i’ve been telling stories to the flowers

dreaming somewhere on the west coast. writer. lover. survivor. i am learning what it is like to love.

[dramatic-dolphin]

an absolute fuckton of people at pride rn

[dramatic-dolphin]

record turnout for sure. here's some pics i stole from facebook:

the tail end of the crowd only started marching around the time the first part got to the end goal. i can't stress how fucking massive the crowd was. the perfect example of "they can't arrest all of us"; the police didn't even try. no incidents, but we all had an awesome day. 🥰🥰🥰

[littlescratches]

[cersplace]

─ Hisham Siddiqi

[bluerosepoetry]

you twist my love into a monster, pry her jaws open and expose her canines, hold up her jagged nails, shine a flashlight at her slathering jaws. you make a public mockery of what i imagined was a hauntingly bittersweet love story and i cannot forgive you for that. you have spit on my love publicly too many times to count and i will not bear witness to this again. you are not allowed back into my heart, into my chambers. you have tried to paint everything i am and everything i love as monstrous. maybe you are painting a fucking mirror.

[bluerosepoetry]

i define my mother by the absence of her. she is my mother but she is dead first and foremost. and then she was sick, before she is cruel. she is cruel before she is my mother. this grief is a slippery thing, twisting and twining its way through my grasp. i cannot look at it but from the corner of my eye. i cannot define it. i have spent years trying. this grief is my heart’s companion and perhaps will be for the rest of my days.

[bluerosepoetry]

i love like a dog, unconditionally, fiercely, with snarling jaws bared. wanting to tear yourself apart for them. becoming a reflection of their best features. look, i can be trained, i’m a good dog. i love like a bitch and i won’t let go, even when kicked away. i’ll lick my wounds alone in a corner and slink back, tail tucked between my legs, expecting the same.

[bluerosepoetry]

i haunt the hallways of my empty house

open-mouthed howling my grief at the moon

-a.f.l.

[dykemyers-deactivated20221223]

here are some more flags i made with comic book newsprint textures :-) to get the textures i scanned real comics!

[afraidtoblink]

[Image description: lesbian, original 8-stripe pride, bisexual, and trans flags, with their colours referenced from printed comics, in two styles of vibrancy. End ID.]

[bluerosepoetry]

i feel hunted down when i’m alone. maybe i’m staring down the barrel of my own gun.

[longestnight]

some thing's wrong here

(tip/support)

[ivynightshade]

fatima aamer bilal, from i mother it the absence of her, iii. i am not a person that can be loved for a very long time excerpt from moony moonless sky.

[soncomplex]

BREAKING NEWS: POET CANNOT STOP TAKING PROMPTS TOO LITERALLY by Mal Fawzy

[lucidloving]

Brianna Albers, "The Audre Lorde Questionnaire to Oneself" // Anne Carson, Glass and God // Haruki Murakami, Norwegian Wood // @iasoup-deactivated20190921 // @puppy__problems on Instagram // p.d., "Rest Achilles, the world will wait" // Lyra Wren // @pencap // Latin phrase translations // Emily Berry, Dear Boy

[myfakeplasticlove13]

You know I didn’t want to, have to haunt you, but what a ghostly scene

[amoxicillin-tangent-deactivated]

Venus and Jupiter Conjunction: Planets to almost touch in night sky

i.

we are supposed to be the gods of this story.

the only problem is that i don't know the first thing about lightning and you don't know the first thing about love, so we end up in this tepid middleground between apotheosis and apostasy instead.

[make me a paragon, on my terms. a saint, but my body was never yours to burn. press the kiss of death to my lips and i will fall even more in love with myself. isn't it kind of pointless to evangelize me? isn't there always some sense of non-consent in disenchantment?}

ii.

we are not the gods of this story. 

i know this because you run off my roof like a rainstorm and i keep the scent of our death-marked-love lodged between my teeth, a sacrifice snatched from a burning altar.

everything i've ever loved has left me, burning the same dogshit promises like barbecued birds in their funeral pyre mouths, all charred feathers and maimed incense tumbling up their throats. someone will love you in all you are and i promise it can never be me.

i contemplate what it'd be like to unleash a hellstorm of dopamine and oxytocin on everyone who ever abandoned me but that just sounds a little too tiring so i settle for mortality instead. 

iii.

a news article from 2022 reads "Venus and Jupiter Conjunction: Planets to almost touch in night sky,"

wouldn't you love to be that holy, you ask. so alluring in our failure that everyone gathers around to watch us almost-touch?

i look up at the sky and shake my head.

no. i wouldn't trade our sin for the world.

iv.

how's that for apotheosis? you immortalize me on mondays and wednesdays and during business hours and every other weekend when all my half-truths cave in on each other. how much longer before pathology swallows our pride for us and leaves us both tangled in misgiving?

vi.

we are not gods, you whisper.

and i reply, we were never meant to be.

vii.

we can barely even handle being human.

[@nosebleedclub, march prompt #1, Venus and Jupiter]

[fantodsdhrit]

you sleep under phosphorescent awnings as i'm in the company of

insomnia

the opal morning: of paint fumes my renaissance cactus and my

dragonfly heart out in the

frigid sun: without shelter

a slight lisp of lies-moss

ever since your glazed eyes shaped my contours: filed me alone there is

silence:

too much of your silence: that i can hear the mosquito's wings tremble

along with that

refrigerator hum

the mediaeval poets were poisoned for reasons only your recesses can

fathom: assassinated

like vermin or worse

accomplished suicide

that someone: clasping their own life with petrified stigmata velvety palms

and their verse: the eyes of

blank mountain

[chloeinletters]

I don’t like you anymore but I love you very much.

[bluerosepoetry]

you’re running through my dreams, darling.

i keep thinking about your hands intertwined with mine, but it’s useless, isn’t it?

your soul knows mine, the way it’s drenched in lavender and stained with gold.

my heart is aching for you, in the ways i long for your touch, even in a dirty motel room. it wouldn’t matter as long as it’s you.

i’m surrounded by the stars out here, but none of them seem to shine quite as brightly as you do when your eyes gleam with excitement.

you’re the marrying kind; just not mine.

-i’m writing again, but at what cost?