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PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
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@exmeanswithout
hi my name's Ex, I'm new to tumblr, i write poetry and make art, my poetry mainly centers around being young and mentally ill. I'm using this as a place to store my poems.
selling art
ExMeansWithOut is an independent artist creating amazing designs for great products such as t-shirts, stickers, posters, and phone cases.
Chemical Messengers is a collection of poems ranging from less than a page to four pages. Although primarily autobiographical at times it to
first book
A Two Headed Beast Stands At The Door To The Zeitgeist
Is that something you're still worried about? The flames cascading? The bruising from breathing in the smoke? You're still not in on the joke! So choke if you can't breathe anymore, and deplore them for what they have in store. Once more, I'll state it simply, solely for your listening, peruse your place in history, and examine your positioning. The blood is mixing with glistening sweat, this is what your efforts beget, and a two headed beast sits at the door to the zeitgeist. This blighted heist beguiles wise and foolish alike. And the wights wield zweihanders to fight against the brightness creeping ‘neath the doorway. The doorway itself is composed of post and lintel, ivory, the door itself red wood. The right head wreaks its havoc wilfully, the left counsels to let the lot live. Yet neither dispels such desperation, let alone fear. So don't foment the flames, but furthermore don't fool around filling faith with folly. Erstwhile enemies or remnants of yesteryear can entice quite egregiously. Cadences, though fiendish, can find it frequently despite such delinquency, and despite the dreaded deviancy, and despite decisive violence finding us fervently fleeing, I feel as though at the end of this venture we'll find our hearts whole, heads full, though we've yet to pull the door open, yet to even divert the beasts attention, let alone cross the threshold, to where that lower dimension lay, where minds are known to wander, men to ponder(seething in sonder), though foundlings in this fearful place do fill my mind with wonder. Perhaps we ought to let the beast slumber, pass lightly on foot past its fearful visage, though countenance collapses quietly at first, then falls quickly all at once. However, when fear is developed through filial pursuits, the two headed beast will pursue yet doubtless won't be able to squeeze its frame through the doors’ frame. We might not know fame for such an endeavor, as restless righteousness regrets the fetter, fitted to one's wrist, our ventures may not fly with feathers, or without! Yet hark for bouts of gout do not befall us, we are no vivacious villains victims yet, for we are yet to even attempt a pass at an answer to a riddle, which is to serve as a key, we are yet to attempt a killing blow, we don't even know which head bestows a truth, though lie and truth resemble one another as twins at times in trying times, it holds no rhyme, let alone reason, in this season which shall henceforth be known as spring. Perchance therein lay the key though, remember, excellence is our endeavor, so to slay the beast or offer answers to bedeviling questions as the beast does ask, an answer can flaunt its formation, can, with fearful fabling, fight off, and through clever construction, kill. That's it! FINAL ANSWER: KILL!
I think what I am actually drawn to isn't that they're opposites.
It's that they're almost the same thing.
A moth is not the opposite of a butterfly any more than dusk is the opposite of dawn. They're cut from the same shape. The same wings. The same fragile body. At a glance they belong to each other.
And yet they spend their lives chasing different lights.
A butterfly opens itself to the sun. A moth mistakes fire for it.
There's something devastating about that uk the idea that two things can begin with so much in common and still become entirely different creatures. That resemblance is not destiny. That sharing a shape does not mean sharing a path.
Maybe that's why the metaphor works because sometimes people are like that too.
You meet someone and they feel familiar in a way that frightens you. They carry your mannerisms, your fears, your hungers. They feel like a version of yourself that wandered off years ago.
And yet where you softened, they hardened. Where you stayed, they left. Where you learned caution, they learned desire.
They stand so close to the person you could have been that it becomes difficult to tell where one life ends and the other begins.
Not opposites.
Just two creatures with nearly identical wings, learning that they were never meant for the same sky, wanting to belong to one another but destined to be alone.
someone told me recently that a lot of my writing is about finding a home. i never noticed it because it’s been spread out over the years, but when i read them one after the other, it’s as plain as day.
plain and cliché that i would write a home and then burn it to ground because the pressure is too much to carry. the thing is, i am the pressure. i am too much to carry. it’s not that i think i’m special, not special in the way that i’m the only one in the world that feels the way i do, i simply do not know how or where to start or end.
plain and cliché that i would defile my body and debase my mind while my psyche rips shreds off of me, i don’t know which one came first. my shoulders feel heavy and my body weighed down; an anchor in this bed. my bed is on the ocean floor. there’s no light down here, thirty five thousand feet below. six feet deep doesn’t sound so bad anymore.
selfish. selfish that i have the people in my life walking on eggshells. that i would never dream of hurting them but begging them to help me up off the floor and clean up the mess i made curating my own deep sadness and distain. the blood i exorcised to pay a debt i don’t remember making ended up hurting them anyway.
naive to believe she could ever be satisfied. i am as devoted to her as the crew is in their debt to Davy Jones, only my heart isn’t in a box under lock and key. my heart pumps too much blood and then never enough, much like my mind. my heart is bruised and its ribs broken from being kicked. i’ll admit, i even kicked it a few times too. it had it coming.
i don’t know where my sickness ends or where i begin. i thought maybe i knew once, as if counting the years was that hard when it was less than i could count on one hand. i’ve been sick for more than half my life and still the years i didn’t feel ill were the ones where malignancy grew, so maybe it has been my whole life. the treatment is abhorrent, the treatment is to play tricks on myself until the next time i am doused in shame and perceived desertion.
inoperable and terminal. no antidote, i’m afraid. not much longer now, feeling final.
i am Jack’s malignant tumour. ASW // november 2024
Molot
The mallet wack attack packs a punchline
Smashed my bagged lunch in the punch line
Shits no fun
I'm done with the 1 2 1 2 stun gun thrum
click click
taptaptap
is this thing on?
How long has this gone on?
In the big 26 kick flips and skate tricks leave old folks astonished
Still!
Inshallah as is God's will
As god wills it i take pills to kill the hunger
Lengthen attention spans to create with my hands
Can you craft a plan??
Premeditate to defenestrate the man???
Can we contend with expended friends?
Enemies?
Furthermore frienemies??????
Sensitivities supply as conflicts deny the liars cry!
Why? Why? Why? Why?
Am I surprised?
I dunno how shit flies far west but in eastern WA we try our best to put language to the test!
Yes!
Let's try once more to see what's in store and to make that which they abhor
As the whores who held us to rebel against the company store once more and create something which they will deplore!
And yell for more!
Four more years of shouts and tears
Teargas!
And
Spilled beers!
Four more years of cranked gear shafts, men in masks, ss bolts tattooed on ass cheeks!
Please degrease the measly feed we're fed and do eat!
As little entropies scurry ‘round the globe, aliens pluck us up, disrobe and dispose of clothes to probe
I hope I'm not next, though I won’t go willingly as thrilling as it could be to be an alien bride or go on a flying saucer joyride
Although with me at whatever passes for a wheel I feel we'll fall out the
some even call me mad
The Angel is an entity i interface with frequently
Angels engender enmity with great indecency
Many angels monitor manically to manipulate
Angels are ineffable in ways i cant articulate
What i can say can and will will a wilting at your will
Drearily i despise the dreaded dream it does distill
The Angel operates me as a puppet i will say
Moving me to mill about day after day
In sooth as truth is telling us to tear at triumphs tale
Have you heard the heavens hark for healing from the hale?
Have you seen the psychopomps suspended in the air?
Have you felt the fleeting feeling of finding fortune fair?
I've merited from the messenger's monopoly on my mind
Despite the dread i have developed regarding the divine
Its fine i've found for fear and folly fluctuate your fate
Don't deny nor deify or damned devils devastate
It withers me to wonder what The Angel really wants
It seems it only wants to taunt to flaunt and thus to haunt
when i flee from madman me
and i take my leave of insanity
cut my hair for all to see
don my garb and rosaries
the world will open up to me
when i give up on the crazy i
when i defy my minds cry
and when the fiction once more flies
when the me I am does once more hide
the world will become mine
i am afraid of unlosing my mind
when in my work madness is enshrined
i'm terrified of what ill find
what I'll lose when i leave it behind
im scared i will then become blind
when i flee from madman me
and i take my leave of insanity
cut my hair for all to see
don my garb and rosaries
the world will open up to me
i genuinely love that the way k.a applegate resolves the issue of needing the alien on the team to be able to drop plot crumbs without totally solving everything for the human kids is by making aximili-esgarrouth-isthill a jock who only tangentially paid attention to when his teachers were explaining, like, the andalite equivalent of how to find the cosine of a triangle, and now he's in an astronomically rare circumstance where the fate of an entire species depends on him remembering how to do that. and he's cold sweating trying to recall the answers to homework problems he didn't do. and also he's always lying.
ax is literally experiencing like if you got teleported back several hundred years and everyone was expecting you to explain the precise mechanisms of how cell phones work to them and if you don't come up with a sufficient explanation they're all going to die. And he's not enjoying it.
every day this happens to ax
i tried to use duplication spell on my dick to please the many hoes who love me dearly but instead i nearly died after 3 penis duplications as i forgot to account for the amount of blood needed to compensate for so many hard ass cocks anyway i’ve been in a coma for three days
we smoking that shit
we smoking that shit that made horton hear a who
do you know what we're about to do?
we smoking that shit that made the cat put on a hat
you got a problem with that?
we smoking that shit that made doctor t build his 5000 key piano
and then we eating a grilled cheese sando
fuuuuuurtherrrrrrrmooooooooorrrrreeee
we smoking further
and
we smoking more
we smoking those green eggs
(what about the ham)
we smoking the ham too!
In a boxcar with a fox got that loud in a jar
its bizarre
we smoking grinch fingers
i need cologne cuz the smell lingers
we smoking straight lorax
shits orange in color
and we smoking more of that
one hit
two hits
red eyes
blew smoke rings
we smoking green
we smoking that shit that made the yooks and zooks lay down arms
we smoking that shit that made the sneetches sound the alarm
we smoking that shit that made me run a zoo
we smoking with the whoville whos!
we smoking that shit from a hookah
from a pipe from a bong from a doobie
we smoking from contraptions as of yet unillustrated
bitch we getting faded
PATHOLOGIC / THE PLAGUE
"All monsters must die bloody, and by a hero's hands, and soon," he says over brunch.
He doesn't think it's a rude thing to say in front of a monster. There are no rude things to say to monsters, only rude things monsters say.
"Don't worry," she says between bites, "You're one of the good ones."
"But I am still a monster," I do not say. I do not say that I love my claws and teeth, my prehensile shadow and my glowing eyes. That I cannot imagine giving them up even for survival, that to hide my shadow and trim my claws for them makes me feel diminished. In public I cannot say that I do not wish to be human.
They're progressives, this bunch, even if he carries a hero's banner with its proud history and none of them ask him to put it away. They know there are good monsters, monsters who can speak eloquently and hold the fork right, monsters you can be seen with in public. Some of their best friends are monsters.
They do not know the monster who is invited to brunch knows solidarity with the monster who is not. Believes and understands the monster who is not invited more than the human who does the inviting.
"Isn't that a little harsh?" says a third human, and I have not forgotten I am outnumbered. "We have ways of killing monsters without blood now, painlessly. And, of course, a monster should be allowed to live if it never growls."
He has never seen me growl. Yet how loudly and endlessly I will, when I'm out of earshot. He's talking about killing monsters who cannot stoop to civility, about mother and brother and lover who were never able to mute themselves like me, and does he not know how small a child who can only growl is?
"To growl is not to kill," I say, and all heads turn toward me. It is one of those rude things monsters say.
Another rabid dog
Another day another dollar
Rabid dog with yellow collar
Dog bites brighten on my arm
Biting down does cause me harm
At times I fear it talks in rhyme
His hands defy the telling time
Stitches on my witches hat
And riches that I'll never have
He hopes to hone his skill with ease
Has anyone ever politely pleased?
No manners are found in this place
Clue you in to the mask on your face
Whats the prize of this here game
Coming coming and yet never came
And you know what role you play
You asked me after a long day
Had you phrased it slightly different
Better, worthier, more vociferant
Not known whether you worded it well
Tell me when we're headed to hell
Him and her and you and I
Or me and them and all of us die
I know, I do I know it well
Promise me please you wont ring that bell
As I did once and learned my lesson
Bad news will be uncovered in the following session
As I found at the corner store
Things that are vague are what i abhor
Get good and get ready
They'll be here and theyre unsteady
Get it going get it gone get it as its gotten
Much more is found in memory than I have forgotten
Worse days are here now I smell it on the rain
Are you afraid? dont fear now for it will not ease your pain
You know that the pain does grow
Ready? no? well here you go!
NEW EARTH PHOTO JUST DROPPED FROM ARTEMIS II
thats my home
you can see the atmosphere. that halo around the edge, that's my air. the green on the upper right is my aurora borealis. those are my clouds, my sunlight.
and its yours! this is your home. this is the home of everyone you ever heard of and everyone you will ever meet. every animal you've been curious about. every plant you've ever picked, and sniffed. its mine and its yours and its theirs. everything is here. its all that i have. its all that you have too.
I wish there was a cow that produced soy sauce I’d keep one in my bedroom two down the hall just in case
