Bellator

i'm your villain

[donotgogentlyy]

however many times you roll that dice,

i’ll still come up with snake eyes.

i see it staring back--

beady, relentlessly

taunting me, mocking how

 i thought it would turn out different.

no, the card table isn’t slanted.

the die aren’t shaven or puckered

in some unfair way. it isn’t

just chance

 that you keep screwing up, either.

you just keep rolling that die

the 

same

damn

way

and never changing your behavior.

you have no effort. no drive.

no motivation to better yourself

for us.

i just keep getting snake eyes

and you don’t care.

-- playing games

[chickadeeburns]

There’s a lake surrounded by oaks and maples, the water lapping at a rough sand beach, and I-

Wait. I’ve told this story before.

I’m standing in a parking lot and thinking of how far it’ll take to get to-

Nope, you’ve heard that one too.

I’ve spent so much time peeling off pieces of myself for you to sink your teeth into, I’ve forgotten what piece goes where, which piece was meant to do what. It’s all a mess now on the coffee table in front of me, and I have this insane urge to just set the whole pile on fire and call it a day. I don’t want to see what this puzzle looks like when it’s put back together. I don’t think I liked it very much.

This is the first time I’ve looked in a mirror since we started this game of give and take. Did I always look this fragile, this jagged, this exhausted? Have my bones always fit together like one wrong move will send them all crumbling? I could have sworn there was a time I was invincible, but I blinked and suddenly I was just human again.

Did I tell you I unpacked my getaway bag? I put the change of clothes back in my dresser, spent the cash I had hidden on some decorative pillows. At night when I turn out the light I stopped dreaming of running. I’m tired of living with one foot out the door. I don’t want to keep living with one foot out the door.

Let me start again.

There’s a blank notebook sitting on my kitchen counter. I’ve been so afraid to choose an ink for fear it will bleed through the pages or my writing will smudge or I’ll hate what I write. But it turns out pink looks very nice on the lined pages.

- New Start, Who’s This?, C.D. (chickadeeburns)

[donotgogentlyy]

afterthought

i feel like wilted roses--

dry as death valley from thirst, petals curled at the edges.

too much heat, too much time spent

showing my color

until it faded.

he feels like storm clouds--

weightless, charged with electricity,

gunmetal grey but all fluff.

the rain he harbors would take away 

the ache,

no more dehydration if he just

let go,

shared a drop of his magic.

but there are better roses and better lands

to share himself with.

i come second now

that my color has faded.

[donotgogentlyy]

URL change!!

hey guys! So since I've grown up quite a bit and I'm sorta out of my angst phase, it's time for a url change! i was goddessofherownhell >>> donotgogentlyy!!

just a heads up I'm not very good with redirection links/pages/whatever they are so it'll be unlikely I'll get one up and running

[eloquencenet]

Hello lovelies! It’s been a while since we’ve seen fresh faces in our net, so we are opening member applications again! 

The Eloquence Network is an inclusive writing network; we welcome writers from all walks of life and all levels of skill. Our network aims to celebrate writing in all its forms — whether that’s prose, poetry, original work, or fanfiction.

We can help smaller, newer blogs gain attention by promoting their content on the net blog, and introduce people to a welcoming, caring community of writers that are willing to help with writer’s block, novel writing, and more.

To apply:

follow the net blog (@eloquencenet)

reblog this post (likes count as bookmarks)

follow Em, Quinn, and Victoria

fill out this typeform

Applications close on June 8th. We’re excited to see your applications!

With love The Eloquence Net team

[donotgogentlyy]

apps are open again!! 

[donotgogentlyy]

i. it was the dead of winter when my love for you bloomed like lilacs. the flowers sprouted from the cracks of old, dead wood— purple surfacing through brittle brown bone. you took every space in my heart and imbued it with renewed growth; a flourishing devotion, taking root in the cavity of my chest. i felt whole again. 

ii. spring burgeoned and so did we. frailty around our edges turned soft and satiny, smooth as the buds of a lavender bush. the intense first flames of passion cooled into a steady burn. the sweet buzz of our romance lulled me into a state of ecstasy; my limbs lay loose and serene, my mind settling into tranquility. with this comfort, i felt at peace.

iii. the dog days of summer was when i began to feel the flame fade. days pushed to weeks pushed to months left me bone-dry and brittle. i was a shriveled husk of wisteria, suspended over mud brown grass. in the distance, i can see fires, but they are never ours. ours is pitiful, gasping for air. i was gasping for love, drought-stricken, aching for a drop. i felt average. But solely, i felt loneliness.

iv. the flame sputtered and withered away by autumn, burnt out and fatigued. our love went cold like the chill in the air, signaling a dark decay of the much-needed happiness that once took hold of my heart. wilted, those violet petals were caked in flakes of dust for ages— and i was unwilling to cut off the head. i kept those dead flowers as a memento, thinking they were a token of what could have been. but, it was just a token of the truth, a visible reminder of the failure. through seeing the truth, i felt heartbroken.

v. the sun set and winter rose, long and unforgiving in its path to forgiveness. hyacinths— flash-frozen from the sudden frost— lay scattered among the snowbanks. winter held the land in a lifeless, desolate form. no signs of life and i am alone again. with you, i felt lonesome; without you, it was still the same. but the journey down this path is hard enough, and the added weight of our dead feelings will only slow me down from progress. i last see them scattered like the hyacinths, left on a snowbank miles behind me. i press on through the blizzards and in hardship, i find glittering crystals. i find frost encrusted leaves, silver patterns against a backdrop of burnt orange. i find some beauty in this wasteland. and, thankfully, i felt hope. 

--cyclical

for @eloquencenet colors tournament, round 1. prompt: purple prose

AN: i took a page out of Shakespeare's book and decided to include flowers with symbolic meaning (lilac— first feelings of love, lavender— serenity, wisteria— uniqueness, violet— truth, hyacinth— forgiveness)! all represent a stage of this relationship cycle and follow the seasons, too!

[scrittora-deactivated20200825]

scribble society discord

hey! i’ve decided to create a discord version of my instagram writing group chat, the scribble society. (the group chat only allows a certain number, so i wanted to expand and invite some people from other platforms.)

you must have discord or be willing to make an account! also, not that many people follow me, so if you’re interested in joining my server, please please reblog and to get this out there! the more the merrier!

here is the link to the server. i’m bad at technology, but i hope it takes you to the introductions topic; if it doesn’t, please find that topic & introduce yourself, and you’re good to go! dm me if you have any questions :)

all my love, allie ♥♥

[donotgogentlyy]

just joined!

[donotgogentlyy]

unspoken

i know you write in another language because i cannot read it. i know you put your words on another page so i don’t see. i’ve known for years now-- two, exactly. it’s never gotten easier to forget. you try to hide these feelings from me, this unacknowledged history, but the words bubble in my throat. they are there but they do not slip past my lips. 

and you know they’re there. that unspoken history, buried six feet in a coffin, just like the one you stuffed your dead feelings into. you could only hope that the topic would fade, and the love and the pain would follow.

it’s been two years and i’m still writing about you. it’s been two years and i want to close the chapter that stitched so many scars on me.

the love faded, yes. but the pain never left. 

[saturnstrung]

a different thought, a different feeling.

@eloquencenet valentine’s day exchange gift for @goddessofherownhell 💕

i.

When you meet someone, you imagine fireworks.

You think the stars will explode, just like they do in the movies, and the wine glasses clinking will turn into violin music.

Reality is different.

You would not call it dull, or underwhelming, but certainly different.

Because the only music you hear is the continuing thumbing bass, high pitched laughter laughter swirling around your head.

She smiles.

A particular smile where her teeth are exposed, the tip of her tongue poking out, her lips becoming visibly chapped in the neon light.

There are certainly butterflies, so many they might be bruising your stomach, and you try be calm.

You are calm when you talk to her.

You hope so.

And when you go home with a name and a phone number scribbled on your wrist, and lipstick stains on the corner of your mouth, you think, maybe this is what youth is supposed to be.

You do not know if you should have experienced this sooner, or waited, perhaps a year or two before going out, but here you are.

It feels funny.

ii.

When you get broken up with, you imagine the end of the world.

Like the sky collected all its clouds just for you, sending only rain and thunder and lightning your way, until you are so soaked and burned you cannot see your tears.

You cry.

It hurts your eyes, you can imagine they are puffy and red but do not have the energy to look.

You rub them constantly.

This movie is boring anyway, it is not like this stupid thing lasts.

It is like a scam, like a lure drawing in naive teens who think first loves with become true loves and will last forever and ever, just like the fairytales all say.

You think it is bullshit.

You did not imagine her breaking up with you over a text, even, a bit more explanation might have been nice.

But maybe you do not really want that, because crying in front of her would be embarrassing.

It had never been, but now it is.

But maybe, you are tired of this movie now, and maybe, you are not really mad at her.

Maybe life is just turning out dull, like every emotion is supposed to be overwhelming, but instead, it is hilariously average.

It is funny, how quickly things change, how quickly someone you trust can turn into someone unknown.

Like an alien.

iii.

When you move on, you imagine it taking years.

Teenage love comes and goes like clockwork, people say, but you wish it was less painful.

There is a grace in how you pull back your face from your face, you think, maybe school will not suck today.

And it does not.

There is a pity in your friends’ eyes, but a happiness too.

They tell you it is not the end of the world, and you tell them you know, you are familiar with this concept now.

You think this class is not all that bad, actually.

You spoke to her yesterday, and believe it or not, your stomach does not hurt anymore.

The goosebumps faded away, like your being suddenly forgot its previous consumption of feelings.

It was a nice talk, you think, honest and apologetic and calm.

You are not in love anymore.

But when you look at yourself in the bathroom mirror, maybe you think it is okay.

You think love should be fast, but now, maybe it can wait.

Or maybe it can come and go.

Maybe you do not have think about it anymore, for now, all that much.

You think emotions may just be dumb but also nice and confusing and weird and warm.

There is a resolution to washing your hands, rubbing your eyes, putting on chapstick and giving yourself a smile.

You think, maybe, you can start thinking a little less about things you do not know yet.

You think there is a comfort in the unknown possibilities, in the wait or in the now.

It feels good.

[donotgogentlyy]

i love this so much. river, thank you thank you thank you! you’re amazing!

[donotgogentlyy]

burning

this eternal sunrise tracks my progress against the dry, cracked earth that thirsts for a lick of rain. i pick my way over logs and rocks and gaping earth to a place where that sun hasn’t reached yet. and there you are— once, twice, again i blink and your figure hasn’t moved. not yet a shimmery mirage of the light; a full, blooming figure like a daffodil twisting at the first droplets of sun. you’re there, waiting for me like you’ve never done before. we wait for the sun to dry up. we’ve walked our way to the end of the earth, and the only way left to go is down. 

but you won’t allow yourself to fall after you’ve picked yourself up so high. no, you don’t want to go down to the gutter; you’d rather brush the stars with your fingertips than stare at them from afar. 

and still, that smoldering sun lights its way across the sky— burning, and burning, and burning, and burning--

and we know that the stars don’t matter; we’ll burn with the sun. it’s just a matter of time.

for @eloquencenet Valentine’s day event! this is for @hohneyed! i know you like historical love letters, so i based this off of Oscar Wilde and Lord Alfred! i hope you like it!

[donotgogentlyy]

reinvention

we’d go walking along the beach, waves crashing at our feet, and every day she was different. somedays she was lonely, drowning people in her waters, just for a split moment of companionship in the sands of infinite time. somedays she was angry, ripping herself apart at the seams, showing her rage but not her strength.

and every day, we’d watch reinvention itself. the ocean never had the same waves. she never kept the same emotions. i’d watched rebirth closely from the shore, unable to tear my eyes away from something so awe-inspiring yet frightening. 

she never was the same ocean.

the day after i never returned to that ocean. i was tired of watching rebirth instead of experiencing it. i never chopped my hair off. no, i was convinced rebirth was deeper than the physical. i scrubbed off the marks-- of the girl i left two years ago, and the boy a year before that-- until my heart felt lighter. i took parts of myself and fashioned them into new. 

after that, the sun held the brightest light i’d ever seen. and, more than anything, i was glad to have a person to transform for.

@eloquencenet even: new years

[donotgogentlyy]

i think to myself a hundred times a day:

i don’t know who i walked out of all those months ago.

the girl i came from was angry and miserable, lonely and confused.

i didn’t know her. she was

someone else who i was not meant to be.

she wasn’t ready to accept fleeting things,

she wasn’t ready to live.

maybe i got lucky, finding my way out of her.

maybe i fought hard enough, and i somehow managed 

to win a battle.

maybe you led me out, my golden thread.

a few months more, and maybe another 

person will walk out of this skin.

for now, i’m okay with the fleeting. 

i’m okay with you.

--changes we can’t stop

[donotgogentlyy]

the night

there’s half a box of tissues and 

a bottle of jameson on my night stand now--

a replacement for the blanket that i slept with

through my childhood.

i grew out of the tattered blue rag

and replaced it with a tattered blue boy.

he’s everything in one:

security and safety, 

love and encouragement.

but he leaves me,

in the night, 

when i need him most.

the night is long and lonesome.

the sound of a ceiling fan rocks me to sleep--

as if it were a replacement for my mother’s arms--

but it is the touch of my 

tattered boy that i truly long for.

the bottle of jameson understands.

“Sine Metu”, without fear, as it says on the bottle.

no, i do not fear the night when i have you, jameson,

but i love the night when i have my boy.

[eduardmanet-deactivated20210521]

scissors by @pclyxena

transcript under the cut.

Keep reading

[donotgogentlyy]

this is art

[donotgogentlyy]

the venus fly trap

i dreamt about her last night:

we met while my lips

were bone dry and cracked with the

aching want to see her

somewhere else than my mind.

i ached to see her in a place where 

the heat didn’t stick to my skin

and the cold didn’t melt off of me,

somewhere where we would be face to face.

but somehow she was beside me-- 

her venus fly trap eyes held my gaze

like i was a fly caught in her web,

a planet pulled into her orbit.

i asked how this was possible, 

when she was a thousand miles away

and i had never experienced her like this.

she only laughed

and told me she was here for the wedding.

(i awoke dreaming it was real--

and she was truly beside me)

[donotgogentlyy]

missed beats

my heart beats funny.

it has a rhythm one second, but when

you go waltzing into my mind,

it breaks and splinters

from beat to beat--

no rhyme or reason. 

my heart beats like someone

drove a knife through it,

and my heart healed

around it.

every moment since then,

my heart has struggled on its own.

it’s struggled without a crutch,

without a safety net.

it beats funny alone.

it grew around you in such an intricate way,

that now it cannot beat without you.

[donotgogentlyy]

when she can’t see the road anymore

there’s music playing, but she’s not even listening--

it’s a few minutes past ten when she 

decides she doesn’t want to see the road anymore.

she rolls down her windows

and lets the fog consume her vision.

it’s a couple minutes later when she decides

to let instinct do the driving,

and let her mind wander back up

the road she just came down.

there’s music playing,

but she can’t hear a thing.

driving with the windows down, 

unable to see a thing--

it’s the most peace she’s gotten in years.

she sees nothing, hears nothing,

and thinks nothing of where she’s going.

she’s the happiest when she’s the most carefree,

she’s the happiest when she doesn’t care if she’s

hit the bottom of the glass seven times,

and wants to keep going until she

reaches the bottom of the bottle.

this apathy is her existence,

but only she knows it. 

(the music is playing, but she’ll never want to hear it)