מלאך שנפל

i fell from heaven and i cannot return csa survivor. kink blogs not welcome.

[postcardflowers]

sophocles

[postcardflowers]

i wish more than anything

that it had made me strong.

i can no longer bare to hear bells chime, or the soft whisper between church pews, the shuffle of feet as they line up for grace, for renewal, for their lord.

i am unable to live with it. it eats at me so strongly that my bones have bite marks on them and my skin has long been picked off and saved for a coat.

every breath feels like sabotage, every movement feels like another knife stuck up inside of me, ripping me apart.

it will not let me grow. but it will grow. and i know the consummation will spread and spread

until i have become it.

[postcardflowers]

will you still love me once you realize how dirty i am?

or will you become another rotted infection that eats at me incessantly until i can’t breathe, until my lungs are black and my skin yellowed?

it’s hard to think you could manage to want this rotting corpse. not once my makeup comes off and i reveal that dead look in my eyes, telling enough to make you never look again.

how many more people will he push away from me? i am drowning in this isolation

[postcardflowers]

[thebrokengenderqueer]

[postcardflowers]

my birthday party was yesterday.

a smiling face handed me new clothes and i grinned back. i thought nothing of it, choosing to ignore the war i’ve waged on my body for my entire life.

i tried them on and they got caught around my thighs. 27. too small. my brain recalled when i could fit into a 24 without much problem.

i am getting worse again. i’ve decided now to cut out lunch. just a diet, i’ll say. just a way to make myself a bit thinner.

i can’t help it. skin and bones has always been my religion. and nothing bleeds quite like a hungry heart.

[postcardflowers]

all my art is about you

my core is rotten, my outside is falling apart, my shell is cracking

you will always live on inside of me, always be one step ahead, ready to attack

when i bleed i think of you

[postcardflowers]

they were all taking photos of me. a thousand men, cameras flashing, my skin as cold as ice, marred by a dirty floor and a dirty man

i will always remember the smell of that basement. death, mildew, candles, communion wine.

was god watching too?

[holyisthenameofmyruthlessaxe]

Postcolonial Love Poem, ‘Wolf OR-7′ by Natalie Diaz

[ID: I confuse instinct for desire - isn’t bite also touch?]

[thewitchjournal-deactivated2021]

A poem I wrote about trauma and the temptation to scrub my skin

[ouroboricism]

“This is about my body & my hands & my hands touching my body. & maybe that’s all a monster is: a body that’s survived”

— Jasmine C. Bell, from “To Be a Monster,” published in Monstering (via lifeinpoetry)

[postcardflowers]

i killed your baby

10 little fingers and 10 little toes

clawing at my spine

red blood clot, drug store plan b

shameful tears, bathroom stall;

i wonder if she would’ve had your eyes

[noroichann]

[kinasin]

[postcardflowers]

[postcardflowers]

virgin veins/coma cinema

[dead-dogma]