Siren in the Brook

poetry 🖋 prose 🖋virtual art 🎨 digital art 🎨 she/her 🎨Message me for commissions

[likeacreek]

““I no longer need you to fuck me as hard as i hated myself/ make love to me like you know i am better than the worse thing i ever did/ go slow/ i’m new to this.”

- buddy wakefield/ we were emergencies

[likeacreek]

Sorry I haven't posted in a while but I have a book out!! It's on amazon.

[likeacreek]

Sorry i havent posted in a while. I recently read @guante's new book. Please buy it yall. its so amazing. You can buy it on @buttonpoetry. I swear it looks better if you click on it

[likeacreek]

Art vs the artist

[likeacreek]

@inkskinned

One of my favorites

[inkskinned]

I love u and this

[likeacreek]

“We sat around her living room in a circle like some privater gathering of the memories that laid there. mourned a body not even buried yet. I began to draw her casket. painted butterflies, shoes, roses, smiles, anything she collected. my father’s voice cracked as he whispered to me, “ I see why they call it mo(u)rning,” as this living room cried over a dead body in the earliest hours of the day. a monarch butterfly flapped her wings on the window, as if giving us a hug. and a tear rolled down my cheek as she flew away. again.”

— The morning after she died/ B.A.C.

[likeacreek]

“You’re curled up at the end of my bed, your paw twitches as you sleeps. My anxiety wants to ask you Dachshunds are hunters, what are you searching to kill now? are you death’s second cousin twice removed? because if sleeping is deaths cousin and you find a solace in that you must be related. I see your eyes are more coal than diamonds and your tail has more moments of silence. There are times when his lungs fill with so much fluid, his eyes leak. Neither of us speak the other’s language, we understand each other through howls and shakes. He used to sleep near my joints, knees ankle before he realized my joints function better than my breathing. He becomes ribcage give my heart more protection against panic attacks. We named him Lucky because he was lucky to be with us, but I was the one who had good fate that day. One night, my backbone started aching. little did I know that the other thing that helped me stand was in pain, too. Mom said it’s period pains. I said something’s not right. Lucky didn’t say anything. He just trotted to my bedroom door and waited for me. Which is to say I love you. Which is to say I don’t want to let go of you. He’s been through panic attacks before I could even name them and has more tears stitched into his furry coat than gray hairs. His barks are more boofs, but that doesn’t stop him from trying. Lucky and I are both fighters. But I worry whether we know when to stop fighting. When the battle cannot be won. He is trying to sleep and for the first time I can see the pain in his eyes. How much it takes for him to just breathe. I see how much he does not want to leave me. But I say to him, I have been so lucky to have you, baby. As much as I do not want to say goodbye, I do not want to see you in pain. I was once told love is knowing when to let go. I understand George’s side in Of Mice and Men because I know the pain you are going through and will go through; you deserve to go out of life painless. the next day he is bouncy and himself again. I don’t know if this is “one last day" or “I’m not ready to go.“ either way, I am okay with it. I reach to show him how much I appreciated our time together. His eyes are full of puppy love and his tail is wagging. In that moment, I know he will wake up tomorrow.”

— Lucky/ B.A.C.

[art-res]

Reblog if you’re an original art blog!

I’m always looking for new artists to follow (will be from my main account @astrikos ) as I’m sure many of you are! I encourage you guys to go through the notes in this post and check out each other’s work. 

Also through @art-res: Promote Your Art Commissions to +11k Dashes 

[bookstypewritersandtea-deactiva]

Are you an artist who needs money?

It won’t be anytime soon, maybe in a few months but I’m researching artists to commission a piece/pieces for my new apartment.

If you are willing to do any of the following please re blog with your art blog so I can see your style:

Ocean/lake scenery -underwater, 99% chance of me wanting a mermaid

Architecture/City scapes

Fashion - close ups of dresses

Plants - succulents mostly

Close ups of people - OCs mostly, particular focus on limbs

A portrait of some of my friends

Fandom art - I’m in a few, it would depend on your style.

Cool shit - I’m open to giving you a few guidelines and letting you do what your heart desires

I’m really excited to commission someone’s art work, please reblog so I can see all the awesome!!! Thank you.

[likeacreek]

[likeacreek]

“The sun is surrounded by emptiness I wonder if it gets lonely being the center of nothing Have life surrounding you but not one visit Confuse you for stars but you are plasma attach a label to something you are not they see what they can get from you fire ball light sphere they see you as an object but you are a god the earth revolves around you but narcissists will do anything To be right so they tell those supporting you they’re wrong. that there’s another god a better god a better you and it hurts reminds you the void revolves around you and the emptiness returns and it burns and you get why people hate you because you hate yourself.”

—

B.A.C.

[likeacreek]

“I don’t think I can do this anymore. it hurts. It hurts to like you because you give me hope that maybe we could be a thing. maybe i don’t want to like you anymore maybe I’m tired of picturing us close but far enough to miss each other. I think this is what pluto felt like. I can see you, but I still miss you. I just want to be included. but I don’t know in what way anymore. I don’t know if Im a big enough influence to be considered a planet. I want to date you. If you’re hades then I want to be persephone. We won’t be able to see each other every day. but the few months we can it might be worth it.But It hurts to have hope. It hurts to keep this maybe stuck in-between my sentences. We both get jealous of other people. you compare yourself to them and like me. I just hope I don’t become another side conversation. I want to say I wouldn’t allow that. But if it kept me on the table as an option, I know i would. I know I would let it happen. we’re just fucking, no feelings. but I’d be okay with being your marionette if it meant you held me longer. That makes me a shitty person I know. I wish I was yours and you were mine and when I saw you, I didn’t have to be cautious of what labels we hang around our fingers. I just want to be yours. but you don’t want to be mine. and I can’t hurt like this anymore. Some nights I wonder what would happen if we lived closer together. If we weren’t over a thousand miles away from each other. I could give you a thousand kisses and hold your hand each second you would let me. Instead, I hold it tighter when we are together hoping, if I squeeze it hard enough i wont have to let go.”

— We are all a bit of pluto/ B.A.C

[likeacreek]

[likeacreek]

Knock knock 

who’s there?

help. 

help who?

help me.

   The first bone I broke was my funny bone.

 according to science, it’s the strongest thing about me.

 I identify with my comedy. 

The audience would cackle. 

I prompt myself,  

            the hyena-hybrid humans communicate through chuckles and cackles. They aren’t trying to break your elbow again.

bury myself under set-ups to a joke no one’s ever heard- 

 my life story. 

My face was the punchline to my dad’s joke. 

His anger: the buildup. 

My head: his target audience. 

He was a great stand-up comedian though. 

His jokes always landed. 

Some stick with you. l

ike how he banged my closet door and asked me if my neck was there to hang.

 I hung my identity out to dry, 

it looked like a broken stained-glass window- 

could be a picture if I just glued the pieces back together. 

but the rainbow shadow cautioned me not to. 

So I left the clothes out there for the moths to eat up. 

Knock knock 

who’s there?

eye.

eye who?

Eye don’t know anymore. 

with every new mold I squeeze myself into, 

I lose a chunk of my clay body.

Scraping up remains of a past life and crafting something is not a skill of mine. 

But knock-knock jokes are.

I rap on everyone’s door and ask for help. 

bring a milk carton. 

“I’m looking for my friend she was lost about 10 years ago. she looks exactly like me but with depression in her shadow and a joke always ready to jump off her lips.”

I play this call-response game with strangers. 

hoping to find an answer. 

a home. 

a place to belong to. 

I felt like a crow, 

running into doors and windows hitting dead ends when I had a destination. 

Knock Knock 

who’s there?

Rufus. 

Rufus who?

The roof the most important part of the house. 

mine has cracks in it 

During thunderstorms, it leaks memories. 

The roll off my forehead, 

flashing like lightning in front of me, 

dancing over my eyes until I blink them away. 

The rain gets in, too. 

I wipe it away. 

I put buckets on the floor to catch my memories 

baptize myself. 

rewind old jokes, 

watch past punchlines roll, 

hear the roar of the applause after the final joke

mutter 

         My life is not a joke.

It may have pranksters- 

 people who confuse fear for funny. 

but you’re cutting them out. 

It has clowns- 

 people who spray what you should be in your face. 

but your editing them away. 

Show them all what a true comedian is. 

with a 

Knock knock. 

who’s there?

me. I’m home.

[likeacreek]

“Bruised I am discolored, yellow right before going back to normal stretched skin. I love hearing the Earth’s heartbeat at night. I need forgiveness, patience, and a bit of myself. I want to have someone touch me and not recline at the ghost pain of a past I want to detach from I dream of a day I touch every inch he did and don’t feel him. I fear recovery. I feel cracked, but not bleeding. I am bruised, but not broken.”

— bio poem/ B.A.C. (via likeacreek)

[likeacreek]

“His callouses kiss me again She keeps making me remove her waterworks. I don’t need to be her heart to feel her pain with how hard she holds his hand, you can tell she doesn’t want to let go that maybe if she held it longer more times he wouldn’t leave We would still be hugging and holding and happy but I miss the way his fingers fit between mine and how his knuckles knocked against the weaker parts I know she does too it took 5 times to realize that love isn’t enough that one person will love the other more that not everyone see’s love as a choice Or she wants to believe that she wants to believe that his hands decided to wave goodbye that his heart made the decision for him that it wasn’t his choice to say goodbye to her that love was a choice, but not one he wanted with her. So she makes me hit hard anything that can be shattered anything that can be broken just as much as she can she writes until my joints bleed until my knuckles scream. I feel her tears at night I feel her aching knee and I have been talking we want to stage an intervention your body is worth so much better than sketchy hellos and knuckling under goodbyes. you deserve so much more than sorry and goodbyes and choices.”

— A love scene from the point of view of my hands//B.A.C.

[likeacreek]

“There is a black widow in the corner of my bed room Her fangs drips her lover out of the corners my skin crawls, gets goosebumps. I go to kill her but she just ate and I don’t want to be rude. I wait until her meal digests. I am terrified/petrified of spiders I don’t remember ever having a bad experience with them I just woke up one day and I hated them and how expecting of a girl to hate something she isn’t fully acquainted with. with 4 eyes and a full belly of my past lovers I am the thing I fear most it is no wonder I hate myself. I didnt have a bad experience I didnt look at a model one day and decide I wanted THAT body type. I just didnt want mine anymore. I just woke up one day and hated it. how expecting of me to hate something without getting to know it”

— W.I.P.//B.A.C.