it's hard being young and crazy

22 tma poet

[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 Shop | Redbubble

ExMeansWithOut is an independent artist creating amazing designs for great products such as t-shirts, stickers, posters, and phone cases.

[exmeanswithout]

Chemical Messengers

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

[exmeanswithout]

At the festival for the dead

at the festival of the dead

the men in God's good graces bow their heads and smile as they're led westward too

do you know where they're led to???

to and fro towards that place your enemies dwell

no not hell

lowercase as, though locationally based its not in 3d space no!

not in 4d space neither

not temporally bound it's stuck in the fever!!!

in the fevers throes you'll find that thing you thought you left behind when (or whilst) you find your winding down forgotten paths of yor

WHAT FOR?!?!?!

an artifact of a forgone pact which once could've lead you out the door though now. . . post foul play and ouchies you'll be lucky to find the arrow pointing north and south

WOW!!!!!

And now???

you'll find yourself ridden with luck if even one one person gives a fuck or offers to tuck you in to bed, let alone leave you fed!

if such things were still possible

if even one soul offers to pass a bowl from which to smoke, or heaven forbid a stoge, a stogie as another fogey dared me not to refer to such an instrument as, as though I listened, as though the phrase “can i bum a stogie” never left my lips again

FOR SHAME!!!!

I'm to blame for even offering to deign to use an other name for such an artifact let alone the one i sacrifice my life to ten minutes at a time

don't mistake this for a whine as, though I'm in my cups i don't drink fermentations of the grape!

OKAY!?!?!

GREAT!!!

so say for instance it's the day you died? we find the time to cut the line or say its fine we have the time to wait? though we hate to wait we'll awake early and wait as fate demands

I'll cut the bullshit heres the plan

identify what man builds with his hands according to His plan

Yeah Man!

im game is what im saying I'm not at all playing!

what I'm saying is I've more to say today!

so what should i relay to your virgin waiting ears?

the fears of many men or yet their mighty feats regardless?

many men perish yardless, find themselves hearthless no fire to warm them!

or find themselves heartless, no inner fire to warn them, they're inert with nothing to be served before them!

the men in God's good graces are likewise inclined though they're defined by abstinence to such acts, as the facts stand their hands are stained with the blood of those they deigned to feign concern towards or better yet to convert from heretic religions towards that greater light of God!

is it not odd?????

how flawed their god is, so far from perfection i find it a perversion of definitions to define Him as such!

isnt it all a bit much?

i would say so, its a no go between God and I

and its a no go between me and the fogey on that possibly given away stogie headed in my direction

cus he's got a problem with my diction and inflection!

heres hoping he don't see my erection! there's nothing like being denied possession of a so called cigarette it's my obsession!

except for one thing

this fun king did in fact part with the so called cigarette!

the cheap kind

the one i like

why shouldn't i partake right?

so i do partake, i smoke the stoge away to ashes

to smithereens

thats right

its gone now and its not coming back!

neither is Jesus

or david koresh

dont worry about it okay?

[exmeanswithout]

It Will Have Come To Pass

A cool wind blows me westward towards that fertile river valley whose name finds itself slipping away from my otherwise impermeable mind, whose name suffers my tongue to pronounce, my ears to hear

I'm not from that place but I'm from a place that is likewise inclined in the way such places are

The river washes away the sins of another dying slice of americana, alongside the skeletal remains of the transients who die along her shore.

There's a misery here which is nearly identical to the misery in many old train track towns, those corroded fossils of industry

Yes it is known to some as a miserable place, a black hole which is difficult if not impossible to ever truly escape, indeed i fear we bring them with us

A place where suffering and sublimity abound in equal measures, though those with eyes trained to see one rarely see both

I eye the needle as it slowly ticks downward towards empty

I think I'd better stop for the night

. . .

I pull into the ruddy gas station barely outside town, such places are known to be capricious in their pricing, either a dollar less than in town or two dollars more

. . .

I'm known to speak in arcane truths that are troubling to some,

Though I wish not to worry the attendant with such words I know I only have cash, no credit or debit these days

No need

I enter the establishment to find an empty deli, an empty store, and I'm soon confronted with the full eyes of the attendant in question, a young blonde, her wide smile revealing a set of truly iconic tweaker teeth.

Her name tag says PRINCESS

All caps

I see a pack of that caffeinated chewing gum, gives me the shakes but nothing else works like it

Well, almost nothing though whatever assumptions I may make regarding gas station attendants in flyover country can and have certainly been levelled at me

I throw the gum on the counter, paw through my wallet and find a twenty

“Whatever is left after the gum on pump six” I mutter

“What was that?” she glimmers back

“Whatevers left after the gum, can you put it on pump six?” I say a little clearer

“Yes ma'am!” she shines in response

I turn to leave and she clears her throat

“You may want to hurry on out of here after you fill up”

“And why's that?” I respond

She sparkled sweetly but the effect is mostly ruined by those teeth

“Cops ‘round here take any excuse to pull over out of towners”

I nod solemnly, pop a piece of gum in my mouth and turn again to leave

This time she doesn't stop me

. . .

That thing about the cops didn't surprise me much, I've known towns similar in many ways and a common thread that binds such places is the lawlessness of local law enforcement

It is known in such places that the people who live there must make their own justice

Though justice is when the deserving find consequence, whatever that looks like

That can be bad sure

But it can be good too

. . .

I'm back on the road again, eyes peeled for a truck stop, a rest stop, a motel

Before I found myself drifting across the continent alone someone told me I should invest in a cellular telephone, a piece of technology I've found myself with an antipathy towards, especially on the road

Though now I can't help but imagine the convenience of every map at my finger tips

I haven't said what yet, but there's something I'm hoping to find tonight, something I haven't had in months, something I've longed for

And in the distance I see what I'm looking for

A blinking neon sign

Vacancy

Just what I needed

. . .

It's true that since the accident, that catastrophe I wound up on the wrong end of, I've tended to rub people the wrong way one way or another

You don't have to feel sorry for me

I wouldn't feel sorry for you if circumstances were reversed

As it stands, my endeavoring to rest was met well and I was well met, and now I'm stationed in one of those motel rooms where the yellow never quite fades, decades of nicotine exposure, at best it's just nicotine anyway

I don't smell cat piss or solvent so it seems I shouldn't worry in that regard

Not that I'm prone to worrying in any regard, regardless

I check my wristwatch

2:47 am

nine hours thirteen minutes til I need to vacate

I peek through those yellow blinds out at my vehicle, parked soundly in the spot outside my window

I didn't see any rough sorts or rifraff populating the outside area

My car alarm has never gone off, which is not to say it doesn't work, only that I've never received evidence one way or another

. . .

I set the alarm on the nightstand, lay my head down on my pillow and think of every John I've ever met.

. . .

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP

. . .

I bolt upright, jaw clenched, heart racing

I check my watch

10:00 am

That means I have two hours before I need to make my egress from this decrepit place

Inside my toiletries bag I find my razor, my travel soaps, shampoo, conditioner, toothbrush, toothpaste

If I was unimpressed with the accommodations before I feel my opinion post wash has been lowered immensely

Idly wondering whether the water heater is broken, I set about shaving and tidying my countenance

You see, there is a reason to wind up in such a place, even if I haven't decided yet if it's a good one

. . .

The church is on another side of town from the motel at which I had found haven the night before

Not the other, but an other, as this town sits at a crossroads in four directions, and so there's four sides of the track on which one could be

The side I came in on was one of the worse sides to do so, though as it is closer to the interstate I find it safe to assume that's the side most people see first

There is a hilly part of this town, where the good Christian folk dwell, desire to stay, and die

That's why I'm here

A Christian died last weekend, Saturday, between the hours of six and eight, though I was alerted that night

. . .

Don't get the wrong idea, I don't get a phone call every time a person of faith kicks the proverbial bucket, buys the proverbial farm or otherwise gives up the proverbial ghost

This Christian was once a brother of mine

This is only the second time I've seen him in a suit and tie

It's a much nicer suit this time

A much less gaudy tie

. . .

I make my way inside to a full house

The priest is saying his remarks, from dust to etcetera, when I walk in

. . .

In the nicer churches, the ones where the good Christian men have funerals, there is always a large wooden door which opens noisily, a creaky floorboard, or a slamming sally port, so as to alert those inside to the presence of one who knows not how to navigate such a building in such a place

. . .

The door slams shut behind me

Everyone turns to stare, some in recognition though mostly out of curiosity

I see his wife in the front row in her widows garb and veil

. . .

When I take my seat next to her I offer her something, a statement of fact, or tact as it may be

“I'm sorry for your loss”

She looks away from me pointedly and I take the hint

. . .

The priest clears his throat into the mic

“Would anyone like to say a few words?”

No one is looking at me

It seems everyone is intentionally not looking at me

I stand at the same time as a man on the other side of my brothers widow

I recognize him from a scar on my cheek where one of my teeth once punctured it, and from a group picture at my brothers wedding

The best man, though I've only ever found him distasteful at best

I look at him

He looks at me

I look away, and towards the priest, and make my way up to the pulpit

. . .

Outside, and afterwards, I've earned a red handprint across my left cheek as a parting gift from my brother's bride, a black left eye from his best friend, and a bloody nose from his eldest son

. . .

[exmeanswithout]

THE SWORD

Though recalcitrant enemies abound they too abide by my sword, and yet I'll never hasten to level a killing word, or otherwise violate through verbiage upon such villainous ‘verts.

My vocation may serve as a veneer to others’ viewing eyes, a gimmick one guilely once goaded.

Alternatively, though not intended to be contradictory, once another greeted me as an enemy, and I certainly view it as no such troubling circumstance to view another as such, to serve another their eyes, their tongue and my vengeance at once.

And I did surmise once that such endeavors are faced better as an actor than that which is acted upon.

Proper penitence can be postulated to present a pestilence upon one's own presentation, problematically.

And please, level no judgement in my direction as I've thus far passed inspection after inspection and furthermore I feel no regret for directing my weapon at those self directed as a threat.

So, such sufferers of my sword may sound alarms sooner rather than later, those which blare and bring about migraines among other such mental anguish, and such so called incurable idiots may in fact coalesce, colliding quickly into another catastrophic apocalypse, tis no concern of mine.

Indeed I'm no longer concerned with how another's path may coincide with mine, how such a collision may indeed appear as problematic, may show themselves to be as they appear as opposed to otherwise, I am not afraid as my blade when levelled at beast or bawd or bro, blood will be beaten from such bastards at my behest.

Troubling?

It may be at times be told to be as such, but I don't find it to be a troublesome thing, no indeed for the trouble, though terrible to others, is only ever satisfying to the one at the handles end, though

the one at the pointy parts end may indeed feel otherwise, though how am I to know?

Never has a kneeling knave fallen as a foe after explaining their own experiences, indeed, if such an insult is pointed in my direction, it only need leave the lips of the bastard before I break the body those same lips had once been attached to.

Never have I held it as a hardship to hurl an enemies head houseward, to eviscerate the villain at my blade's other end, to defeat their defiance dead, as is an activity I hold quite dear.

Though that which is dear to me is known to die, alongside that which I view as distasteful, indeed endings are entropy's endeavoring, endings are entitled to enact their own intentions, and as intention is entitlement on its own, to be entropic is to abide by such entitlement.

And so, sending entities to end as entropy intends to end is to beget an ending when that entity's intention entitles it as my enemy.

As my enemies are better off broken on the wheel than beaten down by my sword which does succeed at sticking another, and another after that if need be.

Better to be born broken than made so by me, better off beaten down post birth than to spend your last seconds smearing, indeed dirtying the blade which makes its home happily in my hand, or in times of leisure, in the scabbard at my waist.

‘Tis an errant knight's errand to endeavor to best me at sword play, at word play a page's, as my tongue cuts quite nicely, my sword cuts nicer still, and so I'll serve an ego its own distillation before serving a body its becoming.

Becoming dead, a corpse, a wight perchance, as wights are what is washed ashore when weights are lifted from the feet or shoulders of the drowned enemies of others, for though I've made my fair share of enemies, I've paid their ferries fare as is fair for forcibly separating such simpletons from their life lines.

I fear they view their endeavors as en vogue, their vocations as versatile, as though there is a vast difference between the end which is enveloped and the end which is held, and there is, there is too a terrible threat engraved upon the blade which I am proud to say has housed itself hence, in heads, in hearts, and has seen to sever souls from their vessels swiftly, soundly, as soon as an insult passes from inside to outside to my waiting ears.

It is no simple task however it is true I take pride in my ability to undertake such an endeavor.

I don't mind living a violent life as, though violence is viewed as inherently villainous, to me it appears only as a means to an end, an equal reaction to another's action, though another may view it as overreaction, it seems to sever the soundmaking organ in another's system may indeed seem to a simpler mind a misstep, a mistake, it is my mission to make sure such an action is only ever undertaken at the moment it is first relevant, as a way of expressing to the watchful eyes of others that such disrespect must be meted out alongside violent action as, despite what may seem as the simplest and indeed the rational response, I abide not by another's sharp word, as my sword indeed is sharper.

[flanbolt]

I don’t remember where this story was from but it was about how the writers older brother died when he was young and years later had a son who, had never met the brother had the same mannerisms as him. Ok I think I remember the key words were “my son drinks from the water fountain like my brother” or something

[flanbolt]

FOUND IT

[exmeanswithout]

The Lantern

I try to stay a little more than an arms length from mirrors lest I be pulled into that place where reflections abide, as though a forgery never lived a lifetime in a museum, as though an original never met the dubious gaze of an art historian, as though I've never doubted the veracity of another's verbiage

ALTHOUGH

I've been known to hold a watchers watchful gaze and I've also been known to look away but only after they blinked FIRST

I've never effectively concealed a question I was trying not to ask

To this day I've always given the plot away in that regard.

I know you know I'm still concerned with escape AND

I know you know I still keep clippings from discarded prose to use on a rainy day.

MEANWHILE

You know that by this time of year which is known to some as the dead of summer I've forgotten the feeling of clothes drenched in the downpour at the doorway dreading entry,

WELL

I fear I still am afraid of what I can't look straight at, I still am afraid of the darkness and that which creeps under cover of night, the inky black spills itself staining the spots my lantern touches not.

YET

We know the broken glass we step around has no such fatal touch, the leering gaze of others lends no carginogenic poison and so too such smiling eyes see no poison, no venomous serpents, no invisible enemies abound.

SIMULTANEOUSLY

We'll all waltz westward waifishly, in hopes of halting such sinister and miserly misery, mighty as such a monster, or beast as it may prefer to be referred to, may be, as well, they too find repose at the watering hole we'll find ahead, and who am I to deny it such repose?

Be I vile villain or vacillating victim, or even vacationer, neutral to the enmetic frequencies afoot. were you aware I was lying when I said I feared the end I'd initially found? and when I discovered said end only served as folly, were you aware I was finally

SATISFIED?!?!?

Please do answer at your liesure as, though fearful I am known to be, I find myself with an amount of free time in my position as adversary to others adventures in adversity

OKAY?

Okay, I will spit the deplorable word, I'll say the ineffable name, I'll write out the directions I've deduced to track down and destroy that unreachable place, find a home in the rubble, and rest.

READY?

[omagpies]

posted a month ago on my Patreon and Ko-fi, original text post by @inkskinned can be found here 💗

✅ you are welcome to: crop the images for banners/pfps (with credit); create voice overs w/o AI

❌ you may not: repost to other platforms w/o permission; create voice overs with AI; create NFTs

get early access to new comics: patreon, ko-fi || get your fursona assigned by me || browse older Tumblr Comics

[exmeanswithout]

[weltenwellen]

How Can Black People Write About Flowers at a Time Like This Hanif Abdurraqib

[n4ise]

I stare at a picture of younger me. Her eyes are huge, not tired. Her hair a mess, no one cared to brush it. She looks away from the camera. I can't help but shake this feeling of never being able to look her in the eyes. I have already let her down one way too many times.

I never changed. I'm still the same. Begging, wondering, hoping, wishing. As if that changes anything. I'm just taller, bigger. My hair is still a mess.

We're not much different after all

[exmeanswithout]

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!

[cigarette-crybaby]

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.

[alyssasimonewilmott]

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

[exmeanswithout]

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

[dankmemeuniversity]

[exmeanswithout]

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

[exmeanswithout]

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