.

Kiss my hand and take me elsewhere,

Like two butterflies dancing in the air.

#jiannaeloise #jiannaeloisepoetry #jiannaeloisewrites #female writers #female poets #poetas en tumblr #poets on poetry #writers and poets #poets club #poets corner #poets daily #poems daily #poems on tumblr #original poetry #original poems #short poems #my poems

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codi-is-a-dumb-bitch · 2 years

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imagine how much happier youd be

if you didnt love someone like me.

if you didnt waste your every night

listening to me cry whilst holding me tight.

if you didnt watch me obsessively clean,

or melt down like a drama queen.

if you didnt hear me hyperfixate,

or watch me overstimulate.

if you didnt hear me sing the same 3 lines

that always rotate inside my mind.

imagine how much happier youd be

if you didnt love someone like me.

smiling at the sight of you

and clinging to the things you do.

writing you a silly love note

and hours of time to devote.

loving you just way too much

and insisting on your physical touch.

imagine how much happier youd be

if you didnt love someone like me.

is it a little? is it a lot?

would you miss me? would you not?

i know i can be tough to handle,

but, to you, no-one holds a candle.

#poetry #poem #love poem #love poetry #prose #poets daily #new poets society #spilled thoughts #spilled ink

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varunamatya · 1 year

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“ Reminiscing Poetry and Friends who Proofread”

#poem #poetry #poetry community #poets of tumblr #poets and writers #poets corner #thoughtmonger #painkiller #poetry society #poets daily #writers network #read poetry prompts #poem of the day #poetry lover #lost poet #nft poet #nft poem #poetry is not dead

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jojo-the-bird · 2 months

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It's so hard to forget pain, but it's even harder to remember sweetness. We have no scar to show for happiness. We learn so little from peace.

- Chuck Palahniuk

#spilled thoughts #lit #poets on tumblr #spilled ink #writing #literature #quote #poem #words #chuck palahniuk #peace #corecore #dark academia #spilled poetry #poem quotes #poems and poetry #spilled words #daily quotes

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jaggedjawjosh · 2 months

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You asked for my trust, then marred it with betrayal, wondering why the faith was lost.

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niddy-writes-randomly · 11 months

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June 14, wednesday : we ache in secret.

#poetry #poem #poems on tumblr #original poem #original poetry #spilled thoughts #spilled poetry #spilled ink #poets corner #poetsandwriters #daily poems

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for-flowers-sake · 7 months

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#poetry writtenword poem #original poem #writers and poets #author #daily poem #poetry #original poetry #sad poetry #female poets #poetic #spilled writing #spilled poem #spilled ink #spilled thoughts #spilled poetry #spilled words

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dreamer-but-realist · 2 months

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#life quote #quotes #life quotes #art #dailyquotes #poems #quoteoftheday #poet #power #poem #poetry #daily life #literature #quotation #fleabag

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persephoneshellhounds · 2 years

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Six of Cups

“i set my deadfall hands on fire — swallow the ashes,” i wrote and laughed as these words turned black with rot

in two months,

i am no longer inside the skin burning away vividly at the feet of the sun god. i am not a body at the crematorium with matchstick-fingers and gasoline; my bones are whole, pure, pearly, quiet white.

i have been holding my breath, waiting for the smoke to clear without choking. i no longer want to write about the flames and the embers and live-coal hearts; i put my poems down, my cigarettes and pitchfork and step into a gentler flare, and stick my tongue out to lick the sunbeams — they’re warm against my taste buds, like honeyed milk and hibiscus stews.

i am four years old once more, sleeping soundly on my mother’s lap.

— fray narte, "six of cups" || may 16, 2022, 9:10 pm

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manicpixiedeadgirl · 2 years

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so i'll press my palms above my lids,

and through the holes swear not to peek,

tap my shoes the shiny shade of red enough times,

til it's the hundredth candid of us,

imprinting our skin onto the grass-strewn field,

smiling with our sets of leftover baby teeth,

our "problems" in endless games of houses as heard from adults

things had no choice but to be right,

and we'd embody the colors of the setting sun,

grabbing at it quickly and hungrily our grubby little fingers.

-exiles of playground kingdom

-caela m.

#writerscreed #poeticstories #poetry #poems #inkstay #bits of starglow #smittenbypoetry #poetsontumblr #spilled ink #poetic sighs #poets daily #poets elixir #poetry portal #written considerations #new poets corner #writeblrcafe #writeblr

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thespaceinmybed · 1 year

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My chest is a weight I drag around

Trust is still something

I cannot see or feel or add anyone’s name to

It’s not in me

The ability to believe

It’s not broken or beaten

Or littered in my soul in bits and pieces

It’s nonexistent

Tell me what it feels like

To be so close to someone

That they can burn down your blood

That they can smell what makes you afraid

What collapses you

Every day

Tell me how

Tell me why

#poetry #writing #poem #spilledthoughts #spilled ink #poem poetry writing #writers on tumblr #writerslife #writerscommunity #poets daily #poets on tumblr #poets corner #poetsandwriters

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cascadiums · 2 years

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Jonathan Harker knocked me flat with this one. his speculation that vampirism spreads because people willingly follow their loved ones into damnation is so affecting. and it's an insight that's so uniquely him. the gothic heroine in him can see Dracula's world in a way the others seemingly can't. he can look at the situation without any concerns of rationalism, honour, god, or any other facet of Victorian society, and reach this truth: we will walk into any horror for love

#dracula daily #3 oct #this is the boy who imagined medieval ladies writing love letters in castle dracula #mina does the same thing from the other angle being willing to trade her immortal soul and choose death to keep him safe btw #but jonathan is the one to apply it as a universal truth #he has emotional intelligence in spades and the heart of a poet

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anastasiasyah · 6 months

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I want to be gentle with myself but these thoughts are violent.

— 09/28/23, anastasiasyah

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