🖤POETRY Stuff🖤

I post my own poetry unless I get too shy and/or succumb to the void that is my mental health :3 she/her, queer

[natdpoetry]

There is snow between my teeth

it’ll never melt

scattered on the ground,

like colorful magazine cutouts, flower petals, cigarette butts

never again held.

Spilling over

a faucet

wine drips on a beige carpet

mascara crumbs like pebbles on soft cheeks

a broken pipe that leaks

band aids just don’t stick

hands that heal when flames lick

homes that empty as you move in

thoughts that gather

like storms

between a blurry window and a glass of gin

thanks to the latter it all feels clearer

there’s just nothing much to see in a mirror.

And the couch creaks just like driven snow

despite sitting next to an owl and a crow

I was still hoping you would show.

-natdpoetry

[natdpoetry]

Handsdown best thing I created this year✨ Wishing an early merry x-mess to those who celebrate and just a good time to those who don’t. Also, what is it with this time of the year that just makes family member want to trash you for your “leftist-agenda” while “Last Christmas” by WHAM! is playing? Like TIME AND PLACE don’t disrespect this absolute banger with your right-wing bs bruh plsssss. If I hear ONE more conspiracy theory before the years end I will sizzle pop and disintegrate in sb’s face. Anyways, have a good time✨💕🫶🏻

[princessofwallachia]

[natdpoetry]

I so don’t want the whole “tortured artist = makes good art = only sad art is good art”-thing to be true for me but why can I literally not write a single poem about a topic that makes me happy without hating it and only write when I feel an itty bitty shitty, pls someone tell me I’m not aloneee

[natdpoetry]

You salivate at my sight

so you spit in my face

looking at me

you curse

yet you cannot avert your gaze

while I sleep soundly

you toss and turn

I lay in a coffin

you‘re spilling out of an urn

venom lingers on your lips

yet it won‘t reach so much

as my finger tips

[natdpoetry]

Tourist’s regret

I went to Paris,

I think I did it all wrong

I saw the Seine for what it was

grey, iridiscent, turning to brown

I thought about how

If you jumped in with rocks in your pockets

You’d die of poisoning before you’d drown.

Notre Dame still in construction

at a bar, an old man thought

he could offer me a distraction

His advances were crude

I drank his wine,

afraid not drinking could be rude

His eyes scratched at my skin,

he thought it was a caress.

I’ve stopped drinking wine

ever since I’d gone to Paris.

The snowglobe I got there

Found it’s end on a wall

The tiny Eiffel tower, still stuck in concrete

The glass shards cut my flesh

I’ll deal with them tomorrow.

I regret picking up when Paris chose to call

I should’ve let it go to voicemail

Like Icarus

I had it coming,

a mundane, everyday fall.

I pieced back together the snowglobe

But I left it empty,

hollow.

[natdpoetry]

I’ve counted my blessings

now they just won’t hatch,

“throw a dog a bone”, I say

but I refuse to fetch.

-natdpoetry

[natdpoetry]

Hanging from a phone cord

My blood boils over

The kettle is whistling

I tear at the phone cord

It rings, it rings

I can‘t find anyone who could answer my phone

I look, I look

I tear at my clothes, my skin my hair

I rip it off, scorched earth,

nothing left for them to own

I am late to my own birth

I‘m not really bummed about my own death

At my funeral

I take off black and wear brown.

Switch into jeans, take off my gown.

The things I seek in people’s faces I only find in theory.

The beating of steps on stairs, echoing

There is much resentment

that I harbour towards their noise

Anger fills me and like a gust of wind does with a candle,

It extinguishes my voice.

There’s a thing beating in my chest

I’m afraid it’s not a heart

A bird rattling against bars

A cat drowning in a bag, clawing at each thread

Turns out friendship in the 21st century is such a farce.

I took a leap

Miscalculated my landing

Who knew loud waters weren’t that deep

A crack, a broken neck

The waters carry me

A lifeless rag

-natdpoetry

[natdpoetry]

Reposting this poem, edited it a bit because I kept feeling like it had more potential than what I had actually done with it previously:

“Sacred”

Halos only shine when they burn

Not a single thing would move if it wasn’t thrown or kicked

Abuse makes the world turn

Hands made for grabbing, more

I saw two lovers carving a tree

Their initials, a heart

A rip, a tear

It never wanted to be a canvas to their “art”

Bleeding resin, scarred to the core

I know it’s dying when I walk past it

My friends are tired of hearing about that damn tree

I’m becoming such a bore.

What is more beautiful than a river tainted with dye

It‘s just a number

Like the shots they’ve laced with lye

The chemicals in my new stone washed jeans

making me dumber

Tree, paper, money

Could’ve been a cupboard, a book, a poem or even lumber

At least I can afford central heating now

Every morning and evening,

I clock in, clock out

there is one God to whom I bow.

There is no salvation to be had

When what is alive is a resource

and the rest is better off dead

A marble rolls on hardwood floor

but it could‘ve been someone’s head.

Blue blood drips

I’d like two, three sips.

-natdpoetry

If you happen to have read the previous version or sth like that, feel free to give me feedback (like, in general, I am open to that, I really want to improve and refine my style so if you feel like sth is redundant or sounds jumbled, not rhythmical etc., do tell me, english isn’t my first language so if you see a mistake there I’d really appreciate it) thank you love you ok byeeeeeeee

[natdpoetry]

What’s it like to hear the calling coming from inside a brown bottle?

Is the voice sweet, pleading or desperate?

Does it remind you of wild strawberries with sugar, a spoonful in your mouth in the summer heat?

Or is it demanding, hoarse like a rolled up newspaper, the unbuckling of a belt?

I have imagined ten thousand times over

While your tombstone remains empty

Maybe now you wish you had gotten sober.

There‘s times where we‘re the headlights, other times the deer

perhaps that’s why I had pencils and you

Well you had one, two, three, another beer.

Pity soon replaced my fear

Though your shadow loomed over my growing frame

I bet you must have felt shame

Otherwise your ears wouldn’t perch up when she’d start to sing again

Or bellow at the top of her lungs

You‘d run to her every beck and call

Invest all your funds

I don‘t think I‘ll ever forget that smell

And as I try to write these last few lines

I feel like an ink bottle running dry

It‘s all so old

There is so much I feel yet little I could tell

The status quo will stay ever the same

You‘ll always be the corpse dumped in a well

And I‘ll drink it‘s water and still taste your name.

-natdpoetry

[natdpoetry]

Halos only shine when they burn

Not a single thing would move

if it wasn’t thrown or kicked

Abuse makes the world turn

Hands made to grab for more

Lovers worldwide, carve their initials into trees

Scarred to the core

They die

But at least they bear witness

to an innocent lie

Beautiful is a river tainted with dye

It‘s just a number

The chemicals in my new stone washed jeans

are making me dumber

We make money from trees

we should‘ve used for lumber

At least I can afford central heating now

As my boss walks by,

It’s not my body but my soul that’s cramped

into a humble bow

There is no salvation to be had

When what is alive is a resource

and the rest is better off dead

A marble rolls on hardwood floor

but it could‘ve been someone’s head.

[natdpoetry]

So I may have disappeared from what for a short period of time, was a rather active poetry blog. As my poems may imply, I have a lukewarm case of the mental illies from time to time, which turns me, as most may assume, into the flakiest person on god’s not-so-green-earth. Sorry to anyone that thought I’m dead or on the run. I am neither. I’ll post at least three more poems over the span of one week before my cyclical demise shall catch up to me again. I am a girlboss after all.

[natdpoetry]

Spider webs hold together and embellish

the left-overs of my face

Ghastly gentle ties

Shaken by the wind, a banshees distant cries

The petals on my head haven‘t wilted, just dried

The loose braid of silver strands though it‘s

ends are split and broken is still tied

I stayed still in terror of the folds

that may remain lest I smiled.

They‘re here anyway,

living proof of sounds I have made,

both loud and silent

The way my brows tell the story

of a girl who was defiant

I stayed still, hoping age would not notice me

and just walk by

Knowing I could not run away,

lest the rhythm of my cracking bones shall start

it‘s pitiful cry

My voice like a broken oak branch, dry

Howling words I used to utter singing

Bells that though once started

But never stopped ringing.

Their chiming will follow me to my grave

And there will come a day

when I will march into it, proud,

maybe somewhat brave.

Welcomed with velvet arms,

shut in a hardwood embrace.

It has been a blessing to live

as my families disgrace.

To be a stormy ocean, never to be tame

A wild horse on a windy meadow, never lame

Between the folds of my face

Apollos’ kiss still lingers

How glad I am to be torn

Each tear screaming tales

of when each freckle was born

For my hair to be woven by a spider

Is a great fortune and a reminder

Of the fading red of a sofa well loved

It‘s cushion throwing dusty clouds

at every touch

A creak, a hole, a ring I lost but loved so much.

I hope time will turn my face into a book,

each furrow a page

Words that spill out in between,

like the pearls I hold in my mouth

As they dribble onto the ground

I hear the summer rain on my window

No matter how often I repeat these words

Tasting the syllables, the rhythm

I will never make them my own.

It‘s not the fading of Aphrodite‘s blessing that I fear

It‘s how my grandma has a garden she once kept pristine

just to powerlessly watch it overrun with weeds.

It‘s how my grandpa introduces himself to his own son

The one he relies on for all of his needs.

And I pray to the God I don’t believe in

hoping that before a single fold will start to form.

I’ll be long gone.

-ND/ natdpoetry

[natdpoetry]

I promised two people to post the whole thing so here it is:

My father taught me that love should hurt

But now that he is ashes

Dirt turned to dirt

Will I be able to redefine that heavy word?

My mother, on the other hand never liked my size

So I ate less, tried to slope my shoulders

Yet still my very sight she would despise

I was the insect for which she’d never find a fitting pesticide

I believed myself to be a nuisance

An uninvited guest that barged into her home

And every time I bathed, I imagined myself dissolving into the bubbly foam

Then slipping into the drain

So at least I’d have a fitting burial for what may remain

I was nothing but a splinter in her eye

Yet a tree in my own

And each branch I’d reach out to her

She’d cut down and burn in order to warm her home

And years later I understand that you did it because you were alone

I extracted your sorrow and made it mine

And now I sometimes drown at the smell of wine

Because when I look into it’s thick red colour

Your glassy eyes stare back at me

And suddenly I am 15 and begging for you to see me

I think it made me become the ghost that haunted you

Like a poltergeist I’d push over trinkets and shut doors forcefully

Because when I’d look at my hands I’d see the ugly carpet underneath them and the thought of fading scared me

I needed you to be the receiver of the sound I made when I fell

Bear witness to my presence

And now that I am at peace, every few weeks you start a seance and summon me

I do not wear a collar, I am not on a leash

Yet I will never be free from the creative ways in which you rob me of my dignity.

You may reach out with your hands

But all I see is claws

You say that there must be more than just petals on a rose

I say that you only have one and need to grow the other

In your mind all friends turn to foes

When I see your name on my phone my stomach turns

And when I look back on my adolescence and my childhood

The memory still burns

So don’t blame me

for wishing for an urn when I turned seventeen

Because my body felt heavy

and you ripped down each wall

on which I tried to lean

Yet I held on to prevent her sorrow

I held on to the word tomorrow

And though it was for her that in those

moments I chose to breathe

My lungs shrivelled at the prospect of no relief

Her foot on my chest, my words no time to rest

To her I was like a chewed up child’s teddy bear

I was her comfort, like a sponge I’d soak up her

tears just to rain them out myself

So how come she left me no room for air

Yet claimed that it was I who suffocated her

My sister was my last hope

After all, my family had run out of rope

I thought she’d pull me back into the boat

But on a cold night she took our last warm coat

Her words pulled at my hair

I checked for monsters in her closet

and was appalled to find a mirror

Left with a gaping wound named childhood

My questions desperate for answers

Does all love come with an entry fee?

Will there come a time when I bathe in the sea

without stuffing rocks in my pockets?

And after what they have seen,

are my eyes still willing to remain in their sockets?

-ND/ natdpoetry

[natdpoetry]

My father taught me that love should hurt

But now that he is ashes

Dirt turned to dirt

Will I be able to redefine that heavy word?

My mother, on the other hand never liked my size

So I ate less, tried to slope my shoulders

Yet still my very sight she would despise

I was the insect for which she’d never find a fitting pesticide

I believed myself to be a nuisance

An uninvited guest that barged into her home

And every time I bathed, I imagined myself dissolving into the bubbly foam

Then slipping into the drain

So at least I’d have a fitting burial for what may remain.

-ND/ natdpoetry

This is about one third of the whole poem, I just felt like posting the whole thing could be too much cause it’s really long and I don’t want to scare anyone from reading it haha.

[natdpoetry]

To them I am a rabbit,

They impale me with their teeth

teeth, like nails pinning me to my own cross,

except it‘s not my arms they spread.

To them my library, my books my story

can be summed up in two words max:

„Nice catch“.

-ND/ natdpoetry

Excerpt from another one of my poems.

[natdpoetry]

May be niche, but I just realized that most poems I write always contain a metaphor or allusion to the fact that my sleep schedule was or is messed up, is that something I should fix ooooor