A little bit of poetry never hurt nobody @depressedwordvomit - Tumblr Blog

Somewhere in the tall grass, where the bluebells thrive, and the hemlock stay hidden, there's a metaphor there: beauty as a shield, innocence as a weapon.

Like the doe in the bear trap, wringing off her leg, I held girlhood between my teeth, and bit down, but it didn't bleed, didn't make a sound.

This abstract body, a vessel, a cocoon, transformative near magic, that turns buds into roses, plush petals so tightly bound, you almost can't see the thorns.

So, like the wolf in the fairytale, I wore sheepskin disguise, something long dead but convincing, the taxidermy of purity, rotted, but still sweet.

They say girlhood is like godhood, they say hemlock tastes like bitter lemon.

#poem #poetry #my poem #my poetry #quotes #gothic poetry #dark poetry #dark poem #gothic poem #dark academia #feminism #feminist #girlhood

Collect every part of myself, gather them together with ribbons and twine, make a wreath with the soft parts, and wind chimes with the brittle, the ghost of me is tired.

It's taken many shapes, morphed and twisted, convulsed and contorted, squeezed itself through cracks, desperate to be let in somewhere, anywhere, to belong.

Make use of me, will you? Make me something needed, to be pried out of cold dead hands, I do not need to be coveted, but, "wanted" would be a start.

The shackles are heavy, dragging behind, let me put them down?

#my poem #my poetry #poem #poetry #quotes #dark poem #dark poetry #gothic poem #gothic poetry

Aged whisky,

Old hand-me-down clothes,

Sickness or suicide,

I will not make old bones.

The way I've been living is killing me.

Drunk by 6am,

Cut up stomach and stoned,

Worrying family sick,

I will not make old bones.

I'm not sure I even want to anymore.

Phone on silent,

Waking up at 2am alone,

Smoke myself dry,

I will not make old bones

Something has to change, maybe one day.

#poem #poetry #old bones #my poem #my poetry

the exorcist's guidebook for stubborn spirits

A possessed boy goes to therapy, says the haunted house of his body is creaking differently, it wants something else, something more. He's tried scalpels to cut it out, but this phantom is strong, crawled into his head as a baby, tallied 7086 days on the inside of his skull.

The doctor says it's delusion, but as long as he isn't hearing voices to go about his day. The meds give him nightmares, so he stops taking them. Instead he will wander the streets at night, bloodied and stitched up, another failed disection.

He thinks there must be a priest, some holy man who can reach into his soul, wipe it clean and give him peace, tear the ghost out by its malignant roots. The Vatican, the Pope himself, anyone really. He googles exorcisms, they were banned in '76.

New therapist, stronger pills, yet another therapist, the boy isn't sure he's possessed anymore, but the haunted feeling sticks. He writes now, about all of it, thinks, maybe, somewhere out there, there's a ghost with a boy in his head, looking for a way to get rid of it.

#poem #my poem #poetry #my poetry #dark poem #ghost poem #gothic poetry #dark academia #dark poetry #religious poem

Hi i have a question for you

go for it!

vi-visected

a poem about how love changes you irreparably

#stunning #poem #poetry #the imagery in this has me in bits

The ghosts in my head seek forgiveness, crawl through the wrinkles in my brain on their knees, whip in hand- repenting. Never baptised, not even close. Peering out through my eyes, hungry. A hunger only the dead can feel, starved of life, hollow in the cheeks, they want a taste of salvation- don't we all?

They whisper amongst themselves, on occasion, sometimes they they pray, sometimes they sing. But, when it rains I let them out, Watch as they splash around in puddles, and waltz between the streetlights, savouring, remembering, grieving. Drunk on their desire to be real once more, and pained by the reality that it cannot be. They told me, once, how it feels: "like a fish on a hook, waiting to be gutted! But, you'll find out soon enough" I don't like how wide their eyes get, or how big they grin.

As they climb back into their graves, somewhere in the back of my skull, they tell me what they miss, tell me I will miss it one day, too, the breeze, the sunshine, the vitality. Make me promise to cherish every moment, every tedious second, "one day you'll be warning the same" they tell me. "I know" I say, I know

#my poem #my poetry #poem #poetry #dark poem #dark poetry #gothic poem #gothic poetry #religious poem

Phoenix ambition

16:36 and whiskey drunk, slurring every...5th word, my mother does not seem to notice that, or the smell of tobacco climbing my clothes. A polite smile, a knowing turn away, I make another drink.

My sister says I spend too much time in my own head, wondering where also I'm supposed to be, I retire to the 4 walls of my bedroom, make up worlds where I'm the hero, I'll cry about it later.

It's a mundane life, simple even, Skin is textured from too many late nights, (me, myself, myself and I...Pour another drink) I have not been taking care of myself, 3 more shifts at work to go, I dread the morning.

Small family (what's left of it) Small ambitions (what I can bear) 2 sisters who tell me "It gets better, really!" I choose to believe them, I don't have much choice.

Promise me tomorrow won't be as daunting, tell me I still have time to fix it! Nail marks on a wooden floor, I am clawing my way towards and brighter future reluctant as this form may be- please make the choice for me?

Fear is a hound and I a rabbit, between his jaws this only emnds one way.

#phoenix ambition #my poem #my poetry #poem #poetry #dark poem #dark poetry #quotes #alcohol tw #alcohol mention #drunk tw #drunk mention

Going to post the poem I wrote for a competition but did not win, oh well

A loyal dog

A loyal dog does not snap, does not snarl Simply rolls over, soft belly exposed, Awaiting the next lash. Collar too tight and leash too short, Chained up in the back yard, Awaiting his master's call

Kick him while he's down, Scold him while he cowers, But instinct is an insistent beast, Wet puppy dog eyes turned rabid- It's not the size of the dog in the fight... And a loyal dog still has teeth.

#my poem #my poetry #poem #poetry #dog poem #dog poetry #quotes #dark poetry #dark poem #canine poetry

The cutting room floor

I'm brought back to the cutting room floor, With its organ meat and blood splatters. Perses' domain, I should not be here, Destruction knows no temperance.

Butcher, carver, slaughterman, Make taxidermy of beauty, So that it may live forever, A mutilation of its former self.

What I wouldn't give to suture the wounds, Breathe life back into these collapsed things, The gods will laugh at my efforts, I cannot bring back the dead.

But in a pool of crimson I catch sight, Wild eyed, snarl lipped, The cutting room's architect; The cleaver drops from my hand.

#my poem #poem #poetry #my poetry #quotes #dark poem #dark poetry #the cutting room floor #blood tw #blood mention #gore mention #gore tw

If I go to hell, I'll be in good company

After heaven sends me back, After they've deemed me too impure for the company of saints, I will make an audience of hell. I will show my scars and say "Is this repentance enough? Does this wash the slate clean?" And the devil himself will hold me so gently, And look me in the eyes to tell me- "There are no slates to scrub, you do not need to repent here. We are made in his shadow, not his image, now you must step into the light. When those shackles fall, so will the weight of the world".

#my poem #poem #my poetry #poetry #dark academia #religious poem #religious trauma #religious imagery #if i go to hell ill be in good company

I'm... considering entering a poetry competition. Wish me luck xox

I think someone sent me an ask, I'm very sorry but I accidentally deleted it. please send it again, if you'd be so kind xox

the crossroads are a sacred place

And where has all this longing brought me? To the crossroads for the hundredth time. Tearing up dirt with my bare hands, I no longer know what I'm searching for. But I am here, and it is now, and the sun set a long time ago. Is it enough to simply want? Can it lament me a home? Would I even stay if it could? No, I don't think so. There are greater things on the horizon. If I make it to tomorrow I will capture them, crush them in my hand like wild berries, drink their juice from my dripping palms. But, for now, I am at the crossroads, digging with torn up hands

#poem #my poem #poetry #my poetry #quotes #poems #crossroads #addiction #addiction poem #addiction poetry

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poetry is a fundamental food group if you dont read a decent poem once or twice a month you get soul anemic bone tired and all that

A mother's love

My mother's love is stuck in my chest like a knife, a gift from her mother before her. Bloodstained affection, heavy as a pillow over a sleeping face- smothering.

I struggle to write about love. No gentle metaphors, I see the women in my family as shrikes- small, unassuming, deadly. Pretty songs to distract from sharp talons. Butchers, all of them, lethal.

Every family has a dark past, but ours rips the flesh from your bones, boils them down, feeds them back to you bloody and raw. They call that love. They've never known any different.

I reject a love that leaves me for dead. No more knives, no more birds of prey. I'm sick of turning trauma into metaphors. May we heal, may this poem be an exorcism for all the ghosts of my past. My mother's love will not be the death of me.

#poem #my poem #poetry #my poetry #a mothers love #a mother's love #trauma #family trauma

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A little bit of poetry never hurt nobody