An Exploration Of Teenage Woe

Poetry and stuff? I take prompts! Please follow me, your support makes me really happy!!

[latibuleselcouth]

this blog makes me very happy, it’s nice to document growing up like this, I like it a lot ^^

[powerfulkicks]

We need to start sexualizing mobility aids

[carfuckerlynch]

[sweatermuppet]

[Text ID: torrin a. greathouse

SICK4SICK

I think my lover's cane is sexy. The way they walk like a rainstorm stumbles slow across the landscape. How, with fingers laced together, our boots & canes click in time-unsteady rhythm of a metronome's limp wrist. All sway & swish, first person I ever saw walk with a lisp. Call this our love language of unspokens: We share so many symptoms, the first time we thought to hyphenate our names was, playfully, to christen ourselves a new disorder. We trade tips on medication, on how to weather what prescriptions make you sick to [maybe] make you well. We make toasts with acetaminophen bought in bulk. Kiss in the airport terminal through surgical masks. Rub the knots from each others' backs. We dangle FALL RISK bracelets from our walls & call it decoration. We visit another ER & call it a date. When we are sick, again, for months -with a common illness that will not leave-it is not the doctors who care for us. We make do ourselves. At night, long after the sky has darkened-in-something like a three-day-bruise, littered with satellites I keep mistaking for stars-our bodies are fever-sweat stitched. A chimera. Shadow-puppet of our lust. Bones bowed into a new beast [with two backs, six legs of metal & flesh & carbon fiber]. Beside my love, I find I can't remember any prayers so I whisper the names of our medications like the names of saints. Orange bottles scattered around the mattress like unlit candles in the dark. /End ID]

[bk-poetry]

Downfall

You are so lovely—& easy to forgiveness,   a detrimental trait that saved my life. Where was I? Was I there? There was a   voice like a quivered arrow   coming out from my body unannounced. The streetlight kept constantly flickering,   sending desperate messages in Morse code. & I couldn’t help but notice how   dizzying everything was from       lack of eating,       or sleeping. The only thing I know for certain,   isn’t this emptiness or abyss. The only thing I know for certain,   is that, in this life, I never   want to hear you cry again.

[saintjoan]

Poetry recs? Like your absolute absolute favourites

Okay these are the ones that made me die a little

“all people are driven to the point of eating their gods” 

“if I love you / is that a fact or a weapon?”

“the kingdom of god is within you because you ate it”

“the blood in your mouth – I wish it was mine”

“his mouth is heaven, his kisses falling over me like stars”

“I am singing now while rome burns”

“that corpse you planted last year in your garden,  has it begun to sprout? will it bloom this year?”

“so the gods sank to human shape with longing”

“those imperial, disimpassion’d eyes”

“this beautiful speed will be the end of us.  those are stars in our teeth.”

“if love wants you, if you’ve been melted into stars”

“out of the ash I rise with my red hair / and I eat men like air”

“your body hurts me as the world hurts god”

“lessons on loving a prophet”

“and I, infinitesimal being, drunk with the great starry void”

“tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine”

“to love a prophet is to become their desert”

“the void rushing up to greet us in the absence of god”

[ololygas]

Hammond B3 Organ Cistern, Gabrielle Calvocoressi

[latibuleselcouth]

my

best poetry

does not come from me or

from my chest.

In someone else’s poem I learned

that this is lighting.

That I just direct it

through me (a humble conductor,

or maybe not so humble)

through my pointer

finger, atop my phone-screen.

They did not say it like

this. It feels accurate,

all the same.

I don’t know why this is

spouting out of

me. A faucet come to life,

a hard-to-twist-and-turn lever.

But it pours out

without my permission,

without my understanding,

much to my discontent.

This is how my

poems go.

One irrelevant thing

to another,

anecdotes however ordinary or grand

tied together

into something great.

Into a tapestry.

Into something I

spit colors onto

with my voice

and rhyme the threads

together.

He read out The

Tantalus Effect, a new friend and I

listened around the AM’s of night.

he spoke it beautifully. Like a piece of

sea glass shone to life through

a flashlight he held. He read so clear and sturdy,

so deep that I felt pinned like a butterfly against a trap of my own making. A construction case. A case study (as I wrote). Caught between the captivated

lens of a listener whispering

in my heart that I was hearing something precious.

And the artist,

flushed with jubilation

and fear

and humiliation and grandeur.

At the end they asked if I was okay and I

swore up and down that I am. I told the

truth but they did not believe me

and it sat on my toung like a lie.

He said he felt like I had handed over a glittering chunk of my honest to GD soul.

He was right.

And it struck me uncomfortably.

That I had cut off part of something

sacred so cleanly,

raw meat to be cooked by

the fire and ate with bare hands. And that I liked it;

I loved sitting splayed atop the table,

consumed in my

reckless vulnerability,

being seen like I never had before. Absorbed into others hearts yet

here I stand; still writting and whole all the same.

Even better for it. Is this all my poetry is? Me? Something beautiful and

clean to

horrid and unclean, a complicated trapping of eternal never ending confusion only allowed by the shortness of this time I am allotted?

I free

part of the heavy in me

like this.

Take it, carry it for me. I have nothing of importance to say

but

i hold the words like cargo atop my crumpling steel ship. However such,

despite so. I really

truly

feel like

I do love

to speak of

and to

my poetry.

I really fucking do love

my poetry.

(to keep,

to have and hold.

Forever)

[latibuleselcouth]

A Day In The Life

Here is the organic click of dopamine,

It rewards a good comment, a confident smile, a new friend.

She looks on with bright eyes.

She doesn’t look to it’s end.

With a stubborn chin-up,

She keeps both feet on the ground.

“No daydreaming today!”

Not a droplet to be found.

As such things to do, time takes a twist.

Spins the natural away from her fist.

The internal sail coaxed by internal winds.

The compass away, feet at the tip.

It looks like this,

A tense flutter in the stomach.

Dread rising.

Composure sliding.

Frayed edges, visibily hemmed tips.

She almost falls into a dip!

But with compass in hand, she grabs the edge.

Determined, she’ll fall back in step.

[latibuleselcouth]




my shoulders are curled coiled and clinched

holding myself up

with the barbed wire you cut

gripping stone tight

amping up for the kill

I grasp for baby teeth, fangs that only scratch

my clumsy barbed wire amid the skill

I wish that I knew how to go in for the kill

I draw first blood only through pain

when sensitive sensitive sensitive reigns

I wish that when I hurt you it was a chemical burn

But it’s just shallow stabs, my attempts to be seen and heard

When I clench up and try not to react

Refusal to be vulnerable amid my wreck

I imagine the kitchen knife, yellow handle and all

A small cut on the side of my thumb, barely seen at all

And when my father throws rope out I stubbornly decline

Crawl into something unsafe and unkind

I used to imagine what people would say

If I ceased to exist

by next day

I don’t anymore- because you would offer no reprise

I want you to love me more, not just when I die

[latibuleselcouth]

it’s painful, cries my torso

it hurts it twists make it stop

I know

my brain soothes

it’s okay

it hurts it twists it’ll pass

tonight we will suffer

it’s okay, I squeeze them together

together I writhe and scream and cry

pain is pain

we will survive.

[latibuleselcouth]

my body feels old

not wrinkled old, not laugh lines or wisdoms or life lived to the fullest old

my body feels old

candy wrapper past the expiration date old, amazon packaging left to collect dust in the corner old, shoes ratty from use that people are too lazy to throw out old

my pain is past the expiration date, I can no longer use it

my happiness has run its pace and now I must catch up too it

I do not think I have what it takes to sprint another fucking step

I probably do, because it’s what the universe demands

my body feels old and so does my chest

the center is sore and gone and too much all the same

I am disappointed with the course I can take

Because my pain is past it’s expiration date

And I am not inclined to pick up the pace

[latibuleselcouth]

I don’t want to come up to soon.

There’s a deadness in my heart and a deadness in my soul. And when I try to smile the numbness takes its toll.

The edge to my smile that curves up sharp. It goes the wrong way, flattened and wrong. My teeth don’t flash, a mockery of joy. And when I try to laugh the reverbado fails to be coy

My brightness has dimmed and waned and lulled. In a time, I will be good as new. But now I don’t even ache, and I don’t want to come up to soon.

[latibuleselcouth]

And the label reads “Love”

I mince my words from lion's claws to shark teeth / I fall onto you while I watch you breathe / Your intake on the uphill sinks into me / Hook line and sinker /  reel me in and take a bite / I only want you / Just for tonight  / Some soft drip / Some telephone pole rammed through my throat / Honey, I’m the thing you own / Bought me, kept me, and melt me / But safety is really just smoke on the wall / So I wrap a harness around my waist while I fall / Kiss me quick and drop me quicker / I’ll climb up and neither of us will be none the wiser / You're my muse, my favorite, yet my downfall all the same / I smack my lip balm just for you to do the same / I scratched out your warning label to write your name / It reads love so you sigh and wrap me in your skin / I’ll cut you if it means I can breathe you in/

[latibuleselcouth]

Prompt: a specific color

There’s pink in my toes and red on my cheeks

A drifting song and something sweet

There’s red in my breasts and pink on my teeth

A wafting taste and cotton candy pleas

Red in my eyes while candy drips

Pink on my hip like hands adrift

Red in my lungs like words unsung

Red smeared on my thigh like my favorite song

How can i wash a sour taste?

When red turns to crust and pink to waste

How can I save a hollowed place?

When safety is snuffed and fear is awake

I am pink and I am red

So I will lie in my swirled up bed

[latibuleselcouth]

I want to scratch something deep that’ll last onto my thigh. It’ll be a bitch to care for but it’ll be nice. The burn will last. I’ll look at it on the toilet and be mine

How wonderful

I really want to

Not in a self hating way. It’ll be something to talk about tomorrow. I’ll probably like it.

It’s just another indulgence. Like eating too much or a second cup of coffee. Like another episode of the office or a stolen hug when you didn’t have permission. Like a bag of chips or skipping brush your teeth. Like staying up till 12:00 or letting yourself gag and idly wonder if you could get yourself to throw up now.

I wonder how much I could be forgiven for. I crave it don’t I. The reaction. The attention. The vulnerability. The connection, the feeling

I get to feel

I used to be so empty and so now I fill fill fill to the brim, soda slipping over the top

I want to scratch

[latibuleselcouth]

Prompt: nighttime

There It Goes

I let darkness slide down my head to my toes

My phone is across the room and my door is locked

And if something comes for me, there it goes

I leave my eyes open and stare into the dark

Vulnerability- self imposed

And if something comes for me, there it goes

[latibuleselcouth]

An Open Letter Part Two.

I will never forgive myself for the browned leaves

I will never forgive myself for the dead trees

The poison has sunk into my pores and I will never sweat it out

But I am not the only one responsible

I was a child

How was I supposed to know that incectacide is toxic when I saw it sprayed freely?

Why am I the one spreading apology’s and needled begginings on soil?

I was a victim to.

I died a little, wilted a little, crumbled and whispered and screamed

I’m 14

Why am I responsible for learned behavior?

I followed the script.

I read my lines and sunk into the subtext and I

I thought I was doing what was right

I DID NOT SUPPLY THE INSECTACIDE

I WATCHED AS EVERY EXAMPLE MADE THE GARDEN BURN BEFORE I LIT A SINGLE MATCH

..

Why am I the only one guilty?

Why am I sucking the poison out of wounds and clawing at clues?

Why do I inhale smoke and fumes and get the fuck over myself, and turn aside as they move?

When did healing and damage control become the same?

Why am I the one to blame?

[latibuleselcouth]

An Open Letter to My Twin and Younger Sister

When everything’s there

But everything’s bare

Overgrown weeds

I’ll try to part them

Water huge shrubs from my watering can

The trees I cut;

The shrubs I picked at;

I drenched in poison

Meant to keep the crawlers at bay

The pesky little things that slither and sting

I let them die

In artificial mist

The soil turned dry

And the green leaves grew brown edges

When everything there

Is your job

When you chose it once

Then not at all

You stand bare footed

In the musky air

Hoping one day

With your pink watering can

In your free moments

With poisons stained hands

That it will rain