#writrblr

[morikomo]

Nature's kin found itself within her grasp—

waltzing across her supple palm.

She in turn found herself enamoured

with its sublimity.

But as the sun graced each mole on her skin

with the softest kiss,

I could no longer join her in reverence

for the ruby-speckled bugs,

For I found myself wishing I too was a ladybird.

To be able to take in every aspect of her form,

magnified as if to fit the space

she saturates in my mind.

To be able to watch her eyes warm in the sun,

seeing every shade of umber

melt into the sweetest caramel.

To be able to maunder across her palm as they do,

each crease a path to lead me

to a place anew,

and yet so familiar in its ambience.

I long to find myself in her grasp

for she already grasps me whole,

already am I enamoured with her mind's symphonies

and the way she sings them through her touch.

I am hers before I am mine;

I only ask she kisses me softly as we waltz

and let the ladybirds fly.

[morikomo]

And the flames that licked my skin

held more comfort than her warm embrace,

so each tear shed, evaporated

until nothing felt so wrong or right.

Before me laid the life I'd lived,

and a mirror to reflect it

in the life yet to come.

I knew to break it would mean freedom,

but my arms hung limp;

wounded by my sides.

I know freedom is for the birds

and my back bears no wings,

so when I fall, let me find fire

to burn away my sins.

[cemeteryhound]

Hey I like to write prose poetry sometimes, here's one:

Splinters

I'm lost among others' voices; I can't find myself. There's no beginning nor end, and their tongues I don't know; and their promises I don't believe, and their daring I don't understand. 

They speak with no sound because I don't hear them even though their lips move, and so they pretend to be understood and for me to surrender to their influence, but who are they? Liars dress up like kings, but their pockets are empty and their gold rusts. They come speaking in riddles and singing the tales of the old days of glory no one was there to witness and no one but them remembers. They laugh and dance as the splinters burn underneath my skin, and it hurts and stings, and my heart violence feeds as I tear my throat conjuring curses in the ancient language of desperation.

Your sweetness I discourage; your softness smells of rot and decay. In your eyes I find the love that's not meant for me, and your mouth is flooded with poison I take in as I breathe.

I crave the love of my mother and the wisdom of my father, I dream of the home that lives in my memory and wherever I run I find no solace because their affection suffocates me. 

I'm undoing in their admiration, flesh bothers me and I squirm underneath it everytime I'm acclaimed, and I'm afraid of the disguise that I have adhered to my body, the one that won't let me speak with honesty, the one that is myself. 

Days go by, and I don't feel them; years don't weigh on my shoulders. That's why I fear the moment of waking up to see my life has faded away, that my body has gone numb and is falling apart, but I'm still the same. 

I fear to recognize that I had never belonged and that I wasted my days dreaming of the place I can never return to because it's already lost in the time flying far away from my reach; that my hands, and feet, and mouth and eyes don't belong to me and when I look into the mirror is a stranger who stares back because the lie is everything I have ever known to be, and I don't recognize my voice when I plea and scream: stop.

More here!

https://archiveofourown.org/users/Infamousnarrator/works

[mimii-drawz]

Although there is no romance in book 1 (because the protagonist is only 12 there lol), there will be some wholesome romance between 2 girls in the future books! And plus, The Queen of Aethelgard is lesbian so shout out to her this month 🏳️‍🌈

Book 1 of my fantasy series is available on all 3 formats (kindle is free :3) 😊✨️

[d3adgayw1zzyr3ad3r]

Actually how am I mutual with some of the most beautiful fanfiction writers? I write slop based on the sheer will of my tortured soul fueled by Arizona green tea and childhood trauma

[redylan]

have made so many edits to my outline for draft three that I can't even tell what a good idea is anymore I'm so far off the beaten path

[alyxbronwynn]

Not me thinking about the copious amount of notebooks I have full of writing that will take me years to get through already as I write more...

[sir-yapalott]

She was packing her daughter’s bag for school when it happened.

“Mom, when I grow up, I want to be a wrestler!” the girl cried, raising a tiny, defiant arm.

Sighing, the mother gently pulled the little hand down.

“No, baby. You’re not going to be a wrestler.”

“Why?” the girl pouted.

The mother didn’t answer. Instead, her mind drifted back to her own childhood—a life that felt like a long rehearsal for a man she hadn’t even met yet.

She remembered cooking beside her mother, trying to get everything perfect—because that was what was expected.

She remembered the lessons in etiquette:

How to walk without looking “loose.”

How to speak—and more importantly, when to stay silent.

“Men don’t like nagging girls,” her mother would say whenever she argued with her siblings.

She remembered setting the table while her brother oh well .....

“Why doesn’t Jeremy cook?” she had once asked.

“Because he is going to be a man,” her mother replied. she added, “And you are going to be a wife one day.”

The usual reminders

But the question always lingered:

Wasn’t Ade going to be a husband one day?

Why wasn’t he rehearsing too?

She remembered the way the community whispered about women whose daughters weren’t married.

How they praised women who endured everything—raising children, managing homes, and staying silent through their husbands’ difficult behaviors.

They called it strength.

They called it perseverance.

Well, that was years ago

Now she had a daughter of her own.

“You’re not going to be a wrestler,” she repeated “You’re going to get married. Men don’t like girls with muscles or scars. You’ll be pretty, you’ll marry a good man, and you’ll live a good life.”

— Sir Yapalot's Friend