bad poems & tears @shittypoetri - Tumblr Blog

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last night in the hammock when you were laying on my lap and you took your hood down so I could play with your hair because you know I think it’s soft and while you were laying and I was sitting I felt a mosquito land on my shoulder as both of my arms were wrapped around you keeping you safe and today I am itchy but yesterday with you I was whole

people hate me for someone that I don’t believe in

is that so bad? that my biggest sin is loving too much people?

your dead paper means nothing to me. my commandments lie in the basic virtues of kindness, sympathy, and love.

I’m unnatural, I’m wrong. when I’m with you nothing is wrong and the most natural thing is the way your hand fits in mine.

the unpleasantness of rage is unnatural. your face distorting under the pressure of hatred. rage never truly settled into my body until you opened your mouth, and I understood the danger of knowing who I was.

she can understand why one wouldn’t wish it. it can make life so much harder, to live with that burden.

what is food without seasoning. what is life without threats.

I would never be as passionate about living if you had never wished me dead.

he follows you down the halls, waiting for his moment to strike. she pulls at your hair and smacks the back of your head.

I considered myself a pacifist until I met her. she asked me what I do when people are mean to me, and I never considered myself important enough to fight over.

it’s her, but it’s not just her. it’s us, every collective voice screaming in the streets. the toss of a brick that began an era of power.

his nose is bleeding and I probably broke it. I wish I didn’t give a fuck, wasn’t horrified at the sight. I wish anger came easy. I wish I never had to hurt anyone.

I wish I was the stereotype everyone thinks I am. I wish I could joke ‘adam and eve so I did both’. wish the world would let me.

what’s life without a little spice, without my head crunching against the ice. it’s silly to get so mad over her hurting you, they tell me.

I’m mad because I’m finally realizing I don’t deserve it, none of us do. this isn’t a curse or a blight, this our lives.

stop killing us.

sick of talking about my ‘inner demons’ like yes I went through some shit no I don’t want to have it b a big thing

I wanna talk about my inner angels! did u know that I love snow when everything’s fresh and covered and the sky is white?

her arm on my shoulder, her hands around my wrist.

her voice singing fifteen like she meant it.

slushees

cast parties where we’re nothing except together

my cousins smile and laugh and his hands, so proud because he learned to clap.

it’s been bad and I’ve been horrible but there are moments when the sun hits my face and my sister makes me cards and there are moments when I can forget the weight of sadness.

remember the angels.

remindersforfouram

I think of you more than I should

in the moments between, you fill my mind

your smile, your stories, your slushees and cherry coke

I know that you don’t feel the same way

but it’s nice to have something good to hold me

it’s nice to be filled with longing instead of pain

love instead of apathy

I might never tell you but

I love you

it may not be much

But I Am Here

it’s her quiet surprise that you manage just fine

it’s her anger that rattled the inside of your brain, smashing against your skull

it’s others that are just like you. just like me and Here.

yes I am hurt and crying and screaming and I do not know when to die

but Fuck You I am Here and I’m not fucking moving

I’d like to say that I don’t care, but I do. I feel the way my thoughts get cloudy, my eyes unfocused.

I hate you. I hate you so much. I hate you for the way I’ll never be the same again. I’ll never feel safe again do you understand?

I miss you. I’ll never truly be able to hate you because I thought I knew you. Because I saw part of you and I know that you’re just human.

I love you. I told you I loved you on the back of the bus and I meant it. You told me you loved me first. Did you mean it? It doesn’t matter.

you never said sorry.

I guess that doesn’t matter because there’s nothing to be done now. it’s not me I worry about even though I’m hurt.

there are others like you. you all wear the same face and hurt me on different sides but I’m hard to kill and I Am Here.

do you ever wonder why I apologize to you so much? sometimes you don’t even do anything but look at me and I say sorry.

I’m sorry that I never said what I meant to say. the truth is whenever I apologize to you what I want to say is “you hurt me and you never said sorry you little shit.”

I’m probably not making sense right now. I’ve never been able to focus for long, but my thoughts are flying away faster than ever lately.

I want you to feel bad. I want you to apologize. But mostly I want you to stop existing next to me. I wish you weren’t here.

I know you don’t want me Here.

I’m too tall. I take up to much space. I’m sorry I can’t control my size.

it’s not much comfort to me, but I am still Here.

#aaa sorry ive been away #someone i trusted fucking pushed me and i fell back and got a concussion so rip me #so ig this is just about being queer in an unsafe space and getting concussed shdjdj #i dont like it but i havent been able to think the same since the concussion

sometimes I think about love

and yes, she’s on my mind

but it’s more than that

and it’s more than her

it’s a super target run with friends

the fall of fresh snow onto the tops of trees

it’s cats sitting on top of the sadness left inside of you

it’s the reunion of friends who haven’t seen each other in years

it’s the first breath after my suicide attempt

and knowing that even if the world is painful and harsh

I will take the first breath

and others after that

I will love

and I will

live.

#suicide m #suicide mention #tw suicide #suicide tw #suicide #love

sometimestuesday-deactivated202

It’s so weird how sometimes when I read a poem it just feels like a bunch of words and sometimes when I read a poem it feels like someone ripping my heart out of my body and throwing it at my face at 90 mph

why must I think about “colleges” and “majors” what’s wrong with becoming a trophy wife to a rich but emotionally distant man who dies under mysterious circumstances and going full goth for at least a year until meeting a famous author who historians will describe her and I as “good friends” and our love letters will be burned or reduced to subtext. literary scholars will speculate that several works published under her name were actually my work because the main character falls in love with a girl matching her description.... anyway how’s everyone else’s finals week going?

#this isnt poetry but i dont care

why do we write so often about the intricate rituals between humans

why won’t the silence of snow ever be enough to hold me

why can’t I stop thinking about you

and the space between our bodies?

why can’t the moss hold me the way I want to hold you

I can’t name the parts of a leaf, but I can list everything about you so fast I’m breathless

why is it that they only want to talk about the gay agenda and destroying society

I want to talk about the way her hair curls and the way his smile lights me

why is it that I fall so quickly to love while everyone else is still standing

why can I never talk about the way snow feels right after it’s fallen,

how does everything end up being about you?

she’s the silence of the snow, the cushion of moss, and no name for a leaf could compare to the way hers sounds in my mouth.

why can’t she leave my mind?

why can’t I write about the moon on a clear night?

give me back to the snow.

throw me to the moss.

my body has served its purpose in meeting you.

why do words carry meaning if they can’t even come close to describing you?

#nblw #forestcore #aaaaa #fuck not again

sick of trying to “find” myself. let’s start losing our sense of self.

you do not know me.

you do not know the days where skin met glass enough to draw blood

you do not know the nights where I held her as she threw up and cried for water I couldn’t give

you do not know the words that flow from my heart and give me life

you cannot hate me if you don’t know me.

you can hate bits and pieces of me, but I will always find things to love about you.

I’m here to stay bitch, give me your worst.

#tw blood #tw self harm #blood m #self harm m #vomit m #vomit #tw vomit #tw sick #my poetry

boykeats

some poems i love by poets who are trans

(after god herself) by justice ameer (xe/xyr)

the fall of man was the beginning of Eve Eve casting out Adam’s name Eve discovering who she was

faggot poetics by cameron awkward-rich (he/him)

Does that make sense?

To want to own the image of the man but not the man? To bask in that memory

of what first nailed you to the dark?

gay cowboy love poem by adam b. @julykings (he/him)

He’s got the bloom of desert peach inside his open mouth & a good amount of crooning to do. Kiss like a snapped guitar string. I dream of his shoulders & a full moon.

brown out shouts! by kay ulanday barrett (they/them)

and you, you like all of our ancestors before, you live it so fiercely that even when injustice sets in,

this rumbling sky houses your breath and that is better than any survival story

the moon is trans by joshua jennifer espinoza @blankslate (she/her)

You don’t get to send men to the moon anymore unless their job is to bow down before her and apologize for the sins of the earth.

treatise to the ones who scar badly by nathaniel orion @nathanielorion (he/him)

i want to be moonlight. i want to be the open mouth of summer evening, the long tongue of river slime that slithers from eden to wherever it is you lay in wet grass.

exclusively on venus by trace peterson (she/her)

Roses are born this way / violets have a lesbian streak / something about your dry sense of humor and our soft intertwined limbs / feels transcendently female

self portrait as headless john the baptist hitchhiking by c. t. salazar (he/him)

I said I wanted to worship something, even if it’s just the black

beetles in your yard crawling around hurriedly like pieces of a star trying to reassemble itself.

sometimes i wish i felt the side effects by danez smith (they/them)

knew what could happen. needed no snake. grew the fruit myself.

was the vine & the rain & the light.

ode to enclaves by chrysanthemum tran (she/they)

Here, we worship the hot pot; stuff our bellies with blessings. My auntie says—

If we’re gonna suffer, we gotta do it over good food.

reconstructions (excerpt) by brad trumpfheller (they/them)

Your hand finally on the small of my back, without any kind of fear.

This time, I’ll be a girl & you can be anything alive.