#shane koyczan and the short story long
Text
"If you ever want to know how it feels to be saved,
Just let someone save you.
Let someone rescue the smile drowning inside you,
It's not too late, I swear."
- Shane Koyczan
19 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Star Who Listened [Azriel x Reader]
My little contribution to @starfallweek 2024 ✨
Prompt: Character A is a fallen star, Character B finds them
Note: Angst with a happy ending. This prompt immediately reminded me of this quote from a very beautiful but heart wrenching spoken word poem about the power of friendship and of friends who dream together. Happy Starfall Week!
“You kept a rock on a satin pillow on your bookshelf and told me ‘It’s a star.’ You said you found in a junkyard. And it had been broken down for quite some time because too many people wished on it, and that’s a lot of pressure for one little star.” Shane Koyczan and the Short Story Long, For Instance
There was no telling how long he had lain there. Long enough that the ground had given way to valleys and mountains, snow and grass, fire and rain. Long enough that the wind and the moon cooled his skin, warped from the burnout. Long enough that the bones that cracked on impact hardened in the same position they had come to rest. Long enough that he learned all of the parallels of nature.
First he learned the way the ground vibrates during an earthquake is almost indiscernible from the thundering of hooves and feet as armored men trample over him. His tears flow into the rivulets of blood from fallen warriors, which flow into the river that rages through the carrion. He wants to wash away with it.
Then he learned how the earth would split and crack and flow bright and hot, creeping across the ground like candlewax. It looks like his beautiful, ruined hands. He remembers the skin dripping off of bone when he could no longer hold the burning dreams they piled into his arms. So bright, and so beautiful, but so heavy.
Then he learned how the air would hang heavy before the sky cracks open. It reminds him of the weight that hung around his shoulders in the moments before he tumbled from the sky. Feels the despair, the failure in being unable to remain afloat. He waits for Hera’s wrath for his forsaking of Astraea.
Azriel could’ve recounted all the lessons he learned in all the hundreds of years he’d lain there. Could’ve stopped someone to tell his story, to beg pity or forgiveness, or simply for a listening ear. But how could he have proven his tale?
Who would believe that a small, rough-edged, unassuming rock was actually a fallen star?
How could he even begin to explain the thousands of dreams he had forsaken when he fell? He had seen some of those dreams dashed personally. Had seen the men whose safety had been prayed for fall screaming on their swords. Had seen a woman who wanted nothing more than a child bury seven silent born at the riverbed. Had seen the children who dreamed of their prince or princess and were instead sold into marriage beds with monsters and carted away from their homes.
So he could not move, he could not speak. He could only relive his failure and all the lessons he’d learned from it. Lessons he would never get to use. Lessons that meant nothing to anyone, because lessons don’t mean as much as dreams do.
Rocks don’t mean as much as stars.
But to you they do.
You, who look to the stars to guide you. But who also looks to the ground to see how far you have come. You who use rocks to mark the trail the stars take you along. You who collect the ones you find most beautiful, the ones that remind you of the stars.
You too have a gift for seeing the parallels in nature.
And yes, dreams are beautiful. But so are the lessons we learn when they do and don’t come true.
And so, this is how he finds himself in your pocket, after so many years in the dust. After so many years on the cold ground. The wool of your skirt is warm and soft, and it cushions Azriel’s hardened heart.
The next thing he knows he is resting on a satin pillow, high on a shelf in your room where he can watch over this strange savior. He watches day and night. Watches as you work and write and wander by day. Watches as you dream by night.
He wishes you had left him on the ground. He is stricken and terrified to be so close to another’s dreams, even as his very essence cries out to caress them. It is worse agony than he ever faced. At least before didn’t have to be so close to the humans who once depended on him.
He feels perverted because you haven’t even entrusted him with your dreams and here he is fantasizing about them. Prostrate before you trying to hold himself back, because he cannot warp your dreams with his horrible hands. Cannot bear the responsibility of ruining even one more dream. No matter how large or small.
He doesn’t even know why he is there. Why you plucked him out of his quiet obscurity and forced him to endure this proximity to such a vociferous dreamer. He loves and hates it in equal measure. Loves and hates you in equal measure.
And then the strangest thing happens one day. You are showing a friend around your room. And your friend points to him and laughs “Why do you have that rock on that pillow?” and Azriel would blush if he wasn’t a rock. But you smile knowingly and say “That’s not a rock, it’s a star I found. It fell from the sky when too many people piled their wishes onto it. Too much pressure for anything, don’t you think?” and the friend nods understandingly.
And Azriel glows. And Azriel cracks. Because he is awash with the forgiveness of a dreamer. And he remembers the child with eyes like yours but different, the first who looked up to him and wished. The one who made him want to take as many wishes as he could carry, and then take more after that.
And when the friend is gone, you reach up onto the shelf and bring down the satin pillow. You set it on your desk, and observe the crack that that splits your star down the middle. You gingerly separate the two halves, and behold the bright blue gemstone in the center.
You smile. “Do you think the weight of one person’s dreams is bearable? I promise to leave plenty of room for your own.”
Azriel glows as brightly as he once did in the sky.
#Starfall Week 2024#acotar#azriel#fantasy#acotar fanfiction#azriel x reader#classic Azriel angst#because of course I did#angst#angst with a happy ending#night court#acotar crack
102 notes
·
View notes
Text
Been meaning to draw this for a while and will most likely never color it unless I scan it in so here. Have a AU of Owl House based on this lovely and sad poem by Shane Koyczan:
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
i would like to propose a new leah headcanon (using the knowledge that she likes both writing/poetry and music/musicians*coughfatincough*) and say that she definitely had a spoken word poetry phase
specifically for shane koyczan and his work with the short story long, hannah epperson, and dan mangan
#she totally heard 'to this day' for the first time at the age of 10 and cried for like an hour but had no real clue why#don't mind me just having thoughts about my fictional blorbos again 🥲#the wilds#leah rilke#shane koyczan#for my tags#in which i have to insert one of my old niche hyperfixations into my most recent brainrot so i don't kms#(for legal reasons that last part was a joke#i'm still in my depression era about the cancellation and i'm using humour to cope lol)#as a sidenote this has put a really great au idea into my head#leah as a spoken word poet and fatin as the cello player who accompanies her#and the music makes the poetry more powerful#i hope someone who's actually talented with writing sees this and takes inspo#no one wants ME to write that idea... just trust me on that#(#leatin#so i can find this post again if i'm super bored and have really bad leatin brainrot again)#also! there i was rewatching old shane koyczan poems on youtube and who shows up on the reccommended videos?#none other than ben fucking folds lmao#my tags once again being longer than the actual post and no one is even a little bit surprised 💀#well who even cares? i wrote this post for me :D
14 notes
·
View notes
Text
And I'm not saying I knew you better than most, but I'm pretty sure that you'd rather be alive.
My heart is bending.
I keep re-reading the ending of your life expecting a next chapter.
I expect laughter as if it was always there.
I un-expect your death hard part of me believes
I can make it not true.
12 notes
·
View notes
Note
what non-svt song(s) remind you of each member?🥰
omg I HAVE SO MANY i literally have playlists dedicated to a bunch of members KFJDHSKF for efficiency sake i'll put songs that remind me of my top 5 members ok KDJHFKHSD complete with spotify links! if anyone wants to know more feel free to send me an ask 😁
dk » to noise making (sing) - hozier
i couldn't name that feeling carried in that voice,
was it that
or just the act of making noise that brought you joy?
this song is just so genuine and has so much clarity that it makes me feel warm and fuzzy about seokmin. idk how to describe the direct relation other than watching dk sing puts these lyrics in my head.
jh » pink lemonade (feat. the attire) - AmPm
you know we both don't have time for small talk on the couch,
so i'll bite my tongue to make up so that we can make out
i don't wanna comment SHSGDHSHDG
sk » cuff it - beyonce
bet you you'll see far, bet you you'll see stars
bet you you'll elevate, bet you you'll need god
cause i feel like falling in love
okay this is mostly just because whenever i listen to a new beyonce/adele/lizzo song i'm like OOOOO I KNOW SEUNGKWAN IS GROOVING TO THIS RN LMAO
js » pulse - shane koyczan and the short story long
and i finally understand those sailors who plant their lips to the ground, i do the same to your body;
it's because you taste like home.
i listened to the album this song is from (a spoken word poet accompanied by a folk band, absolutely lovely) while writing classic. shane koyczan's work is intrinsically about joshua in my brain now.
mg » about you - bv
i'm over here vibing when i think of you smiling
suddenly i'm a mess, can't hide it
four in the morning, i should be falling asleep
but i'm falling for you instead
this song is pretty specifically about ldr so my delusional ass acts like mingyu misses me too LMAO dont judge me i also just think he'd enjoy the vibe of this song haha
5 notes
·
View notes
Text
Today's song is 'When I Was a Kid's by Shane Koyczan. One of my longtime biggest inspirations. I strive to one day have as impactful of writing.
0 notes
Text
#remember how we forgot#remember how we used to run#shattered family tree#an ember capable of starting fires#burn like you mean it#beat poetry#beat poet#heartfelt poetry#you are enough#we are here#Spotify
0 notes
Text
"Be the weed growing through the cracks in the cement, beautiful – because it doesn’t know it’s not supposed to grow there."
Instructions for a Bad Day
- Shane Koyczan
4 notes
·
View notes
Text
Music recommendation of the day:
Shut up and say something -Shane koyczan
0 notes
Text
You clearly have not listened to Shane Koyczan and the Short Story Long and it shows
0 notes
Text
Shane Koyczan and The Short Story Long - The Crickets Have Arthritis
It doesn’t matter why I was there, where the air is sterile and the sheets sting.
It doesn’t matter that I was hooked up to this thing that buzzed and beeped every time my heart leaped like a man whose faith tells him, “god’s hands are big enough to catch an airplane or a world.”
Doesn’t matter that I was curled up like a fist protesting death or that every breath was either hard labor or hard time or that I’m either always too hot or too cold.
It doesn’t matter because my hospital roommate wears Star Wars pajamas, and he’s nine years old.
His name is Louis, and I don’t have to ask what he’s got.
The bald head with the skin-and-bones frame speaks volumes.
The Game Boy and feather pillow blooms like they’re trying to make him feel at home ‘cause he’s gonna be here a while.
I manage a smile the first time I see him, and it feels like the biggest lie I’ve ever told.
So, I hold my breath ‘cause I’m thinking, any minute now, he’s gonna call me on it.
I hold my breath ‘cause I’m scared of a fifty-seven pound boy hooked to a machine because he’s been watching me.
And, maybe I’ve got him pegged all wrong, like maybe he’s bionic or some shit.
So, I look away, like I just made eye contact with a gang member who’s got a rap sheet the length of a lecture on dumb mistakes politicians have made.
I look away like he’s gonna give me my life back the minute I’ve got something to trade.
I damn near pull out my pack and say “cigarette?”
But my fear subsides in the moment I realize Louis is all about show-and-tell.
He’s got everything from a shotgun shell to a crow’s foot, and he can put them all in context.
Like:
“See, this is from a shooting range.”
And:
“See, this is from a weird girl.”
I watch his hand curl around a cuff link and a tie tack and realize that every nick-knack is a treasure and every treasure’s got a story.
And every time I think I can’t handle more, he hits me with another story.
Says, “See, this is from my father.
“See, this is from my brother.
“See, this is from that weird girl.
“See, this is from my mother.”
It took me two days to figure out that that weird girl is his sister.
Took him about two hours today after she left for him to figure out he missed her.
They visit every day and stay well passed visiting hours because, for them, that term doesn’t apply.
But when they do leave, Louis and I are left along, and he says the worst part about being sick is you get all the free ice cream you ask for.
And he says the worst part about that is realizing that there’s nothing more they can do for you.
He says, “ice cream can’t make everything okay.”
And there’s no easy way of asking, and I already know what he’s going to say, but maybe he just needs to say it, so I ask him anyway.
“Are you scared?”
Louis doesn’t even lower his voice when he says, “fuck yeah.”
I listen to a nine year old boy say the word “fuck” like he was a thirty year old man with a nosebleed being lowered into a shark tank.
He’s got a right to it, and if it takes this kid a curse word to help him get through it, I want to teach him to swear like the devil was sitting there taking notes with a pen and a pad.
But before I can forget that Louis is nine years old, he says, “please don’t tell my dad.”
He asks me if I believe in angels, and before I can realize I don’t have the heart to hell him, I tell him “not lately.”
And I just lay there waiting for him to hate me, but he doesn’t know how to so he never does.
Louis loves like a man who lived in a time before god gave religion to men and left it to them to figure out what hate was.
He never greets me with silence, only smiles and a patience I’ve never seen in someone who knows they’re dying.
And I’m trying so hard not to remind him.
I’ll be out of here in a couple of days, smoking cigarettes and taking my life for granted.
And he’ll still be planted in this bed like a flower that refuses to grow.
I’ve been with him for five days, and all I really know is Louis loves to pull feathers out of his pillow and watch them float to the ground.
Almost as if he was the philosopher inside of the scientist ready to say that it’s gravity that’s been getting us down.
But the truth is, there’s not enough miracles to go around, kid.
And there’s too many people petitioning god for the winning lotto ticket.
And for every answered prayer, there’s a cricket with arthritis.
And the only reason we can’t find answers is the search party didn’t invite us.
And, Louis, right now, the crickets have arthritis.
So there is no music, no symphony of nature, swelling to crescendos.
As if we bent halos into melodies that could keep rhythm with the way our hearts beat.
So we must meet silence with the same level of noise that the parents of dying nine year old boys make when they take liberties in talking with heaven.
We must shout until we shatter in our own vibrations, then let our lives echo and grow, echo and grow, echo and grow, grow distant.
Grow distant enough to know that, as far as our efforts go, we don’t always get a reply.
But I swear, whatever god I can find in the time I have left, I’m gonna remember you, kid.
Gonna tell your story as often as every story you told me.
And every time I tell it, I’ll say, “see, there’s bravery in this world.”
There’s six-point-five billion people curled up like fists protesting death but every breath we take has to be given back.
A nine year old boy taught me that.
So, hold your breath, the same way you’d hold a pen when writing thank you letters on your skin to every tree that gave you that breath to hold.
Then, let it go, as if you understand something about getting old and having to give back.
Let it go like a laugh attack in the middle of really good sex.
The black eye will be worth it because what is your night worth without a story to tell.
And why wield a word like “worth” if you’ve got nothing to sell.
People drop pennies down a wishing well, as if the cost of a desire is equal to that of a thought.
But if you’ve got expectations, expect others have bought your exact same dream for the price of the hard work, hang in, hold on mentality.
Like, I accept any challenge, so challenge me.
Like, I brought a knife to this gun fight, but the other night, I mugged a mountain, so bring that shit; I’ve had practice.
Louis and I cracked this world wide open and found the prize inside because we never lied to ourselves, never told ourselves it would be easy or undemanding.
So, we sing in our own vibration and dare angels to eavesdrop and stop mid-flight to pluck feathers from their wings and write demands on god’s hands.
Take the time to catch you so that, even if god doesn’t, it wasn’t because we didn’t try.
I don’t often believe in angels, but on the day I left, Louis pulled a feather from his pillow and said, “this is for you.”
I half-expected him to say, “see, this is the first one I grew.”
#Shane Koyczan#the short story long#shane koyczan and the short story long#the crickets have arthritis#spoken word#poem#poetry#words#lyrics
10 notes
·
View notes
Text
"Remember how we forgot? Remember how no one ever really died in the wars we fought. 'Cause each gun shot came from our finger tips, and we never really kept them loaded just in case."
-Shane Koyczon
#remember#remember how we forgot#shane koyczan#spoken poetry#spokenword#wordstoliveby#amazing#quotes#need to listen to this#shane koyczan and the short long story#praise this man
8 notes
·
View notes
Text
"You're like the long lost vinyl of Louis Armstrong
And I want to play you until it, until it, until it
I want to pl-, pl-, play you until it, until it ski-, until it ski-
I want to play you until it skips"
Shane Koyczan - Apology
There's no late night poetry like 2 am Koyczan.
0 notes
Last Seen Blogs
made-of-puns
you gotta make jokes to cover up all that bitterness
gameclover60-blog
The Love of Li 574
dark-audit
dark audit
clemence-seignolles
Clémence Seignolles
montreicewatchpascher-blog
montreicewatchpascher