letting it linger today. a lot
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It has been two hours and I’m still not over Inconsolable Differences.
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Ok so bear with me
It’s really late at night but I wrote a poem because I was missing what home feels like so here you go.
There’s no place like home
A home you build
A home beyond the trees
For the home that you find
Is the one so divine
Oh darling, there’s a home for us
We’ll build it
We’ll find it
We’ll find a way
For there is a home like no other
There’s a home on the other side
Of the darkest tree line
Of every cloudy day
There’s a home
Where we can go
It’s the home that we’ve built together
We fought for it
Died for it
Paid the full price
And now it’s ours forever
A place for our hearts
With nothing quite like it
This home is ours forever
And so darling stay
And come on inside
Our home welcomes you
And dear, so do I
My heart in this home
Is waiting for you
So darling, my darling, make it your home to
Did you die for it?
Find it?
Follow me here?
It’s our home, together
From joint blood, sweat, and tears
It’s our place, our place
A home like no other
A home where our hearts lay forever
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benthic angel
was writing about lake sturgeon for a class assignment and showed one of my friends what i'd written.. he then sent part of it back to me with line breaks to turn it into a poem! i just had to draw something for it :]
poem text under the readmore:
lake sturgeon don't know
that they're endangered. They don't know
anything - other than the muck
at the bottom
of the water column
and the occasional passing
touch of another.
really touched by how my friend turned my technical writing into poetry. i haven't tried to write creatively in months, so it's nice to see i've still got it- and nicer still that i could get so inspired by my friend, since i haven't made nature art in a little while, either :>!!
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his handprint may be burned into your skin but it's still the gentlest touch you've ever received.
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I think there’s something so deeply and intimately and morbidly true about The Last of Us’s primary thesis which is that humanity’s fatal flaw, in that very Shakespearian way, is that we are destined to care too much about one another so much so that we discard the collective entirely. like we have such a capacity to love the human race and humanity as a whole, to grow our communities and govern cities how we know best and foster such connection with the masses which we are part of, but it’s overtaken by our capacity to love even just a single other person. like one human can come into your life that creates such an intrinsic and passionate love in you— or maybe two people or a family’s worth or any small number— and you suddenly would burn entire villages down just to keep them safe.
joel doesn’t blink twice murdering to find ellie. he doesn’t look back when he decides to do what he does at the hospital later on. he has no remorse about any of it it, because this one girl has grown to mean more to him than any possible greater good could ever mean. and it’s reciprocal. ellie would— and does— do anything she can to help him, save him, protect him, and, eventually, to avenge him. because that’s what you do when you love someone. not when you love people. when you love someone.
and it’s selfish, in a way??? because we love these people and would do so much for them because they mean more to us than other strangers do. it’s exactly like an iteration of the trolley problem, actually. one track has your daughter on it and one track has fifty people. don’t even try telling me you wouldn’t go onto track B if it meant saving your daughter and her puppy dog eyes from the whimpering and pain and fear. The Last of Us says yes, you would. I would. we all would. and like yeah that is our greatest weakness, that we have such a unique ability to love a handful of people so deeply that our compassion towards community and strangers and the bigger collective starts to slip from view. but goddamn what a fucking great fatal flaw it is to have. we are all going to die and the world will burn because we loved another person too much.
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“Icarus.”
it's all about freedom really
Credit goes to An Sifakah for the poem. Enjoy!
Support me on Ko-fi maybe?
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An Invitation
What I want to say is
I like your face,
I think about
your hands on me,
but I don’t say this
aloud,
and yet everything
about me is an invitation,
an open door,
a conjuring of clothes
on a bedroom floor,
and I’m not sure who
will make the first move,
only that one of us will,
and it feels like a song
I once knew
but forgot, you feel like a song
I once knew,
come closer,
let me sing it back to you.
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The bloodied moon cried for you, but you only heard the stars
The weeping moon then bled for you, but you only saw her scars
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I’m not the person you left behind anymore. There’s no one here to miss.
Iain Thomas // I Wrote This For You
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The sun is your halo, for it is always above you.
Arthur and Weetabix 𑁦𐂂𑁦 Scarlett Meadows
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goodnight carbonized bread loaf
goodnight kitchen pan
goodnight plaster cast
of a terrified praying man
goodnight temple of isis
goodnight pots made of clay
goodnight graffiti of gladiators
and goodnight pompeii
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The idea that uni protesters are "elitist ivy-league rich kids larping as revolutionaries" on Twitter and Reddit and even here is so fucking funny to me if you actually know anything about the student bodies at these unis. Take it from someone who's going to one of the biggest private unis in the US, 80% of the peers I know are either from the suburbs or an apartment somewhere in America, children of immigrants, or here on a student visa. I've heard about one-percenter students, but I've never met one in person. Like, don't get me wrong, the institution as a whole is still very privileged and white. I've talked with friends and classmates about feeling weird or dissonant being here and coming from such a different background. But in my art program, I see BIPOC, disabled, queer, lower-income students and faculty trying to deconstruct and tear that down and make space every day. So to take a cursory glance at a crowd of student protesters in coalitions that are led by BIPOC & 1st/2nd-gen immigrant students and HQ'd in ethnic housings and student organizations and say, "ah. children of the elite." Get real.
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i think it’s important everyone knows about the little roman girl who died at only five years and seven months old, and her grave reads "dum vixi, lusi" or "while i lived, i played"
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To a friend I never met
I know this might seem like a place of death
And maybe it’s true
Shelves lined with remnants of a time
Not just forgotten, but before memory
There is sadness here too
Every fossil is a miracle and a tragedy in one
But how can this place hold only sadness when you are here with me?
Your form is scattered
Tumbled by the tides of the earth
I will find its parts
Your hands are bare
Stripped of strength and power
I will hold them gently
Your bones are brittle
Broken by unthinkable age
I will make them whole
Your story is hidden
Stifled by rock and clay
I will make it seen
I could not be there
To love you in your time
I will love you in mine
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