20s, he/they, desi, queer. always grateful for the love & the support. i track #antigoneblue but sometimes posts don't show up so if you tagged me in something and i missed it feel free to DM and ask about it!
non-poemmic updates from a coffin far away from you
it has been TWO YEARS since i was here, so another quick, non-poemmic update.
there are many reasons i disappeared so suddenly and for so long, but i’m not sure how to condense them & do them justice. a lot of things happened in quick succession, and i just did not want to be online or be perceieved anymore. i jumped ship on a lot of things. literally disappeared from lit mag twitter. it all just felt like too much and i wanted some space & time to myself.
and then for a long, long time, i just... didn’t write poetry. even as i write this, i will openly admit that i have maybe written.... 3 poems? in the whole of 2023 so far. that’s pretty pathetic, for me.
all that said, i really do think i have grown as a person. and i don’t know if i can promise i’ll be back here, nor do i know if this space even exists for me to return to, but i’m ready to explore & rediscover & whatever else.
you know how i mentioned gender is weird? i still stand by that. gender is strange and i am nonbinary. but also, i’m a man. a transgender man. i’m 70% man & 30% other weirdness that makes me eligible for nonbinaryism. (the tone with which i am saying this is very jokey, not sure it comes thru in text.) i am sure my poetry has implied it for many many years but i’m just going ahead and saying it with my whole chest now. i’m a nonbinary trans guy.
THAT, growing into that, has been something i’ve really been sitting with, like waiting for an egg to hatch (and gosh, i finally understand that metaphor.) i can say i’m much happier now.
if you read all that, thanks! i’m gonna pin this post now, i think.
Lit Hub has posted an article with the names, photos and biographies of the Palestinian poets and writers killed by the IOF since the beginning of October. May we remember them, their names & their poems 🍉🕊🍓🪁
"Since October 7, Israel has killed at least thirteen Palestinian poets and writers in Gaza.
If we think of ourselves as a global literary community, then these people were our fellow travelers, our peers.
They—just like the more than 66 Palestinian journalists killed in Gaza in the line of duty; just like every one of the more than 21,000 innocent people massacred in Gaza, the West Bank, and Israel over the past 75 days—deserve to be remembered."
the article notably quotes the poem “Life” by Saleem Al-Naffar, killed in an Israeli airstrike on Dec. 7: “Knives might eat / what remains of my ribs, / machines might smash / what remains of stones, / but life is coming, / for that is its way, / creating life even for us.”
i don’t think i can be anyone’s girlfriend, but i want to be yours. is that weird? i want to know what it feels like. curled up against you in the backseat of your car. the romantic pulse i feel for you beats low & smooth, easy under the flesh-and-meat of my body and all the other things that are encompassed by being a human. the hum of a future i never believed in, the dreams i never thought i’d get to have in real life. more than anything i want to smoke cigarettes with you at a bus stop. i want to make you tea and watch you smile as you sip it. i want to watch you do your makeup until your routines are so familiar to me that i could do it for you. not that i’d ever be that brave; you can bet my hands would shake so much i’d only ever smudge your mascara and wing your eyeliner wrong. what i’m trying to say is, romance, real and true romance, is fleeting for me. comes and goes like a bullet train. but you? i’ve always been in love with you, just a little. under the surface where it doesn’t hurt. like the ocean, always there but so far from me. if i walked into the centre of it, it would swallow me whole. i don’t mind as much as you would expect me to.
[ image description: a three lined magnet poem. there are spaces between each word and each phrase. the magnets say: "live but liquid / sacred yet soft / listen / girl is boy when time is flowering" /end ID ]
but yes, hello! i needed a mental health break from posting poetry on the internet. i think i might come back now, actually (need that sweet creative outlet again) but i'm not sure if i'll be as active as i was previously on tumblr. things are kind of different now in terms of what i want to do, where i want to be, what using tumblr feels like, who i think i am... and so on. i need to find a new balance.
thanks for checking in! if anyone's still around, hi! *waves*
these are intended as poetry writing prompts, but you can use them for anything - prose, art journals, photography, playlists, fanfiction - whatever floats your boat. just mention where you got them from, if you do use them (& feel free to tag #antigoneblue if you post on tumblr, i’ll check the tag every now and then!)
if you want to challenge yourself, you can do one for each day, but you don't have to. you can go in any order, skip anything or do some of them multiple times... hell, you can bookmark this page and use these prompts next year, or the year after that.
the weight of a stone in your palm
pastel blue sky
soft as a rabbit
pumpkin patch
string instruments go quiet
you’ve never said this one out loud
early morning fog
tiptoeing like you have a secret
buzzing noises from the radio
forever’s just a word
a bag full of frozen green peas
learning a new language
suitcase full of junk
memory’s a blessing and a curse some days
you are your own grandparent
whittle out the thing you dream of
tube of chapstick in your pocket
fever dreams you won’t forget
wrong number
a poem about a poem
empty boxes. are you moving out?
empty boxes. did you move in?
slow dancing in the corridors
there is a fox sleeping in your bed
you always lose at jenga
she left nothing in your apartment but a lipstick stain
vials full of vinegar by the windows
going ghost
soft fleece and woollen scarves
everyone’s got to believe in something
rebirth in the swimming pool changing rooms
hope everyone has a good december (i know it can be a rough month.) sending lots of love!
i wasn’t going to do this, but then realised that it’s TRULY been a while, so maybe something like this isn’t totally out of order :’)
some of you might’ve noticed that my old sideblog, @redeyecyanide, no longer exists / is no longer accessible. i figured i’d explain that, so that nobody worries about me or worries that something bad might’ve happened that resulted in that.
i’m also kind of in a new era of my life, so i figured we’d talk that through, as well. i’m happy & content & in a good place - a better place to be in than i’d hoped at this point in time, and it’s something i am grateful for.
and i just want, you know, if anyone’s been reading my work and relating to the despair in some of those poems, or the grief, or the sadness, or any of that - it gets better. it’s getting better for me. it might not feel like it, but it will get better for you too. you just have to be more stubborn than the things that are getting you down - easier said than done, but doable. and so, so worth it.
stuff re: old blog down below!
~
so well, here’s the whole deal w/ redeyecyanide. while i did not grow up on the internet to the same extent some of my peers did, i was definitely extremely online from when i was around 15 onwards. i don’t regret any of it and i think for the most part i had relatively healthy boundaries going - with a few exceptions, which i can confidently say i have learnt from.
keeping that aside, as it usually happens when you are 15, and when you come back 7 years later, is that a lot of your beliefs change. i owned redeyecyanide and was active on there primarly when i was ... 18 / 19 / 20, but i was still in the process of learning & unlearning a lot of things. i often made statements that were... not accurate, with sweeping confidence, because i thought i was right. i sometimes generalised things in problematic ways, or made commentary based on my opinions which did not in any way represent how i felt about other people’s opinions. i was honestly very angry at the injustice present in the world, and learning to live with that anger and channel it into something more sustainable, productive, useful and healthy. that wasn’t the easiest thing and in some instances i feel i could’ve handled a lot of things in better and in more objective/calmer ways.
basically, i deleted that blog because it felt like a very “there’s a lot to unpack but let’s throw away the whole suitcase” kind of moment. my values are still the same, i’m still firmly anti bigotry, but i’m also 100% sex positive / anti swerf, provided there’s informed consent btwn people who can consent & all that good stuff - which is a value i always believed in but, at the time, i hadn’t done enough unlearning to be as sex positive as i wanted. kink-shaming doesn’t make sense to me anymore, esp not under the guise of “social justice”.
since we’re on tumblr, i unfortunately need to add that assuming people are p*dophiles at the drop of a hat, just because someone said so, definitely does not sit right with me. that’s a serious, serious allegation, and it’s important not to throw around allegations like that over... somebody shipping drarry, or whatever the new ship that everyone hates is. let’s not make callout posts for everyone under the sun, moon & solar system, please. save it for when it’s important.
i’m also 100% radically inclusive when it comes to lgbtq+ identities. i support any and all good faith identity & pronouns (and by good faith i mean, identities that are sincere/genuine and not made to poke fun at people or be degrading) and i honestly think most lgbt+ discourse is unnecessary because another person’s gender/sexuality is not your business - which is something i have always believed, but now i know that if i have to choose sides, i choose the people who are quietly existing, rather than the people who believe they shouldn’t exist or should exist elsewhere.
i identify as “queer”, i do not identify as “lgbt” or “lgbtq” or “lgbtqia” or any other acronym. no shade at people who prefer those, just doesn’t work for me anymore.
yeah, that’s about it. thanks for reading all the way, if you did :’) hope everyone’s doing well!
i am doing my skincare routine and it is so absurdly normal that i feel disconnected entirely from reality. severed. i’ve seen the death toll; i have nothing but chilling pain in my heart over it all. the way the west is walking on forwards & leaving us behind (i knew this would happen but it still hurts), the way our own governments are looking the other way as the numbers go higher and higher – i feel like cassandra, prophecies that go unheard spilling out of a brittle mouth, my voice a wound and my tongue a knife turned inward – i saw all the signs and i knew, i always knew, but knowing wasn’t enough to save anybody. i am doing my skincare routine – it’s a new one that i made up, it makes me feel a little better, makes me feel like i’m coming out of the fridge instead of rising from the heat of a summer that will see more death and devastation than i can put into words, more grief than i can ever share with anyone who’s not in the swell of it. i don’t know if this skincare routine will even work, but it’s something to do; with my hands, with my face. i’m living in a bubble. i keep getting messages from my parents, frantic, displaced horror and angst coagulating into capitalised angry big letters. DON’T GO OUTSIDE, OR ELSE. what do they take me for? i put the cotton that i used to dab at my face with in the trash. i feel like a porcelain doll. people are dying, and i feel like a porcelain doll.
everyone’s apathy is disgusting (but what do i feel?) / div @ antigoneblue
every single poem i have ever written served the same purpose. look at the sky. let go of grief. helium balloons of it, my throat long like a swan’s but knotted like rope, i breathe through the cherry stem tangle of it all. im neither hurt nor damaged, just bruised like an apple dropped dropped dropped. i drink milk from the carton, slam the fridge door shut and hope i don’t smash the eggs. every single poem i wrote was a tether. a lighthouse. spare batteries. my poems were prayers when nobody was listening, not even god. and now? now there are open fields and mornings where it feels like my grapefruit lungs are full of hope. there is the shape of my hands and there is the bridge i visit when it’s empty, the city i watch thrumming around me. now? i live the life i never dared to hope for. i dreamed about it the way we dream about having sex with mermaids; cute fantasy so out of grasp. i dreamed about it the way you dreamed about being able to walk on water like one of those insects. every single poem was a dream. but now i am living it. what i mean to say is, i looked at the sky from a closed window for so long. i was in a cardboard box. now i am in a meadow. now i no longer look at the sky; i unfurl my wings and i fly right into it.
you are every age you have ever been right up to this point; every single digit, all the teens, everything combined. you have ONE TASK to do before you can sleep but you won’t do it. you’re not built right. there’s a thing in your wrists and it glows florescent when the lights dim down. we fill the bathtub to the brim and get in with our clothes still on, the water like a blanket. i know my scales are growing in, my gills are widening as they branch out. i cross days off the calendar and eat cabbages whole, without chewing. you’re flirting with me over text message, or maybe not. i can never tell, but this is veering towards some direction and i’m okay wherever we end up. there’s a flower garden down the road, and you’re adjusting your mask, and i’m going to get the vaccine the moment i can, and meanwhile on the other side of this planet we all live on together, the sun hasn’t even come out yet.
fake it ‘til you make it, or, alternatively: break it // div @ antigoneblue
Thought I’d control the narrative. Make it a fun event. Moving out; looking at the lights, looking at furniture. Everything’s great and I’m moving to the next stage of my life! Sometimes I get sad and I spin it the other way around; my parents kicked me out – aren’t you sorry for me? Shouldn’t we spend a moment to grieve? Take a heart shaped piece of pink tissue and blow your nose in it. Nothing to see here, just me curled up in the backseat of a car, crying. Sixteen and twenty two are the same age. But the truth is the saddest, it’s me picking myself up again and again. Staying and looking for a horizon but it’s the flat end of a sea. Nothing peaks upwards here.
So, here’s the truth. Moving out: I kicked myself out. I kick myself out. I put my body in a suitcase & convince myself not to throw it away. There is the sea, the breeze of it in my face. All these years alive and nothing to show for it. I’m a kaleidoscope; you say I’m beautiful but hey, I’m just broken glass, gleaming. Too many sharp edges. I don’t fold easy or quiet anymore. I am a haunting. So here’s the truth: I am controlling the narrative. And I am a coward, such a coward. But I stand a little straighter, do my tie crooked. I am brave, too. My spine is made of gold.
regressing into high school again, but this time a little better, smearing lipstick and glitter, twining a strand of hair around a finger, brittle, before the inevitable snap. everything is an inevitable snap; a cascade of hunger, a moment of glory, the song in my throat and the shape of my hands, the dreams of a boy and everything else falling into place to unveil the ultimate tragedy. when i wake up i remember being fifteen, but i fall asleep with an itch crawling my skin and the realisation that i can’t unbecome or go back to any previous times, that however terrible my life is, i am tethered here. in another universe maybe i’d share cigarette smoke or get high in the gaps between classes, put raspberry jam on my bread like i did when i was sixteen and the world was so cruel, wear shirts too big for me and laugh too loud, like a stranger to sadness. right now it’s like singing along to a song you don’t know the lyrics to, dancing a dance to which you don’t know the steps. i’m small and i have a tendency for cruelty. i am the knife edge and the stab and the melting slab of butter, all at once. new year, new me, same old year, same old me, nothing really matters anyway. i’m here, and here i am. all i know how to do is survive.
you’re up on stage and the lights are hitting you. you’re up on stage and you’re holding someone else’s football jersey and you’re being swallowed up by a sea of eyes. with gentle and delicate hands you press your palms against your co-star’s cheeks, dreaming of the way it feels for everything to fit together like this. you’re on stage and you’re not in love, but only half of you is acting, as always. he puts his forehead against yours and the curtain drops as it’s supposed to. you’ll smear your make-up when you cry in the wings, inevitably. soft flood of music, everywhere. i miss being a theatre kid when i was fifteen and depressed and it was july and the whole world was looking through me. i miss the shape of it, the way it held me under and distorted my weak & fumbling heart. you’re on stage, and there’s a boy right across you. when you touch him you feel fireworks. you don’t have to pretend. when he looks away, he breaks your heart. now, you have to pretend that you feel nothing, that your heart is unbroken. and so: you do.
“diamonds by rihanna is playing while youre crying in the backseat of the taxi” by antigoneblue
this is not the best thing i’ve written or anything, but i don’t know how else to say it. happy holidays! (transcript under the cut)
it’s december, end of the year, and this is me / no longer 17 and not half as bitter
age really does make a man mellow / i’m a buttercup, golden
claws still out but under the gloves tonight
it’s december and if you’ve hated holidays always this is / me saying /
i see you / i remember it / it’s december and if you just want to get away
but don’t think you can / i see you / i remember it
i grew up with the grainy sound of badly tuned guitars / in my throat
my hands / haven’t aged much past 2015 / but we all knew it would end like this
it’s december & maybe you hate christmas / just like i used to /
it never goes well for me / love & family looks great in the movies
but life isn’t a movie / or at least / not a feel-good one
maybe christmas puts you on edge / just like it does to me
so if it’s december and you’re walking on eggshells / you’re not alone
if it’s december & you’re dreaming of leaving home
keep your head high / the end of the year doesn’t need to mean something
who cares about the passage of time / you’re still alive
if it’s december & you feel like you’ve been cheated out of happiness
like life is a joke at your expense / it won’t always be like this
here is another year you survived / here is the last week & soon
you will be older / & it doesn’t have to be a tragedy / you will be older, and
you will move into spaces where you can leave the sadness behind.
it’s winter in november and my hands are feeling like the monsoon. i listen to “longview” by green day, watch as the power dims out. you’re somewhere else, and everyone i love is far enough away from me that it’s like being underwater. i am alone, and it’s an almond in the pit of my mouth, flowers left by the bathroom sink, something we don’t ever talk about. it’s winter and none of my clothes are warm enough. the weather forecast calls this spell of cold irregular. all i know is that my city has a secret. i go out, once, for unavoidable business, and i remember how much i love the feeling of it – flights of stairs, sun on my hands, talking to people. even the mask on my face can’t take away the aliveness of it. danger remains real though, like a battery that’s always five seconds way from draining out. ‘don’t write about coronavirus,’ you tell me. i stare at my computer screen, baffled. what else is there to write about? the weather’s curved down, death rates are going to curve up, but i still have internet connection, so i broadcast my anxiety like it actually matters, and go on youtube to watch videos of strangers singing.
