Poets On Tumblr - Blog Posts

The Taste of Stale Ink

Ink the backbone of life. Bleeds unwritten.

Swallow back the blue

See how blotches gather under skin.

Cloying, Choking, All Engulfing

Embittered Stagnation.

a due extracted

It Was Greed That Demanded

And Fear Who Commanded

Hope is Thanks. so thank the dirt

from which

Ink and Blood came

breathe.

Be Grateful and Live.

it’s what you still have

In the far distance my father coughs weakly

And scares the cat off of my lap completely

Rabid

I often think I an rabid.

My heart races,

my eyes dart

my hands tremble.

My teeth ache

to dig into

your shoulder

My nails score

lines in your

hip cradle

You coon and stroke my hair

You kiss my bloody lips

You hold my stained hands.

Waking up

feels like

walking in syrup.

You've moved on

My teeth are dull.

should i start posting my poetry i write yes or no

#question #pleasebehonest #iwantmywritingtohelpothers

So I’ll nod until my neck snaps

Worn down to paper thin skin

And measly shrugs

Traded my glare for a complacent grin

Plastic tea cups for ceramic mugs

Stolen glances for a rehearsed laugh

Soft ice cream for thigh gaps

It seems easier now,

To starve than swallow.

My tongue is raw,

Jagged teeth dug into the muscle

Excuses never slip.

Sunk to the bottom.

“Fallen angel,” they cry,

Drunk sailors watch, aghast,

Hopeless, lifeless, she lie.

They dredge her up,

Callin’ her pale hue tragic,

They study her vacant eyes,

A morose sight, bloated to the surface,

On days of somber skies,

They think of her.

A lonely girl, too young to die.

What will life look like 2 years from now?

Can I hear the train whistle between the brush of trees?

The howling of coyotes and roars of mountain lions,

Maybe I’ll be cruising down the golden coast.

I’m hungry for it.

Dry toast and black coffee from a waitress named Diane

It’s not just surviving anymore

I’ll feel at home once the ocean breeze hits my face,

Once it takes my hair between its salty grasp.

I’ll feel whole

Unrecognizable

Unknown.

On my own

No one to please

Just me and a couple sand fleas.

if only we met sooner

if only we had met sooner

i might be really good at golf now

and although you’ve been practicing

you’re still losing at mario kart somehow

if only we had met before

we might have two cats (or four)

we might have been to turkey

and brought home several more

if only we had met earlier

i’d be joining you at the football matches

then we’d go back, have some dinner

then head to bed where i give you back scratches

if only we had met a two years ago

which is when you first saw me

you might be ready

and maybe i would be too

but i guess now we’ll never know

okay so this guy i’m dating told me to write him a poem bc i did ONE assignment on poetry for my english degree and he thinks i’m a poet.

fast forward weeks later and i finally thought of something that doesn’t start with “roses are red, violets are blue”

anyways i’m posting it here. idk if it’s any good, i trust tumblr not to judge me. yes it is sickeningly cute, i apologise in advance. (there is no title yet)

although we’ve known each other less than a while

everyday you make me smile

and that makes it worth every mile

that’s between us across this silly isle

p.s. idk whether to add any other stanzas or if it’s fine as it is 🥹

I cry for the butcher

Gold silver and copper

cake my tongue

No harm can ever come from

my mother's praying hands

My filthy mouth -

I harmed myself

Orange wedge lip

Clenched ivory threat

Pulled the trigger with my tongue

Blood orange

Her saintly hands

I’m sorry - a million times over

I say to her

And when i finally cry

It is not for the lamb.

Lines Written in my Cage.

It feels suffocating

Lies so excruciating

The love runs deep

But I might never keep

With lies and mind illusions

I hate how you've got me having delusions

You're giving me hypertension

Now I'm in another dimension

This love is toxic

It's starting to get chaotic

I'm in my zone, chill within my bones

While I'm skipping stones

Staring at the sky

I'm trying not to say bye

My life is going down

Maybe I should move to a new town

Start again, new friends, maybe family

Get my things in harmony

And maybe then I'll finally have peace

Finally get away from the beast

Away from all the abuse

Not drowning in all the misuse

With people crowded like flies

Yet we're trying to get to the skies

My head is pounding

Yet my imagination is unbounding

If I die who's gonna remember me

Maybe my grave will be the key

My mind is a delusional trajectory

I'm hoping I find a new sanctuary

To anyone who's at this stage

I think all I needed was a page

This I think is by far the longest poem I've written👌. I had help from @pheonix-notthebird. She started helping me at "Maybe my grave will be the key". Thanks a lot you were really helpful and I hope y'all like the poem :) . PS: I chose that title cuz Cage nd Page rhyme and it's like start & end so ¯\😋/¯

Roses once red

Now wilted and dead

Memories of love

Now filled with dread

Heartache and tears, the pain won't fade

In a lonely world

My soul aches and sways

My poems make me feel like I'm depressed😭

Roses are red

Skies are grey

Our once true love

Now fading away

In moments of darkness

In the face of lies

Nothing is left

But the madness in our eyes

Wow...

Ghostly figures

dancing, swaying

on long forgotten music

Lost lovers

unite once more

Families

laugh and play

As time slowly ticks away

(2021)

This is my first time posting on tumblr, please be kind

Lol I hope I did this right

Pls enjoy <3

False Guilt

It’s easier to think,

That you are a monster born broken,

Rather than a human made flawed.

"Hope has been haunting me

with its never ending desire

Still hoping for the sun to touch its being

Even after the endless thunderstorms

and bring it back alive"

~ inspiration from reality

From my side, to you:

Thank you loves, for being here and for your support. I want you to know I see you, see what you have and are going through. And I just want to say you make me so proud of you, and take a hug from my side as well... It's not easy, the journey you have taken (especially when you don't even know what path you are on) and regardless, you are going forward. It's hard to live in the unknown, and yet you are here. Thank you, thank you for your existence. May you see that your words, and you matter so much. 🧡

Their will so strong,

A literacy piece, I want to dedicate to [Your name] -

A long lost painting

In the blip of existence,

They came to surrender,

Their love in fragments,

Yet ever being foolish,

They fix the broken mirrors that their demons ravaged,

Giving this being in front of them

a portrait of spring

Colors of the forbidden fruit

of hope

~ by a stranger to another.

Thank You!

Full Moon Night ( Poetry No.1 )

The gleaming full moon.

Full of enchantment and delight.

A mysterious world shrouded in the iridescent, enthrall midnight.

A world full of distance howls carried through the briskly coolness when dusk sets.

Hoots and chirps of those who soar like falling stars through the clouds returning home to a heavenly delight.

A soft, but mysterious serene glow arises over the once black home to the many creatures of nightly magic.

An invite to all who seek its comfort within it's lighted, midnight shroud.

The soft gurgle of a mountain stream accompanied by a pine song, caused by the creaks and whistles of the trees sitting perched before and on the mighty fronts and crevices of the gray form.

The whispers form a soft mourning lullaby, when the bright lights of colorful dawn rise from the gray, rocky mountains.

The mysterious comfort of the moon dressed night has gone as another welcome to almost inescapable break of day.

But, it won't be gone forever.

For soon, it would be shrouded in the ever welcome nightly, star-dotted shroud.

For soon; it will be a full moon night again.

I can tolerate the discomfort that comes from not being liked by others.

What I cannot tolerate is living out of alignment with my values and staying silent about things I care about just to make sure others like me.

if today was my last

If today was my last How would I spend it? would I take in all the little things, gathering all those little details that I have always missed, my head has always been too full of all these things that keep me up at night. Or would I still just float through it all Still just a shell of the kid I once was, all the vibrancy and wonder having left years ago.

Would I go to the library? to collect a few last lines Letting them live on the tip of my tongue. only to set them free with my last breath. letting the feeling of ink on the page, be the last thing my fingertips will feel. the smell of paper and secrets, invading my senses and welcoming me home at last.

Would I go to the school that has hallways I have haunted? having drifted through them, my eyes empty and my brain always too full with all those thoughts. stopping in the classes to whisper a few final goodbyes even though nobody would notice or hear me pausing the disorder and energy in those hallways, for just a few moments, finally letting myself take it all in.

would I go to the forest wherein the deepest part I could lie on its soft grass floor, in the utter calm of it letting my lungs finally breathe in the crisp air, the feeling of its coldness expanding within them. closing my eyes for the last time, finally letting myself feel at peace and safe, hearing the bird's singing floating around me, their cries being the last thing I will ever hear.

My last words will be uttered so softly that not even the wind would hear them, when they escape this prison of my mind, floating away with my final exhale. My last breath will flow out feeling free for the first time, escaping into the world seeing it all.

child of grey

My father was of ebony. My mother of ivory I am the child of grey. Not enough ebony to be of my father To little ivory to be with my mother

My heart was of half-ice. A cold so unfeeling So a cold almost to the point of burning, never enough feeling to care my head half of snakes calculating and cruel always planning and waiting for the perfect moment to strike

My heart is made of half gold. Tender and caring beautiful and full of love, perfect to suit you my head half made of fire burning hot, always craving for something to fuel it unpredictable and starving for its next game

I am the child of grey. With the head of flame and scales calculating and unpredictable, Ready to strike and always to keep you on edge. And my heart of ice and gold blinding you with its beauty, while slowing killing you with its burning ice

i love you

I have loved you since We were young. barely old enough to even understand what love even was. the feeling of pure and utter devotion I had felt for you before I fully realized How much love would ruin me. How much it would kill me Tearing me apart, never letting me go Stealing away my heart, never giving it back

be proud

You tell me to SPEAK UP. To be "proud of my words" Let them out into the world. Stand behind them, ready to defend them with my life. And my entire being and soul

but how am I supposed to be "proud" of my words when I haven't even learned how to be proud of my self

how am I supposed to be "proud" Of these words I say. When I've learned that they don't even matter They get shot down and ignored. Before they even got the chance to be spoken.

How am I supposed to be "proud" when I've seen how you react To the thoughts, I've put out. Putting my heart and soul into them and then getting to watch you kill them

the bathroom

Smoke flows from my cracked and bloody lips the dingy bathroom lights flicker above me a low buzz echos through the room my reflection stares back at me a sly smirk gracing its lips I can almost hear its laugh echoing in my head. The cold porcelain of the sink pulsing against the rising heat of my hands dirt and grime caked on to the counter and mirror the buzzing of the lights mixes with the pounding of my head Voices and conversations outside the door seem to grow in volume. pounding against my eardrums All the noise seems to be surrounding me. Building up and building up my reflections laughter ringing in my ears the lights buzzing and flickering The mirror starts cracking. Sounds of glass falling and shattering mix with the symphony of noise The class finally shatters falling all around me. Knocking on the door starts. The pounding and shaking of the door mixes with the calls of my name It sounds like I'm underwater. The door and the voice feeling so far away while I'm sinking farther down in my head finally, I snap back I'm in the bathroom. the mirrors still intact no longer shattered lights buzzing no longer deafening My fingers loosen their grip on the sink. The reflection no longer laughing and taunting My legs start working. Uprooting themselves from the floor the sound of my footsteps echo against the walls

side show mirrors

You call me an attention whore.  Only because my heart screams out for any type of love  something you never gave  look me in the eyes.  And tell me. "I'm always craving attention."  All I could do was Laugh.  what you call craving attention I  call a cry for help.  Haven't you noticed that?  You never taught me.  how to ask for help

Anger feels like a sharp green. It lives in the eye of a snake ready to strike. Sharpening its tongue using it as a knife Ready to lash out and wound. Anger is locked in the eyes. Constantly watching and waiting to attack

Yellow is the color of safety. It warms like the sun's rays. Surrounding me. Being a beacon in the dark It's soft and shining in contrast, to angers hard sharpness Safety is free to roam. It finds those in need and makes them safe.

Fear is the darkest blue of the ocean. Primal, cold and harsh Running parallel to anger. Fear stalks its prey, Watching and waiting to strike. never hesitating, always ready. Waiting to cover you in its shallow depths pulling you under like a riptide Devouring you in its purest form

One of my daily poems, a task assigned by my creative writing professor

Ode to hands

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bite, crack, chew

Bite crack chew

These tools given to me by my ancestors

I use them and bite, crack, chew my way through the want of them being oresentable and pretty

Bite, crack, chew

Bite crack chew

Get the WRETCHED white beds out of my skin

They serve no purpose here

I bite, crack, chew, bite, crack, and chew

Bite, crack, chew

Bite crack chew

But it will never be enough

If there is nutrients in my body there is nutrients in the useless keratin i call my organic utensils

Bite, crack, chew

Bite, crack, chew

Bite, crack, chew

Bite crack chew

They will never go away

Bite, crack, chew, Bite, crack, chew,

Bite, crack, chew, Bite, crack, chew,

The only way to rid them is to

Bite, crack...

And chew.

Hello. Here is smthn written and posted on the same day. Tw: metaphorical violence and cannibalism. (I promise it's not that bad I swear) Please enjoy.

You know, i shoud really stop extending my hand to people. What do i mean? I mean extending it open palmed and vulnerable and stretching my muscles to their limits just to reach someone or have them reach for me.

It hurts. The stretch, I mean. Pulling my fingers apart, tearing the sinue in an attmept to reach someone who has barely moved their hand from the body at all.

Now stretching isnt all that bad. Keeps the body nimble, less resistant to change or sudden movement. The main reason i want to stop is because they cut a piece of my arm off each time I reach.

Not every time, but when the person doesnt reach back they keep a piece of me. As a trophy or to embarass me further I cant decide.

Currently im missing everything past my left elbow. But thats only bc the first person i reached to took my entire hand in one go. My right arm is missing everything a little before that point.

It hurts even more when i was expecting to leave that situation with the same amount of arm i began it with.

But no.

Instead these beautiful women take dull cleavers and aimlessly hack at my arm until the piece they want has fallen off. It takes a while for my nerves to decide they were tired of feeling that intense ache.

Ive gotten used to it. The first time it hurt. I squirmed and fought back and called for help but was disregarded. This woman had called herself my girlfriend, my wife, my love. For months ! And now here she was taking my hand.

But now, as i watch blood spurt out of my stump and land on my face and hear my bones cracking and tendons screaming as she takes her earnings. She took earnings for the girl she actually wanted too.

Whats left is my shoulder to above where my elbow was on both arms. It hurts, the wound hasnt cauterized and my nerves are remidning me of my loss.

My face is wet too. I think im crying. I havent done that since the first time. But, i will get over it. I always do.

The wound crusts over and falls away, revealing my new skin and shorter stump. The pain subsides but it returns for a body part i no longer have. Almost like my body misses it.

I learn to live without those things lost. I learn to eat, feed, read, dress, clean, please with my stumps. And im miserable. And awful. And anxiety ridden. Worrying about if someone will soon return and take whats left of me. What will they do once they reach my shoulder ? Keep cutting ? Dig inside the stump for pieces of flesh and organ from the source rather than bothering with my skin, a reminder that im human.

The only constant is that they or she or he will stuff their maws of my meat and savagley lick away the remnants of me with a hand over my mouth to not spoil the meal (or to hide from the reminder that im unwilling, displeased, and alive). Only to discard me with less than i began with. Which already wasnt much.

And yet. I always find myself reaching a short time later. Always needing something that seems to be forever out of reach.