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On Goldfish

I learnt goldfish never finish growing

Last week, their world dictates their size,

Ever swelling, although perhaps slowing,

So I shall build a pond under the skies.

They see more than you or I, infra-red,

Ultra-violet, open even in sleep.

My great fish will not be flushed when they’re dead,

Mighty graves will be dug to sit and weep.

May you never see them fall ill, grow weak,

The pond will teem with life, orange will flash

In the autumn sun, some silver, antique,

I beg for their mornings on my eyelash.

We will sit on a bench, near to the scene,

Ignore the coming night, on my shoulder you may lean.

#sonnet #poem #poetry #spilled poem #spilled poetry #sapphic poem #love poem #love poetry #goldfish #fish #lgbt art #lesbian #spilled ink #spilled words #spilled writing #sapphic #queer poetry #queer love #queer

i’m so bored. is this it? please don’t tell me this is it.

#vent #ok to rb

screenshotsofdespair

deanwinchesterapologist

i want so badly to be more offline but alas the siren call of images

sarahconnorjr

foulserpent

sponge

i am a collection

of friends’ birthdays,

my mother’s favourite smell,

red pen smiley faces

at the bottom of essays.

my mind stacked full

of what you said last week,

the tweet he liked,

the drunk ramblings

of someone i haven’t seen

since high school.

these circles engulf me,

i am so full,

bursting,

with chatter, and love.

it’s consuming.

i imagine the atoms

that i call my body,

the nuclei bob

with all the faces in my dreams.

and those vast gaps,

those vast gaps.

are all that is left of me.

#poem #poetry #spilled poem #my poem #original poem #sad poem #poems on tumblr #poetry on tumblr #spilled poetry #poets corner #poets on tumblr #spilled ink #spilled writing

15/19

spelt with the letter ‘k’.

sweden, cadavers,

a pink necklace.

rating suicidal ideation

on a scale from 1-10.

omegle tags,

drama class.

i hope i never see you

again.

#tw grooming #online grooming #child grooming #i’m mad i still think about him #spilled poem #sad poem #my poem #original poem #poems on tumblr #short poem #poemsworld #poems daily #poetry on tumblr #relationship poetry #poetscommunity #spilled poetry #poetry #spilled ink #spilled writing

audrey

pushing pedals

despite the atrophy,

my vision blacking

and head fogging.

my mother saw

the sunlight on my

sallow skin.

the blue in my skirt

falling into the sky,

the sunflower print

smiling.

from behind my sunglasses

she said i was the picture

of a movie star.

#poem #poetry #my poem #original poem #poets corner #sad poem #poems on tumblr #poets on tumblr #spilled poetry #spilled poem #spilled words #spilled ink #spilled writing #eating disoder mention #anorexjc

fish-to-male

one day some of you will actually go outside and go to pride and you’re going to meet old black queens who refers to themselves as femme, you’ll meet people from small towns who still use the word transsexual, you’ll see that your local activist organization set up a stall about your local LGBT history that includes leather bar’s history, you’ll see lesbians in groups refer to themselves as “guys” and “boys”, you’ll see someone with breasts and pasties and little else have “he / him” painted on his chest, and you’ll be so caught up with your terminally online attitude that instead of appreciating the wide diversity of people who exist in the LGBT community who are brave enough to share themselves you’ll just be formulating posts and tweets in your head for when get home about how “problematic” it all was and it’s honestly tragic

saturnialsapphic

Once, back when I worked in an LGBTQIA dungeon, I encountered a significantly older person who remarked to me that they hadn’t been to “this type of place” in decades. They struck up a conversation with me and told me how amazing it was to see an openly transexual youth such as myself. I asked them about their experiences with gender and they said “oh, well, I’m a bit male and a bit female. Men’s and women’s clothes, sometimes makeup in a suit, sometime fresh faced in a dress when I’m at home. You know, bisexual” Obv this puzzled me at first until I realized this person was using bisexual in a very, very, literal and old fashioned sense, as in, dual-sexed. Non-binary.

Y’all gotta understand there are generation gaps in the language we use and you open yourself up to a LOT of very interesting stories if you stop blocking off the past.

satyriconmp3

not understanding the poem at all in the first read is a hot girl trait

kanafeh

(sitting in court on trial for murder) wow. god forbid women do anything

things are better than when i tried to kill myself. back then i thought about it all the time; on the phone at work, eating dinner with my family, texting my friends, whilst i was in my girlfriend’s arms. everything had the surreal sheen of knowing that they thought this was a perfectly normal interaction whilst i was plotting the next time i’d be able to add to my stock of pills, calculating when i’d get a day to do it without anyone noticing and taking me to the hospital, scanning my house for inconspicuous places to keep my stash. whilst we were talking about a tv show, their pets, sex, i would be watching their face and wondering what it would look like when they heard i was dead. i wasn’t even that invested if i’m honest, it was more the absent minded curiosity that comes with boredom than the need to know that i would be missed. i tried to ignore the fact i would be missed at all, actually.

things are better; i don’t think about it when i’m having lunch with my friends, chatting to my mum about our cousins’ new dog, watching tv with my girlfriend. but when things are quiet. when i wake up a little before everyone else, when i’m standing on the pavement at a crossing and nobody’s talking, when i’m staring at my empty plate after having my morning toast. it seeps in. i think about what it would be like if i had died back then, and i wish it had happened anyway.