dead poets network

A network for you to share your work and for other writers to read it.

[nostlagiac]

but doesn't orange rhyme with courage?

there are no words that rhyme with the colour that dyes the sky at dusk (via petrichovr)

[unwrite]

You are my breath prayer. The moments between us are holy air.

Excerpt from a book I’ll never write (via unwrite)

[unwrite]

Breath Prayer

I am collecting thoughts like teeth loosening in dreams

falling out of my mouth into an outstretched palm

words that sound strangely like breath

and think it is a well-known stranger reaching out through time

a hand ready to steal the moments of my love

[shreyawrites]

Altair

And she’ll paint your ribs a blinding blue, She, of rugose leaves and morning dew. She’ll make you cry, she’ll Stub her cigarette in your eye, And she’ll plant a kiss on your neck A kiss named Adieu. Her lily-scented love, you can’t construe.

Mark my words, if you may You, holding the clump of your heart Will rue the honey-flavored day The skies and the winds played a part In ripping apart, your marred heart.

And yet, in the place between Those moonlit lips, their snowflake sighs Their touch, the bliss - The upper one, a sharp M The lower sheeted in scintillating creme - She set free the chrysalis That was my soul.

The tender demise Of my fears with the bise Of her flaxen hair; She’ll be your Altair.

- @shreyawrites

[hestialied]

Belle has big dreams for such a small town. Here, people fold themselves into paper cranes, cut away the edges that stick out, because they can’t imagine a sin worse than being unable to fit in. She pretends not to see the grief in the face of her father as he fails to meet the eyes and expectations of others. They have suffered deeper losses, but this still breaks him a little. Written words take her elsewhere, to a land of bigger graces, of thrills and the sort of love none of these boys – alcohol and bile and lies on their throats – could ever give her. If there ever was a place for running, this is it; dirt roads and frozen time. A pallet of colors and people and slurs that never change, don’t know how. A book of pages unturned. The popular kid wants her on his arm, but refuses to lend her an ear, and she has no part of herself to give to someone who will treat it recklessly. Belle wants more out of life than scraps. One day, she finds another kind of boy. He is a giant in glasses and leather, hands like claws, holding onto reality as if it’s about to slip away from beneath his towering, awkward figure. Belle kisses him an I’ll see you later, as he drops her off a month after graduation, and her father cries as they fill up her dorm. She loves them very much, but she has big dreams.

A beauty but a funny girl (Larissa M.)

[emergincy]

2/30

what made you think of wrapping lace around your throats before you left/you can tell me aren’t we close/ didn’t I raise you from the ground up/I liked you less when your teeth showed in your smile/when your blood was always an inch below the surface/ready to rain down from your wrists and wash over me like dust/were you already so eager to turn to ash and cover me in your heat/I was there when you exploded, pieces of you breaking off even before you jumped/scattered like birdseed/I watched the birds eat your body like it was communion/whatever made you think to dress up in black lace the day I met you/were you already mourning yourself

[emergincy]

1/30

[ashandabstraction]

i wrote a poem about you & forgot your face | kmp

[hestialied]

Snow White, dark-skinned and red-lipped, sweet as every dream mankind has ever had. She doesn’t know what to make of her beauty. This is all her stepmother has ever had, but perfection turns flawed with time, and it all feels a bit like cruelty. Mirror, mirror, on the wall, spills its truths into poison, distills its words in the blood of its victims. Nothing like a sacrifice to keep life where life does not belong, to create magic from tainted glass. Had there ever been a time when the queen could hear only her own voice? The child grew up wrong, my dear, in the shadows of being beautiful and ignored, beautiful and powerless to the designs of her mirror and her father and her country. She was a little girl, then a young lady, then a woman made to be a wife. No one there to sing her to sleep, but the monster on the wall, reflecting back her nightmares; it crawled into her mind, it grew branches, it grew thorns. The queen was very pretty, once, and that was all anyone wanted from her. Inside, the ugliness spread: the kingdom she wanted and the husband that she could barely wait to mourn, the daughter she had to destroy. Snow White sees a face look back at her, distorted by the hunt and the filth, by the thoughts in the mirror, and realizes that a crooked nose and a split lip, that scar across her cheekbone, might as well be her happy ending.

That reflection is still reality (via hestialied)

[fermentingferns]

there’s a place in the sky where the breath of the innocent accumulates and creates a place for the clouds to settle, a place for lost souls to settle I wish I could touch the corner of your mouth and not pull my hand back and see blood maybe it would be better if I pull the lungs from your chest and force you to breathe on your own -lynnea// weakness

[dreamingismyart]

On Living: pt.2 (spun out)

what’s the worst that I can say? things are better if I stay so long and goodnight so long and goodnight I light matches just to watch them burn to feel alive to taste the ash but they die quickly in the snow and I believe it’s a crime to pass go before it’s time while the red orbs still watch over you like God but his mind was somewhere else and mine was on finding home so I didn’t see it until it was too late until it happened until we crashed into each other and spun out in the street the road like ice and there weren’t any sparks but the lights and the sounds flashing in the night but broken glass and hearts everywhere I wonder what it looked like to people passing by because I only know what it felt like; shock and fear and decay because no one stopped no one saw our cry for help and I could breathe just fine but maybe it would have been better if I couldn’t we tried picking up the pieces but there are just some things you can’t fix like you and me and how I can’t quite manage a smile but if the world is trying to break me it’ll have to try harder I light matches just to make wishes. can you hear me? are you near me? can we pretend to leave and then we’ll meet again when both our cars collide

[theprocast]

Latterly, I feel like my soul is lost somewhere; I’m beginning to think that maybe,  it is not so bad after all.

s.a., maybe being lost could be bliss (via theprocast)

[homeandash]

He asks: Would you rather be touched tenderly or violently? And I start bleeding blue- Salt water blue, Brine in my veins. I want to ask for violent tenderness, for love like a fist closing around a throat […]

Excerpt (draft)

[kachorigirl666-blog]

come home and tell me stories about every mythological creature you’ve seen in both dreams and the real. bring down your musty copies, dog eared books about folklore and witches, nature and love horror and trees. remember all the times you asked for stories and my hands were the paper i read from. you always had a knack for finding trouble you always asked for truths i wish i could unfurl before you. i wonder sometimes if you could’ve ever seen the lies resting behind my teeth or if there really was blood of a psychic in your veins. i’m still waiting for every star in my life to fall into place before i can take out the stitches around my heart so let’s let the embers cool before we rekindle another fire but let’s not stifle sparks that have done their time. come home so i can stop writing letters you turn into lining for the cupboards come home so i can shatter the glass between us come home from your hurts and harms i’m rusting waiting for you and hoping my heart is filled to the brim already

stories (a.a)

[maya-doolali]

The Digesting

that inching ache of chew and swallow

gnawing gut, slinking poached

I want your swaying to stop

unspoken bits and nibbled slurping

needy jaw full of  tremors and trembling

I want your swaying  to stop

flaps on tongues, the jawed trappings 

chewed and fed

both you and I  teething still  

empty feeding full yet

swaying to stop

- Maya Doolali

[k-ths]

Your kisses are the reason I wake up every morning. Your smiles put me to sleep every night. You are the start and finish, the first and the last, the beginning and the end. You are my everything.

You Are My Everything |

 J. M. 

(via domlnique)

[lilycoloredcolossus]

fever

the pulp pressed— all nectar flows the aril in fingers— the sun— in my mouth amidst the manifold comes hazel, & —arched vowels i am— blooming to curses i am— a discord of hallows

the sap runneth— to the ground savored & yet— somehow spilled how pitiable it is that we aren’t consumed how pitiable it is that we cannot fill he is— the thwarted decanter he is— the harmonic hollow

will you not look after us? do you not see how frail we’ve grown? how my lips— do hunger how his eyes— do glow—!

amidst the manifold comes hazel; come choreographed pulses punctuated ! pomace in the grove.