Poetry by Niki

This blog is dedicated to poetry that I like, and some poems that I've written. Poems in the quote format are ones that I like, and poems in the regular text format are the ones I've written. Feedback is always appreciated, so tell me what you think!

[biggest-gaudiest-poltergeist]

i would cannibalize god's rotting corpse. if the opportunity arose

[penisgeorge]

why do you have to say these things minutes after I finish my poem about how gods rotten corpse is the carcinogenic bed of hell?

[insomnomia]

well tumblr user penisgeorge are you going to drop the poem or leave us in suspense

[penisgeorge]

You find god and he’s rotting. You find peace and it’s a slab of flesh. Chivalry is a blind, wet, crawling thing you pull from the gutter on a Tuesday— that’s the nature of things. That’s nature.

You find life and it’s stagnant. You find rain and it pulls the grass out, roots-up, green blades fluttering in the storm winds. You find death and it’s crying. You find hell and it’s wet, and green, a sulfuric swamp that digs wooden teeth into its meals and belches when it’s over.

You find god and he’s rotting, and so is his throne. Peace thuds in his rib cage. Hell belches by his feet, a fat and heavy dog; he’s grinning.

You find chivalry and you drag it up. Rot under your nails, under your skin. You find it crawling there, and you whimper, and you wonder. God is rotting. Rot is holy, right? This isn’t so bad. He’s terrible. You’re terrible, too.

You must be doing the right thing.

You find the devil, parched-white and clean. You find Hell seeping up his robes, a sick and heavenly green. You see his horns. You see his eyes. And the grass is torn up by its roots; and the wind is rent by the sky; and the clouds are shattered like sugar-glass; and at the end of it, at the end of it all, you meet god. And he smells like sulfur.

[generousdonkeyskeleton]

im crying this is the funniest ad I’ve ever seen

[modern-politics111]

[adhd-merlin]

bbc merlin + reductress headlines

[official-lucifers-child]

only one last wish

“please, i want to see the stars again,”

cried the fern, potted and strangled by its own roots.

“let me breathe the free air, one last time.”

“water. water please water.”

the cactus withered, unnoticed for too long.

“please. water. please.”

“don’t pick me. don’t pick me. don’t—“

the dandelion fell silent as deft fingers wove a crown of its fallen brethren.

“don’t pick me. don’t pick me.”

a single rose in a crystal vase said nothing at all.

its petals stained the water bloody.

“sunlight!”

the sunflower tried to tilt back after being twisted away from the window.

“sunlight! sunlight!”

“what did i do wrong?”

the chickweed died for the crime of being inconvenient.

“why did i have to go?”

“we’re still here! we’re still thriving!”

the forgotten garden’s chorus sang in harmony unheard.

“come harvest our crop we grew for you!”

“just the stars, before i go,”

said the fern.

a dying plant’s last wish.

[stinktube]

some loser: humans are innately selfish creatures

my psych book:

[khfanforall]

[c4ke-c0re]

[iosonomer-blog]

[squeakitties]

little guy is one sniff old and seeing so many wonderful things in this big and large world

[jplupine]

So apparently some people new to Tumblr think a repost and a reblog are the same thing, so when they see creators asking for people to not repost, they're thinking the creators are saying to not reblog 😭

Y'all, a repost is when you copy/download the work and create a new post using the work making it seem as if it's yours. A reblog is you using a site provided feature to share the creator's post directly from the creator so that it's still credited to them and they still get all of the traction/notes from the work.

Please, reblog fics/art/etc. that you enjoy! Reblogging is not reposting! Creatives need support too, and reblogging is a way to do that!

[ratsetflummi]

for the visual learners:

[catchymemes]

[fandomsandfeminism]

I know it's not the worst thing about capitalism. But I do think there's something really *bad* about the fact that between lack of leisure time, lack of disposable income, and "hustle culture" mindset that for many, many, many people the primary/only way they are able to express their creativity and artistic aesthetics is through consumer culture. Buying stuff and displaying that stuff.

When like...making stuff. Drawing, painting, weaving, crafting, sketching is like, baked deep deep into our bones as humans.

But I know so many adults who haven't like...drawn a picture since they were children.

[fandomsandfeminism]

"Ugh my drawings look like a 10 year old did them."

"When did you stop drawing for fun?"

"...when I was like 10."

Never mind that art doesn't have to be good to be fun.

[apoemaday]

I Am the Only One Whose Doom

by Emily Brontë

I am the only being whose doom No tongue would ask, no eye would mourn; I never caused a thought of gloom, A smile of joy, since I was born. In secret pleasure, secret tears, This changeful life has slipped away, As friendless after eighteen years, As lone as on my natal day. There have been times I cannot hide, There have been times when this was drear, When my sad soul forgot its pride And longed for one to love me here. But those were in the early glow Of feelings since subdued by care; And they have died so long ago, I hardly now believe they were. First melted off the hope of youth, Then fancy’s rainbow fast withdrew; And then experience told me truth In mortal bosoms never grew. ’Twas grief enough to think mankind All hollow, servile, insincere; But worse to trust to my own mind And find the same corruption there

[quotemadness]

I couldn’t see the point of getting up. I had nothing to look forward to.

Sylvia Plath (via quotemadness)

[quotemadness]

I cannot know who I am, because I don’t know which part of me is not me.

Erich Fromm (via quotemadness)

[haleyincarnate]

Let me talk for a second. Let me recap for you the first time I ever held another’s hand; working my fingers around theirs like a master weaver, veins threading together in tight stitches. Candy pressed into my palm, the bones sugary sweet just beneath skin. No wonder I always wanted to taste the tips, nail grazing tooth slowly like savoring something decadent. And he was. Let me talk for a second. Let me remind you of what it’s like to feel closure. Crawling into a freezer, ice licking at my eyelashes and frostbite attempting to make friends with my toes. I have a friend padlock it behind me. Trap me in, tie me down. I turn glacier; solid, slow-moving, but m e l t i n g. My water is collected and swallowed down by pride. Left to ice over again. Only the right tools can chip away at my body now. Let me talk for a second. Let me show you what love is supposed to feel like. Calm wind shifting linen curtains from an open window, clean sheets tangled around naked bodies. Teeth marks engraved into collarbones, lazy arms tosses over shoulders, the lingering high of comfort drifting through the air. The walls of this room doesn’t make it feel like home, but the one lying next to you, rather. The softness extends far deeper than the mattress. The warmth feels eternal. Let me talk for a second. Let me get one word in. Let me, let me, let me convince you it is okay to feel things as wholly and certainly as you do.

listen to me for once // Haley Hendrick (via haleyincarnate)

[mostlyfiction]

the simple things

[wordsnquotes]

And once the storm is over, you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won’t even be sure, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm, you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about.

Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore (via wordsnquotes)