i sweat my rust

"Wolves and girls...both have sharp teeth."

[ashendust]

i was carved by your hand flesh of your flesh, bone of your bones i can no more forget than you can atone you whittled down marble, you polished each fold, then sold me at auction to the museums of old me, the David to your Michelangelo another piece of history best left untold

malevolent masterpiece (h.m.)

[ashendust]

the apocalypse came and went and here you are, still waiting and isn't that just like a man? to take what he needs and leave you wanting isn't that just like a god? to take who he wants and leave you longing

did Death stand you up again, my dear? (h.m.)

[oldnebulae]

somewhere, there’s a girl, 14, with a burning match in her hand & i want to tell her look, look, there’s no need to kill the ones that came before us. they were here first, they loved and hurt this body just as much as you or i & you’ll find no dignity in their destruction, each new day shaking off the ashes of the last.

but what does it matter? just one more girl in the ground, she’ll say, just one more morning spent burning the shell of yesterday’s daughter, scrubing her scent off of your scalded newborn body as if she were no more than dust, than dead skin.

[onniki-blog]

I am the lost sock at the laundry mat, the stained underwear that fell out of the basket too soon I am the slam of the fist against the coin slot, the machine that eats all of the spare change How much does it cost to be clean?

onniki pooka, two dollar wash 

[venettaoctavia]

You are shaking fists & trembling teeth. I know: You did not mean to be cruel. That does not mean you were kind.

Venetta Octavia, excerpt of “THE BURNING”, from of my upcoming chapbook, tentatively titled “Oculus” (via venettaoctavia)

[ashendust]

so, maybe...maybe it wasn't your call maybe someone was pulling your strings as surely as you pulled the trigger hands clenched tight, trembling yours with fear, theirs with delight maybe you didn't decide who they put in your sights, but you saw them you watched as they cowered, watched as they bled, watched as the dying met Death and, my god, you envied them didn't you? it's alright, you can tell me how did it feel?  seeing relief just out of reach? because you never miss a target once you're locked and loaded and you might have watched your whole world implode but, you know this they'll never put the bulls eye on your back they need to conserve their assets, their amnesiacs perhaps it's malice, perhaps that's too kind perhaps they don't even notice you you, separate from mankind perhaps the blame is a bit misplaced but here are your bloody hands here, is your missing name

hey atlas, want a little more weight? (h.m.)

[ashendust]

awake; awake and you've lost time you lost so much time a whole day has gone by rest is hard to find; you lay down the weight of the world but... there and there and there--my god--it's all waiting when you open your eyes is it day?  is it night?  (should you stay?  should you fight?) so there is a bridge.  so there is the sun.  so, so, so, there-- run. you are good at that.  (a short list of other talents: revenge, ruin, resentment) make it count; make it last: if you toss the match just so, your bridges will all go up in smoke so what if the ash coats your lungs, feels gritty on your tongue? even saints have to answer for their crimes when it's their time and you-- red faced and red handed from day one, you were never fated to occupy holy space

artistry/misery, or; there is nothing poetic in a life lived synthetic (h.m.)

[ashendust]

there is a lilting harmony whistling through the dogwood trees the blossoms dance on spring's faint breeze and cure weary hearts of their unease this is a fleeting melody, this calm, this lull, this needed peace arctic control once more will seize the solid ground beneath our feet

oh, blackberry winter, she’s coming for me (h.m.)

[ashendust]

you reach out to me with kindness and I stare, my black-hole eyes leeching all the light from your soul you're radiant, my darling (that's the problem) creatures of the night, people like me we were born hungry, give us a spark and we'll light you afire, watching in rapture as the flames lick your skin  as the burning frames your face in a golden, glowing halo you're the most heavenly sight this side of the pearly gates; as fate would have it, the closest to absolution that i'll ever taste sounds romantic, like a redemption arc but don't you know?  happy endings are just pretty words,  we whisper to children in the dark (i'll whisper them to you now,  just come real nice and close, here's the story of the us that won't go up in smoke: another place, another time where your light isn't blinding, where my hands are less grimy, we don't walk a minefield when we stroll hand in hand we both have each other, and a safe place to land) this is how the story ends: you are good and pure and worthy you will go where i cannot follow i drag you down to hell with me, rather than face that sure sorrow

lucifer never learned to love and let go (h.m.)

[ashendust]

you miss the tug of the strings the weightless inevitability of the puppeteer's manipulations the strange emptiness of being powerless on stage, the illusion is all encompassing-- you, a mere passenger on a wicked carnival ride fate smiles calmingly, sending chills down your spine she will break you, make you, according to her design (the secret is one for back alleys and dead of night whispers on the wind, that set fears alight. it is simple; it is sinful when the winter winds blow harshly, when the stars gleam in the sky, you miss the way she needed you; though it was naught but a lie) you are free; once a blue moon, you wish not to be

escape, an aftermath (h.m.)

1/52 writings

[theophages]

WELCOME TO THE POETRY CREW:

hey everyone! so, this year for me has been a bit difficult for me to create, and to stay connected with people, and with 2016 coming i wanna change that! so, i wanted to make a network of writers, not just for poetry but also for songwriting and the like. basically i wanted to create a place where we can hang out and talk and figure out what we want to write and how to write it.

application details:

must be following me

reblog to enter. likes are okay as a bookmark. if you’re reblogging to signal boost, just say so in the tags. :)

this needs to get at least 20 notes or i will cry and pretend this post never happened

fill out this google form!

please complete everything by january 16th, cos that’s when i’m sending out messages. i’ll be accepting abt 10-15 people. i think a skype group larger than that might be unmanageable, but if there are enough people i’m willing to create a Really Big Group, and go from there.

when you’re accepted, message me an icon and description you want for the member page

what you’ll get:

super cool new friends

a skype hangout where you can post unfinished work and ask for guidance and help, as well as finding new inspiration and talking about what moves you.

friends who’ll reblog ur poetry & other work.

possible collaborators. i’m a very tentative songwriter, and i’d love to work with other songwriters if anyone is interested!

spot on the member page (which is currently under construction)!

network rules!

must be willing to help edit and listen to each other. i want this to be a supportive space for artists wherever we’re at.

speaking of support, there’s no reblog obligation, but it would be really nice and i think it’s a good way to stay engaged with each other if we spread each other’s work around.

tag triggers as necessary for your work

post in the tag #lspoetrycrew so we can see your stuff! i’d prefer if everyone tagged with that so we can keep things organized, but if checking/tracking tags is difficult for you, you’re welcome to message the link out in the skype group.

well i think that’s everything, i’m really excited for this and i can’t wait to meet all of you <3  if you have any questions please message me.

[griefxaddict]

My body is a graveyard, full of corpses, mistakes and bad memories. Her mouth is a church, and I’m writing the prayers I repeat to repent my sins.

giraffevader - Fragments of holy (via giraffevader)

[natalieweepoetry]

As you grow up, there is this line they feed you like factory-line bread: “goals are important”. This is not an idea that will fill your stomach. It will swell in your throat and choke you like stone. Because goals are important the way breathing is important, but breathing underwater is very different from breathing on land. And when they don’t tell you that not everyone stretches the same way, you start trying on shoes that don’t fit, and shoes that don’t fit will only fill up with water. Somebody out there might have grocery lists that start with waking up at dawn to catch the sun’s first kiss before the trees do. Somebody out there might need till dinnertime to unhinge their mouth and ask for change at the laundromat’s. I have been both of these people. There were years when telling my grandma good night was the kindest thing I could do for anyone. And there were years when I stared out the window of a flight a thousand miles above death and watched oceans unspool into new lives I hadn’t breathed into yet. Whatever your goals are for today, you owe it to yourself not to pin it up next to anyone else’s. You are not a butterfly exhibit at a county fair. No one can count your wingspans without knowing which forest you called home.

“A Necessary Disclaimer for Productivity Apps”, Natalie Wee (via wondersmithinc)

[ashendust]

I. "he will be a god." "do you understand?" "yes." yes. II. you are ephemeral; your life a fleeting flicker he is eternal; his lungs will draw breath eons after yours cease with a final shiver III. you are burning, burning, burning he is the fire that scorches your skin he is the cool water in which you swim your hands, blistered, reaching for the sun you will gladly turn to ash, to be his chosen one IV.  "what are you thinking about?" you.  always. "nothing." V. his golden hair, his shining smile, his lyre-like laugh this and this and this juggling figs, long summer swims, looking up to find his eyes fixed upon you this, and this, and this VI. "do you want to be a god?" "not yet" VII. the fates will be cruel together, you will face misfortune after misfortune but: together even the fates cannot change that which is decided VIII. he is your reason you are his IX. you know him you will always know him by his breath as it stirs the air, by the soft padding of his feet upon the earth, by the quickening behind your ribs when his glance meets yours X. you will love him you will lose him you will follow him unto the ends of the earth it is certain

ten years in love; part I  (h.m.)

ten years in war; part II (coming soon)

all quoted sections from The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller

[ashendust]

there is an earthquake in your bones she barged into your home and broke your fine things      your china set; shattered on the linoleum floor       your diamond rings; hopelessly bent into mangled shapes you glue the porcelain back together, ask her to stay for tea marvel at the way she hogs the sugar, the lemons sip on the steam, drink her in jealously and with the bitter brew still clinging to your lips, you kneel, and kiss her fingertips, offering that broken and tarnished stone you invite her to make her throne, in the hollow cage between your ribs and your hips, so that as you live, so shall she she laughs: soft, eternal, strong she leaves: rough, fleeting, wrong wrong wrong

seismic activity (h.m.)

[ashendust]

you: golden, shining, pious you talk at length with the priest,  about the bible and the saints kneel with your rosary and pray for us sinners you still believe, though he fails you every winter me: dirty, depraved, doubting the only times i kneel are to save you: knees cold, on the dirty, dark docks begging and blaspheming in turn  so long as He leaves you on this earth in the end: the water washes both of us before we feel winter's true sting

you were the sun, but i let you freeze  (h.m.)

[therealrashid]

putting on high heels to go out dancing - ‘like walking on knives,’ someone once said. i think that was supposed to be empowering, but walking on knives only makes your feet bleed, and i never had the coordination not to stumble, not to have to lean on someone. you paint your nails blood red, like claws, like a beast, but it’s only really to hide how they’re cracking, how the layers are peeling back - you don’t drink enough milk, probably, but you’re so self conscious about them you can’t go out with that lacquer on, and you put that 0% shit in your coffee.  women like roses, are like roses, but you still have to touch a rose for those thorns to prick, still got to grab, they think they can grab, and how much do thorns help if he’s twice your size, if he’s bigger, and you’re scared?

unfortunate metaphors | s. r. (via stuckystan)