#daretowrite

[inkytower]

but if this is the end of the line for us,  for you, as it will never be, for me, then i only have one last wish, and it is this: that you will find someone to love as greatly as i have loved, will love, you.

to my greatest love | (e.l.)

[daretobeking]

eight for the word ask

Hi Rie! Hope you're having a good day :}

Spina looked away first. Twenty-four in Normandy. Four in Holland. Five in Bastogne. Eight in Foy. Lipton was still breathing beside him, uneven and quiet as he slept. Luz kept counting. Forty-six in Normandy. Twenty-two in Holland. Fourteen in Bastogne. Five in Foy.

This ask is from the Send me a word, if it’s in my wip document I’ll answer your ask with the sentence that it appears in. post for those curious

[sincerelysharon]

I wonder if there are any poems left in me. They seem to have dried up, hollowed me out and fled.

the crunch of tree bark under your boot, the taste of eucalyptus in the air after heavy rain and the ache at your temples after a long day at work // archaic remains 71

[nrk-k]

At Ease

I'm at ease knowing that I got myself to fight for

My dreams a high branch I'm trying to reach for

To climb up to the fruitful blessings to devour

I'm at ease knowing that I know myself completely

My character is no longer a defensive Armour

But a golden sculpture that I display openly

I'm at ease knowing that my soul is devoid of negative thorns and inner wars

I'm no longer pierced by my failures

Instead, I'm crowned by the Diamante sparkles of my worth

As I sit here, on my fortress of discovered confidence

I'm at Ease

NRK-K

[quillwritten]

transcript under cut

bedroom hymns

Mum can you come and tuck me in tonight? The sky is dark and I miss you. Someone wore your perfume today and it made me ten again, rolling around in your bed while you try to chase me out. We have been at a party and you are tired but I am overexcited and over the noise of it all there is love. We have had an argument and I am sulking, rumpling your bedsheets and bouncing back onto the crash of pillows. We have made it up and I am lying on your side of the mattress, waiting for you to finish cleaning your face so I can have a hug. They walked away and I am two hours distant. I would call but it is not quite lunchtime and you must teach your boys like you taught me. You are still teaching me how to be an adult, but some things I must do alone. I don’t pick up the phone.

Dad can you come and tuck me in tonight? The air is cold and I miss you. Someone played your song on the bus today and it made me ten again, whirling around in your arms while you spin me in the den. We have been dancing and you are tired but I am overexcited and over the noise of it all there is love. We have had an argument and I am sulking, hunching up on the end of the sofa bed and stomping over your shoes. We have made it up and I am leaning on your back while we watch TV, waiting for the football to finish so we can play a game. They changed the song and I am one hundred miles distant. I would call but it is not quite bedtime and you must train with your team like you trained me. You are still training me to be an adult, but some things I must do alone. I don’t pick up the phone.

- c. p. m. b.

[maya-doolali]

The Painful Bardo of Dying

A realization, like a hand raised, colossal apex swinging towards a debutant.

And is he an elder, him waiting there by the window in the corner? Duty ascendant, pungent onus collecting dust on the sill which

happens to be where I prostrate my deity, she balances her pelvic floor atop a golden ball, her chariot called Kapidhwaja. 

Wrinkle handed my father is the charioteer, a resentful man. In the corner of his basement a shivering furnace for 

that which birthed him left him, haunting. Spores that plume when drowsy lynch pins sag and yawn. Lungs that let out air, wanting. 

I inherit a tangled mane. To have lost him like this is the view from that corner, years before he birthed me was also a time, like this: 

7 times I wake up in the night to make sure the faucet is not running, not running off, galloping the way it goes on in my dreams. 

Then when I return there it is again, next to you on the futon, a living wraith, depleted -a sexless diluted thing -How else can I describe these permeable feelings, cold sweat. 

Pivoting my ankle side to side, I probe for tenderness. A sigh shifts weight, shoulder propped against the wall. My 

fingertips, bluffed summits, forge battles in the dust on the sill. Have I been here before? The view out the window is of the wall of the building next door.

- Maya Doolali

[positivesunnysworld]

July, 2021 - Evil thoughts

thank you and goodbye that's not how it works I know I tried to put suffering to sleep takes pills and pills takes hundred dreamless nights it takes will and power that I can barely muster that I no longer have within me this body is no longer mine it belongs to someone, something the darkness is unbearable the voices are way too loud just please make it stop please the well in me is dry I no longer have tears left to cry

[experienceverything]

As I'm standing on the balcony, looking down on the parking lot, it feels easier to look at the sky through a reflexion of the car window. They are too bright for me. Those clouds. White as a snow. One would say, innocent as a child. Perhaps last night's evil thoughts clouded my eyes.

I thought I was far away from it, but that doesn't matter because that addiction was, and still is, here in me. No matter how hard I try, how long I pray, it is like a chewing gum. Hard to remove. And even if I did, it is hard to clean off. Those remains invoke for new tenants.

But on the bright side (not the cloud one), a storm is brewing. I don't know why, but as a child I couldn't wait to feel the sadness, the pain in my chest, to find the definition of depression on my own. And now, when all of that is present, I can not wait for rain to clean me. From inside out. Through the reflection of my mind.

19.7.2021. - writing about evil thoughts