A Poet's Journal

♡Just a writters inner thoughts...maybe short stories♡ | penname: H.R. Kelter | ♡about me♡ | 21 | Cancer | INFJ-T | Lesbian | Writter | Musician | Hufflepuff | she/they | chronic nerd | climbing | archery | photography | hopeless romantic, in a hozior way |

[stormydayvibes]

There is a certain level of pride being the only woman on a project.

[stormydayvibes]

If I were to write adult fiction involving Saphic MCs would anyone be interested in buying and reading it?

I just moticed the other day when I was on a bookstore date that there is not alot of books about saphic women in that genre. And it got me thinking, I should just write them myself. Anyway I'm done rambling. Lemme know if you would be interested. If enough people interact I'll write start seriously.

[stormydayvibes]

Guys I am doing it! I am only two chaprers in but hopefullly if i keep a consistant pace we'll be finished up by 2027!

[stormydayvibes]

The first few chapters of my two books "Afraid of the Dark" and "Hunters Moon" are on Ao3.

For those who want to read the roughdraft through my writting of these two books.

||My Ao3 is the same user as my tumbler||

[stormydayvibes]

I am writting two VERY different books. One is a psychological horror and the other is a Romance novel about two masc lesbians. Life is good!

[stormydayvibes]

Today I was supposed to get paid and get a Vertical Labret. But I have yet to get paid. I want the peircing! Not to mention I have 0.77 in my account right now. Its rough put here man.

[stormydayvibes]

And my peircer said she could get me today. And I have an interveiw with the school I'm trying to get into. So good things good things!

I got paid, a day late but on the bright side I got a christmas bonus!

[stormydayvibes]

Today I was supposed to get paid and get a Vertical Labret. But I have yet to get paid. I want the peircing! Not to mention I have 0.77 in my account right now. Its rough put here man.

[stormydayvibes]

I finally did it. After loosing my book to my usb mistakenly being thrown away. I rebooted the prologue! 🐤ck yea!! Take that writterblock!!

[stormydayvibes]

The true beauty of a women lay in her perfect imperfections, curated and guided by generations of love, laughter and unknown stories of her fore-mothers. To wash it away with the garish symmetry of artificial life brings more dishonor upon her then to hide her away entirely. The divinity of women, to sacred- and more precious than rare metals or stone- can not be cultivated through the soulless captivation of an unfinished thought. Let alone a man's imagination. We are not your doll, or statue with a pulse you can dismantle or chip away to find your desired form. We are as wild like unto wetlands, foreign and unfamiliar to man. Untamed as the sea, deep and moving many to their knees. We are women.

[safety-pin-punk]

Punk 101: Lace Code

Lace Code is one of my favorite things, and so it happens to be the Punk 101 post that I’ve worked on the most. I’m sorry (I know I said at some point band shirts were up next 😬)

*Long Post - if you see anything thats wrong or missing, please feel free to leave a note or message me*

To start, it is important to talk about where Lace Code came from, and where it is now. Using lace colors on your boots (doc martins specifically) started with London Skinheads in the 70’s. Their white and red laces were typically symbols of white supremacy, and in some groups those laces had to be earned.

I’ll eventually do another post on Skinheads, but for now all you need to know is that the Skinhead subculture is historically known for being racist and violent. I always feel the need to point something out when talking about Skinheads: NOT EVERY BALD OR SHAVEN PUNK IS A SKINHEAD!

Later on in the 80’s, Lace Code became a popular way for many Punk subculture to communicate things such as their stance on racism and their sexuality. Now, in many areas, Lace Code is dead, but not everywhere!

Lace Code applies to ladder laced black combat boots (typically people wear docs). Each color represents something different, and this can vary by area, so it is important to check your local scene

How to ladder lace:

Traditional ladder laces are shown on the left, and quick release ladder laces are shown on the right. And here is a site that goes step by step

What do The Colors Mean?

(Colors mean different things in different places. These are the most common meanings and the ones I personally know - check your local scene to ensure its not different for your area)

Orange: Anti-Racist // Anti-ICE // No Meaning

Yellow: Anti-Racist

Green: Environmentalist // Peace // No Meaning

Blue: Killed a Cop

Purple: Queer // Gay

Pink: Feminist // Queer // Gay

Black: No Meaning

Patterned: No Meaning

Red: Nazi // Neo-Nazi // Anarchist

White: White Supremacy // Nazi // Neo-Nazi

Note: no one can stop you from wearing whatever you want, but in some areas you should be mindful because there are still people who follow Lace Code, and if youre seen with red or white ladder laces, you might be in for it

2nd Note: Its always advised that you dont wear ladder laces when traveling if you are unfamiliar with the Lace Code of the area you are traveling to for safety purposes

[stormydayvibes]

Echo chambers are a dangerous form mind controling. Steril wombs do not facilitate growth. The looming strings casted downward under the every foreboading eyes of big brothers vision; in the empty chamber turns small scared minds into poppets. Like sheep you follow. The whool of your fellowmen clouding your vision of other paths devulged in the vast wood. Art falls flat without the beholder, poetry deaf upon ears without literacy. Their meaning lost in the words whispered in the echoes screamed by the collective trapped in the chamber, uttering one singular line over and over again. The same strings pull them along.

You have the choice to cut the string, the sissors are in your pocket, the restraints just loose enough to slip away. Alas the ridicule feared from the escape of the ever swift rapids of loss of atonomy washing your own thoughts away. Replaced by the lines written upon the teleprompter. This cage is one of your own making. Stunting your ability to think outside yourself. Selficiouly you assume you must be right, everyone else is wrong. Years of waterboarding yourself with comfirmation biasis lead you to a drunken stupor void of any origional thoughts.

[stormydayvibes]

Heavy topics are only pallitable by the many if laced with poeticism and masked by beauty.

Only the beautiful, granted by the masses, the privallege of darkness and aid whilst trapped traveling in the back alley ways of our minds.

Deny as you like, deep within knowing gnaws in your bosom: this is the truth.

Pessisism when reared by an ugly face is deemed macobre; for the beautiful is praised as deep and aspiringly provoking.

[stormydayvibes]

Hands soft hold mine. You bring them to your lips and rest agsinst them. My heart swells, filling up with you. This affection is superfluous, and yet my I crave it. This expeditious fall, taking hold of my loins and spiret with imagery that dances along my membranes. I am set ablazed with passions undefined. I rather leave them darkend, but feverishly the heat spreads. Love is a dangerous tournement: one that we have no decision in playing, we are at whim to the infatuation that blossoms in our bosoms.

[stormydayvibes]

I feel so....stuck. trapped. lost. I wish time could freeze so my head and heart can catch up. But Father time is never kind, ripping moments and people you love away. Pulling them deep into the past while you must remain trudging forward. All I want to do is to go back. To hear of of his stupid jokes again. Even if they were never funny I'd laugh. I wish Father-time and His wife Death didn't steal him from us. If only there was a way to give his kids one last day with him. One last joke, one last 'I love you'.. one last embrace But Father time is cruel and will never turn back his clock.

[stormydayvibes]

[stormydayvibes]

I wish I was able to turn off my brain, the doubts that circle her. I wish I could hold her and rock her to sleep like she was long ago as a babe. All my mind does is wonder and worry her little heart away. Never settled. Never stilled. She repeats: what if? What if? What if?

What if we belived in ourselves, what if we just did what we enjoyed and finished what we started.

What if it was never good enough what if its bad?

But what if its great? What if its fantastic?

She could never be good enough. No matter what I told her. The Heart would somtimes hear the Mind, worries and tears would begin to stain her cheaks. The words never spoken engraved, like a branding iron, on her flesh. Lines and beeds of red apearing on her skin. "I wish you could see yourself like you see others" the Heart whispers. Rain trickled down the windows and the room stilled. The Mind pacing and the Heart crying frozen in place. Leaving my body torn two ways.

Many days past. The days feel too long and too short. I still sit before a blank screen with a tittle. It reads: chapted two. I've started this journy years ago. The story felt good but it came to a halt as the Mind's anxious ramblings became unbearably loud. Just a drink would help. Keep her still. Maybe a bottle of pills? I shake my head and move my fingers across the keys. I have to push through.

We may never know if it is Good, Bad, fantastic or Great. . . Not until we give it a shot.

Like rusted hinges my fingers give way slowly, leaving the quiet room filled with the soft sound of typing.

[stormydayvibes]

Does anyone else know that feeling when it feels so good that there is this tingle down your spine and that cold sharp feeling in the balls of your feet? And your toes curl and you can't stop yourself from throwing your head back and moaning softly as your legs start to quiver and all you can do is grip the sheets and buck your hips? No? Just me?

[stormydayvibes]

The wonderful feeling of napping on your girlfriends chest. Listening to the sounds of her steady breaths as you feel the soft drumming of her heart beat. Legs and arms intertwined in loving embrace. Soft hands drawing circles into my shoulderblades and down my ribcage. To be compleatly enveloped in a woman's affection is the most heavenly way to pray. The surrender of trust so willingly. In her I found my religion, in her I found what cherubs sing of.