penstruq @penstruq - Tumblr Blog

theijeoma-deactivated20180827

the first time someone called you ugly, you were in primary four you ran home, asking your mother why your skin bleeds black you watched your mother quietly soap your soul with diluted love and liquified pain she kept scrubbing your soul washing you in love speaking of your light she kept scrubbing speaking of your smile she kept scrubbing speaking of your gorgeousness slowly, you began to smile first, a giggle, then, a fully belly laughter ‘there. that’s my beautiful child’ she whispered.

Ijeoma Umebinyuo (via theijeoma)

Race and skin colour is beautiful.

Okay

I clasp my hands around my shoulders as skin begins to peel from my sides like snowflakes my chin digs into my chest a shiv digging into my collarbone I stand on a rock in the middle of a lake waves whirling like blue hydrangeas and I see you, a lighthouse: You lead me out. You lead me out.

#spilled ink #poetry #rejects corner

40ozphilosopher

the slow decay of dying dreams in the moonlit mist of a summer night

rain drops echo steadily against an old battered roof

—Matthew Ambrose

mikefrawley

Holding On and Letting Go

I’ve never been good at letting go and yet my heart knows it’s true there is no point in holding on when nothing’s left to hold on to

Bruises

Words are empty glass cups sailing across tabletops

Smiles are Locked doors with grotesque faces that lead into eventide

Caresses are raindrops from uncaring overcast skies who thunder at small mistakes — yet

Bruises are Love stains on the carpet Portraits painted by Your hands

#poetry #spilled ink #creative writing #rejects corner

the-whiskey-writer-deactivated2

I may not have ever seen a woman slit down both her wrists but I have seen women drink and drink and drink until their souls are fit to burst heart set to beating too fast and too slow I’ve certainly never seen a woman hang herself trails of rope hanging down more beautiful than the hair on her...

thelottner-deactivated20170119

her eyes tell a story that yours never could .

penstruq

We Could Be

There could be vistas of mountains with shoulders of ivory, of waterfalls cascading diamonds and silver.

There could be fireflies and starry whirlpools painted into the sky — a symphony of Angels singing hymns.

There could be portraits carved by the breath of lovers and sinners: An ocean of bouqets arranged by all the world’s artists.

But all those candles pale in the torch of your breath.

penstruq

#throwback on an oldy.

Insecurity

Creeping dark scale the walls - rotten vines like webs A haunted house exhales dust

Black appendages choke - like yellow-eyed anacondas A lamb collapses under its weight

Rapids corrode rocks in the night; grains drift away slowly Black rivers flood over flushed cheeks

#personal #spilled ink #poetry #creative writing

inkskinned

i’m sorry i’m not there, Bear // r.i.d

lllnomadlll

Bukowski | 40x50cm | Graphite on paper

If it doesn’t come bursting out of you in spite of everything, don’t do it.

Unless it comes unasked out of your heart and your mind and your mouth and your gut, don’t do it.

 If you’re doing it for money or fame, don’t do it.

 If you’re doing it because you want women in your bed,  don’t do it.

If it’s hard work just thinking about doing it,  don’t do it.

If you have to wait for it to roar out of you,  then wait patiently.

If it never does roar out of you,  do something else.  

Unless it comes out of your soul like a rocket,

unless being still would drive you to madness or suicide or murder, don’t do it.

Unless the sun inside you is burning your gut, don’t do it.

When it is truly time,  and if you have been chosen, It will do it by itself

and it will keep on doing it until you die

or it dies in you.

There is no other way.  

And there never was.

Charles Bukowski

Artprint available here

For more of my art visit me here:

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The Morning arched its back Nestled between sheets of fog It purred appreciatively As the Twilight leaped Through thick dark curtains And stroked the Morning With its warm palm

#good morning #a letter to my cat #poetry #lit #free verse