#lettersfromthesun

[writingsandfandoms]

To Hell I Am Not A Slave // Tagged by @gideon5897 for #describe and #lettersfromthesun Tagged by @lipstickandmiracles and @writteninpinkcrayon for #lovepoetrymiracles #startingover • • #MBS #poetry #poem #longform #poetrycommunity #poet #poetsofinstagram #writer #writingcommunity #writing #writersofinstagram #spilledink #instapoet #instapoetry https://www.instagram.com/p/Btwgr7eh0I_/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=rdyblsvzj121

[phile71]

@Regran_ed from @lolablackmusic - CO SPRINGS! See ya Saturday Oct13th @theblacksheep !!! Much love to @943kilo 😍 😘Spooky Version-Round two album release but this time in the Springs?!?! Why the fuck not! Tis the season 🎃🤡💀 LET'S GET FESTIVE🧛‍♀️ #lolablackmusic #lolablack #943kilo #theblacksheep #lettersfromthesun #sevendayslost #sabbatår #denvermusic #coloradosprings #nothingsgonnabealright - #regrann https://www.instagram.com/p/BopExzMhVQc/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=1avdyjvhcej7a

[howtheearthmoves]

Letter to the coffee drinker.

Its never easy, it it? Your favorite bistro seems never to be open when you need it most, 4 am in the morning when the Bengali tenants of the little out of the way house you sleep in have grown so foreign, even for you. Roaring like agitated tigers, frothing every single idea you've ever tried tasting into this giant tub of creamy regrets. Though no one would ever see it like that. I'm not speaking about the clamors and brashness, no, we all see that. No, I meant the damn coffee colloquialisms. No one else would dream of having their problems washed away like burnt Folgers down a drain (knowing you you would probably never drink that stuff anyway). You connect with it, to almost brink of an obsession, you crave it to the point of being the dream customer for the entire economy of Colombia. Because you see something in it you've never seen before: yourself. Among the dark slosh of your reflection in a white porcelain world you surround yourself by other blends, some hot, some cold, some distant, some homegrown, ones with little hearts drawn in their foam, encircled by oaken bookshelves caging tethered books reading names like "Gatsby", and people intrinsic enough to look through bamboo frames to compliment the red lipstick marked by your kiss. But you fear that you will never be good enough. Always the unread love letter buried in a coffin made from Fitzgerald print, you want to tear a new page and start again but your stomach grows lukewarm seeing so many other people get burned. You sat alone at your table just out of reach of really getting scarred, never mingling too much with other people in the cafe. Always watchful, always waiting, always on the lookout for a rotten one. A word, from one (albeit more bitter and White Russian-esque) cup to another? Youll never see 'em coming. Get up from this old dusty table, live life with open arms and an empty mug no matter how much hurt you may encounter or how scalding hot some or your drinks may be. Believe me, they'll burn. Youll curse the snotty intern behind the counter and your tongue may actually sit numb for a while, but never getting burned will keep you from seeing how badly a good cup is worth waiting for. Because somewhere under a chilled, perma-November-in-the-Bronx air sits a tall, dark mocha brewed with gorgeous undertones and a full body thats perfect all the day down to those little tapioca pearls you love but can never seem to find that will make every single burned taste bud make sense. So go, move around a bit. Run down the menu, from espressos to the odd little teas on the other end of the corner. Learn. Love. Sip. But never let your cup sit empty for too long.