Jormungandr

Writing and venting Side blog

[midgarddweller]

Just a place to share my feelings and stuff in my life. I’m not very active on this account so I apologize.

About me!

I’m 19 years old, female, and gay!

I may write about some sadder topics sometimes, such as depression and death. I apologize if that makes anyone uncomfortable.

I just need to vent stuff.

[midgarddweller]

The Walls Have Life

Regret, it taints my memories

in a dower, mourning gray

I try to grasp the golden

Before the lamp light fades away

When time stole you in the daylight

I lost a piece of joy

A kind of simple happiness

Only your smile could employ

I try to hold this aching emptiness

That has devoured all my sense

Every feeling I had known

Left me with your death

Yet, in the hollow silence

My thoughts, they form a line

Heart regaining rhythm

I encounter Father Time

In his eyes, I see myself

What I was and what will be

I see the one he’s stolen

And she smiles at me

It’s a vibrant congregation

An epiphany in my skull

As tender arms embrace me

From beyond this mortal fold

I had mourned what was lost

But did I really lose?

Though the memories still hold sorrow

I see passion in It’s blue

You never really left me

Not when I feel you in my brain

Your voice within the hallways

In the plaster, in my veins

You love engraved in the foundation

Of this house, of my life

Regret has fallen to acceptance

As I kiss

Our home

Goodnight

(May 28th 2026)

[midgarddweller]

I should just drop out.

One year of college, my GPA is dogshit, and I’m too much of a pussy to tell my mom.

Why did they even believe in me? Why did I believe in myself? I’m stupid, horribly stupid, why did anyone ever tell me that I’m smart? Just cause I completed some AP classes? Well it’s all for nothing!

Am I just lazy? Was I always this fucking stupid???

[midgarddweller]

I’m an addict but you’re not my drug,

You’re my needle.

A tool,

A silent participant

Indifferent to my toxic habit.

Yet, you’re always there to help me

Chase another high.

[midgarddweller]

MIXED

Out of all my siblings, I have the lightest skin tone

When asked to check my race, I fill in both African-American and Caucasian.

I fondly remember the cooking of my black grandmother, her Halloween decorations that frightened me, the calming and fond scent of her house.

I remember the dreaded days were my mother would do my hair. The strong smell of curl products, the plastic comb wresting with tangles, and the tenderness of my scalp after hours of braiding.

That same hair earned me cruel nicknames in elementary.

I remember my stepdad’s belt against my backside when I dared to tell a lie

How I’d wail in fear before the leather even hit my skin

Terrified of punishment

I fondly remember my white grandmother’s baking, the china cabinet full of old trinkets, the piles of VCR tapes and movie CDs.

I remember my room, which has changed so much yet still holds me the same. 70% of my childhood kept in this house, full of a nostalgia for a time before my birth, and the praise I’d receive for my “proper” English.

I remember my mother’s nails pinching the back of my hand

How I’d look at her, at my aunts, at Grandma

And WISH I was white

I’m not white

I’m not black

In what house am I not tainted by my other half, but accepted for it?

Where I’m not treated differently for my white mother or my black father.

Where I’m not placed above my sisters

Because of my proximity to whiteness

A pinnacle I’ll never reach

In what house will I no longer wish that I was someone I’m not?

[midgarddweller]

Written June 16th, 2025

We are all born nude. Our form has been sexualized and we have become embarrassed of it. Yet, at the end of the day, it is our purest form.

Like anyone else, I dislike senseless violence, gore, how the humanity is ripped from the body and just reduced to meat. Ripped, discarded, disrespected and left to rot like roadkill. But we are more than a carcass. We are more than a sex object.

We aren’t our body. Our body is us.

And what is even more pure than the nakedness I was born with, is the insides that work to keep me alive. I’ve always been obsessed with the idea of a better me being hidden beneath my skin and I’ve come to realize that there is one. It’s just me.

I am my blood and flesh, my membranes and sinew. I am the heart in my chest. I am every electrical impulse in my neural network. I am the oxygen in my lungs and the carbon dioxide that exits.

The violence I imagine is not vulgar, but divine. It is artful, bright and vibrant and the truest version of myself. And it is because of my humanity that I can see such beauty in my blood.

Blood is life.

And is life not beautiful?

Is life not visceral and metallic?

Is life not warm and precious?

Is life not within us all?

[midgarddweller]

TW: Detailed description of dissecting a cat, a bit existential

12th grade anatomy, late October

Our class had just begun to dissect cats.

I held its wet body while my partner pulled and pulled. She peeled off the skin and fur like Velcro, revealing the pale flesh beneath. If you hadn’t known it was a cat, it would have looked like chicken. We cut its muscles from each other, ripped off chucks of fat just to get a look at its sinew and fibers and ligaments.

Once cut open, we reached our gloved hands into its body and bisected its small, bloodless heart. Swollen kidneys were visible from beneath the skin. Everything was peeled back like an open duffel bag. It’s intestines were full of food that would never be fully digested. An inflated sausage link.

At the end of the year, those hairless, hung-dry cats were just thrown away.

I thought it hadn’t affected me since I wasn’t grimacing and looking away whenever we dissected. But it did. In my dreams, I saw myself suffer a similar fate. I woke up with a jump but remember everything clearly. My mind envisioned that I was skinning myself in the bathroom. All mixed with the sound of Velcro and a lingering smell of chemicals.

Peering down at the meat on my dinner plate, I thought of the cat, and then I thought of myself. Was I so different from them? When I die, I will be cut up, drained, dressed up, and thrown away. When I rot, animals will eat my body in revenge for me eating them. The death of the animal is “for a reason” but does that matter if it’s still thrown away in the end?

Am I so much better than the food on my plate just because I am aware? Just because the animal can’t scream or weep or beg, doesn’t mean it can’t feel the pain. But if the animal knew the horror of its own existence, would it be spared its fate? Or are whines and hisses ignored in the pursuit of Saran Wrap packages in fluorescent aisles?

I guess we are all flesh in the end.

The only difference is when we’re eaten.

[midgarddweller]

WINTER

(Written in 2023)

The crimson and gold leafs of autumn are the beautiful bearers of death. A sign of the coming winter. For all its beauty, the cold of winter’s heart cannot house life. However, though her sharp ice cuts and burns, it also perseveres. Even Winter desires to see the beauty crafted by Spring and Summer. She coats their creations in solid ice and in her shame, blankets the baren earth in her tragedy.

Her sobs fly through the air and scratch the skin like needles and every wretched cry echos through the white fields like a cacophony of sorrow. Her tears roll down her face and drip down her chin like gently crafted snowflakes, woven in the depths of her bitter heart. Most tears freeze to her skin and serve as an everlasting reminder of her eternal shame. Winter, the harbinger of death, weeps for every life she ends.

[midgarddweller]

On those quiet days, they ask me for my love.

“I love you,” they chime. I echo their sentiment.

“Do you really love me?” They press, “how much?”

I spread my arms wide.

Yet, internally, their Immense sentiments annoy me. Why do you desire proof? Do you not believe my words? Their pet names make me heart tighten and my brain screams for me to leave and cover my ears. My responses become automatic and sometimes, I wonder if they’re true. These feels swirl in my brain like fog, intangible and unknowable. I love them but what does love feel like? I don’t know. It’s all too overwhelming so I retreat but, then, they question me. I retreat even more. Too afraid to voice my real feeling in fear that I’ll hurt them, I stay silent.

“I just want to know,” they may respond. Why? Have you forgotten the hundreds of times I’ve preached my love? Why can’t you leave me alone and accept my feelings as unchanged? Your continuous prying invades my soul. I can only satisfy your curiosity with words because I despise the idea of opening my heart to anyone. Get out of my space, leave me alone, and stop it. These filthy words soil me, breach my privacy and tear at my soul. It’s horribly uncomfortable but I know that any attempt to voice these concerns will only cause more damage to my privacy. I cannot talk about any of these feelings in fear of backlash and outrage, for I have not forgotten the times I’ve been accused of acting out merely because I’ve wanted to voice my annoyance and anger.

Your promises of acceptance are empty lies to lure me into false security and after my past mistakes I know I can trust no one but myself. You say you love and I know you do but is this what love feels like? What is love? I don’t and at this point, I don’t care. If love means I have to expose my insides and give up my privacy, then I don’t love anyone. When you ask my all these questions, that’s what it feels like. It feels like their ripping me open, it’s disgusting. Expressing myself through words feels like your forcing me to vomit and when you pry, it’s like your opening my ribs and peering at all the these I want to keep hidden. If those is closeness, I prefer solitude. If this is love, I prefer abandonment.

If this is what it feels like to be seen then treat me like a ghost and never lay your eyes upon my being again.

[midgarddweller]

A POEM ON WAR

Why do we kill?

From the days of iron swords

Archer rows and shields

To the current day of airplanes

And bombs and mine fields

Is it a war for independence?

Or a quest for far off lands?

Is revenge the fire that leads us

To hold a weapon in our hands?

Does the stench of copper caress you

And lead your hateful heart

Upon the chest of another

Who you’ll gladly pull apart?

But now it isn’t personal

Not when you can stand afar

And pull a distant trigger

To splatter gray matter

On the tar

Chaos cast in metal shells

Rains from above

Waking children in their sleep

And never waking some

No face or name to pray for

Just a number on a screen

Another statistic or percentage

To write on obituary sheets

Is this why we kill?

[midgarddweller]

Beauty in Pain

All my senses go quiet. Dozens of hands squeeze my heart to bursting and my vision blurs with tears. The rush of blood to my head deafens me but I do not need hearing to feast my eyes. And I FEAST, like a glutton in a buffet! Your faces holds a thousand words that I can’t be bothered to read. I don’t need to know the story to know how delicious your expression is.

Each sob is like a church bell at a wedding and I’m the bride! A thousand sorrows swirl within your glossy eyes while your mouth hangs open in a silent screech. I pray you do scream so I can memorize the agony that will claw its away from your throat.

Sing! Sing your sadness!

The utter defeat in your face almost sends me into a heart attack. I don’t dare to blink, less I forget this perfect moment and lose the masterpiece of your despair.

I want to lick the tears off your cheeks.

I want to memorialize the pure divinity of your suffering so all the world can know the beauty of pain.

The beauty of YOU.

[midgarddweller]

TW: VENTING?CANNIBALISM MENTION

Because I’ve never felt love, I feel myself drawn to the most intense form of it.

I’ve never felt that tight feeling on my chest, that connection to another person, that strong desire to be near them. But I have felt obsession. A type of connection that consumes my every thought and becomes the highlight of my day time and time again. The joy that makes me twitch. The happiness that makes my chest hurt. I know it but I’ve never felt it towards a living thing.

I romanticize cannibalism because it is an extreme form of closeness that I can draw connection to. Like a nightmarish cute aggression, a loving violence. Closeness isn’t appealing to me but it’s the underlying understanding that comes with it. I would hate to be understood by another person but if that person becomes apart of me, understanding would be a blessing. They would know me because they’d be me.

We’d be us.

[midgarddweller]

DEATH

A random poem.

The light of the morning hits my eyes

This burning room in with I lie

Eternal solitude meant as a curse

But this quiet gives no reason to cry

When the sun ascends to its zenith

How can life still be serene if

We will all pass to the dark behemoth

Dark robes in the corner of my eye, I see it

Who is death, the one who stalks

The death knell chiming when he walks

An image carved in my eyes

The ethereal figure of death

A silent end but he weeps for thee

Every life taken, their face he sees

Not a number in his book, a story

Not cruel, but holy

I wondered if death was once mortal too

Condemned to descend upon others

Forced to reap the lives of his sisters and brothers

Made to cut the soul of his own mother

Was he always just bone or has time eroded him

His full figure now wretched and thin

Stripped of humanity, far from his kin

Yet not angelic like the seraphim

Wearing a cloak to hide what’s been done to him

He is the dark figure at every funeral

A passing shadow at every hospital

A being far from hostile

A friend to those who’ve lost it all

He begs to weep but can these empty sockets cry?

He’s asked the same question, why do people die?

But every answer is a lie, demonic

Is it’s Satan that whispers to him or god, then?

No matter what, it can’t solve his problem