Verena

I write because I don't know what I think until I read what I say ~Flannery O'Connor

[thenightquill]

my problem is i never healed— never gave myself the time to, just falling apart, watching the pieces scatter, convinced i could keep on going. but under what weight? and where did it lead me?

—night script no. 7

[thenightquill]

i stopped loving the things i once did, they don’t bring joy—just empty echoes, another part of me fading, nothing special, just quiet spaces where passion used to live.

—night script no. 6

[thenightquill]

Verena

A/n: This is a poem about me...or better about me wanting to change my name because fun fact: my "true" name is not Verena even though I want it to be...

~~~

They named me to bind me, to stitch my skin to someone else’s shadow, a thread of “connection” woven by hands that only knew how to bruise.

But that name— it tastes like blood and childhood silence, it drags me back to the girl with wide eyes, forced to swallow violence she never asked for. A coffin carved in syllables, where my old self still lies.

I want to cut it loose. I want to carve myself a doorway. Verena— not borrowed, not broken, not theirs. A name that tastes like freedom, like the first breath after drowning, like the sharp clean start of a page unmarked.

They call me foolish, say a name is nothing, say school, say duty, say “be grateful.” But they don’t know what it means to carry a shackle in every introduction, to hear your own voice betray you with someone else’s choosing.

I am not her anymore. I will not answer to a ghost. I will not stay stitched into their story.

Verena. That is who I am. No less.

[rain-rainynights]

meet me at midnight

Meet me at midnight And I will show you things Beyond your wildest of dreams

Take my hand, let me be your guide As we soar through empty streets Guided by traffic signals and wind screams

You will be at awe at the sights Seeing the world quiet and calm That indeed reality is not made of chaos

And in the empty you feel the high Of the endless possibilities That could come from nights like these

Isn’t it such a delight To disregard the confines You set yourself out of spite

So much that from this height The distance is what you don’t see Until you are falling free

And I’m sorry to cast this blight Upon you but I will stall For time despite the loss

The allure of glittering lights Is too bright to unsee Even for the calmest of streams

It is a shame that for the mind It realizes too late that life is but a feeble dream And everything is not what it seems

Inspired by the writing prompt "Midnight" by @thenightquill and hosted by @picklemafia and also a little inspired by Taylor Swift. Also I know I am late to this but I finally came up with a good idea for this prompt

[thenightquill]

I absolutely 100% LOVE this! Great work! Thank you sooo much for participating in this word prompt challenge<3 @rain-rainynights

[thenightquill]

right now, my body fights to survive while my mind drifts toward the edge— but my heart wants both: freedom, change, a new start, however it can get there fastest, torn between fight and surrender, a stubborn beat against the quiet goodbyes.

—night script no. 5

[thenightquill]

some live because they want to— others because they promised they’d stay. i never wanted to, not really. i was taught from childhood: be perfect, hide every crack, because giving in—ending it all—is weakness. so even if they hurt me deep, even if i have to play by their rules, i won’t let them win by breaking me.

—night script no. 4

[living--in--salt]

Inspired by and revisiting @thenightquill and @picklemafia's prompt that I missed posting for. Here is my take on "Midnight":

Litany of Midnights

I am tired. I breathe deeply and my

ribs cave in or explode out from me.

Little spikes that skewer through me and stick

out from my flesh. In this way, I am like a porcupine.

In this way, I am an urchin.

In this way, i am a bed of nails waiting for you

lay down to rest. Lonely, and at midnight.

Today the rain is flowing like honey.

The thirsty ground is soaking it up.

The sky is dark. There is no sun.

The afternoon looks like midnight.

With the curtains drawn, my house

sits like a mausoleum on my lawn.

Is it surprising for me to say I hate

everything?  Is it surprising

that I am impatient and restless and

am counting the days without you.

They are numerous, like the stars

at midnight, without the cover of clouds.

I woke with my hands tingling and

mouth dry.

My eyes too felt to be stinging of

sweat from the night before. Or was it

tears? Or blood?

I rose up from the bed of nails, and putting

my shoes on,

walked out into the morning fog.

The moon, like a silver goddess,

still upon her throne, flashing glitter through

the haze, and I like midnight,

walking darkly into it.

08.20.25

[thenightquill]

I LOVE it...thank you so much for participating in the prompt and I hope you had as much fun writing it as I had reading it! :)) @living--in--salt

[thenightquill]

Mixed signals, my ass

A/n: yeahhh...just a little poem which maybe got a bit into m personal life..but who's poems are not a bit personal?! Right??

~~~

First you talk about her,

all sweet and grateful,

like she’s the sun keeping you alive.

Then in the next breath,

you’re telling me how my eyes glow,

how you can’t look away.

Sometimes I sneak a glance,

but you’re already staring—

like you’ve got the most unholy fucking thoughts

running laps in your head.

Make up your damn mind,

’cause this push-and-pull

is driving me straight to hell

[thenightquill]

Venom for Venom

“Did you really just do that?!” his voice cracked like thunder, rage clawing its way out of him.

“Yupp,” I sang back, too bright, too sharp, the kind of cheer that cuts its own tongue.

“What a great daughter I have,” he spat, each word dipped in venom, dripping down between us.

I tilted my head, razor calm. “I am not your daughter anymore,” my voice soft but jagged, mocking, dangerous— “you disowned me. remember?”

For a breath, just long enough to taste, shock lit his face— like he hadn’t thought I’d wield his own words as a blade.

Then came the storm, his throat breaking on fury, telling me how ungrateful I was, how he raised me better, how I had ruined everything.

And me— I just smiled, not gently, not kindly, but with the brittle delight of someone too tired to care and too reckless not to enjoy the way the knife finally drew blood.

[thenightquill]

for a breath, the air was sweet again— for a flicker, my chest felt light, the dark corners quiet, the weight almost gone; but the tide came back quicker than I could run, and in the same breath that held my hope, it drowned me all over again.

—night script no. 3

[thenightquill]

and just when you think you've hit rock bottom a brunette haired motherfucker comes along and makes everything so much worse

[thenightquill]

What?

A/n: A little smth from me after quite some time....

~~~

It’s destroying me— quietly, methodically, like something patient that knows it will win in the end.

What?

Loving you. Every time she’s near you, every glance, every touch, it’s another turn of the knife lodged in my chest. It doesn’t kill— it just digs deeper, so I walk around breathing fine, but bleeding everywhere you can’t see.

[thenightquill]

and if there had been a choice, I would have chosen the blank page— no ink, no name, no story to tell; because nothing here has ever felt like enough to stay for, no hand worth holding, no small flame worth guarding; better the void than this constant ache of being unwanted in my own skin.

-night script no. 2

[jordoss]

Scratching in the darkness,

An alien sound so queer,

But really not surprising,

It reveals my eyes from lids sealed,

Ears picked up the motion,

Eyes followed slowly wide,

Open to the darkness,

Adjusting to what at midnight lies,

Attuning of all senses,

Hairs at back of neck tight,

To the potential darkness possesses,

To fear or flight or fight tide,

Consciousness strengthless,

Drowsiness gone in respite,

Dog kicks the chair leg senseless,

As in dreamland he’s stretched out in flight,

As the hour midnight dances,

The thoughts begin to ignite,

Of time gone by chances,

Of relationships ended in goodbye,

Once again the trial commences,

The left against the right,

The question of making the stances,

The moral of taking the fight?

Hours it will be that it dances,

And dallies to earliest light,

Never forgotten the chances,

Rétrospectively remembered another midnight.

@picklemafia @thenightquill

[thenightquill]

Very nice written! I loved how you transformed the word prompt into this piece! @jordoss

[starhaze-taii]

Me and my friend, The Moon

By...

The face of a man, who was way past his years. His face reflecting shimmering light, Stole what was bright—he was a mean one, I hear.

He told me he had a plan, To wash out the sun’s light at hand.

But I told him, that’d wash his light out too. He said, “But I’ll still be here, watching after you.”

I laughed at his jokes, his face content and peaceful. And when I cried, he shot down some paints and an easel. Told me to paint what hurt me, So that I could control them with ease. I gave him my heart, he gave me no tease.

Now he controls the tides of my tears, His face still of a man, past his years.

But this time it was still shimmering bright, Because I convinced him to take a chance on the sun’s light.

Now the sun and the moon, dance at night, And everything that was wrong Is now somehow right.

Prompt 'Midnight' by @thenightquill, hosted by @picklemafia

Poet's note: I wrote this poem a couple months ago but didn't post it straight to my personal blog so I decided to post it now, I also noticed it went along with the prompt so of course I had to submit this. Hope you enjoy 💙

[thenightquill]

So well written. I loved every word of it. Thanks for participating in this fun word challenge! @oh-dear-darling

[thenightquill]

and earlier i pressed my fingers into the bruise, just to watch it bloom again—violets and sickly yellows spilling under my skin; because better this sharp bloom than the dull hum of nothing, better the sting that bites back than the heavy quiet that makes my bones forget they exist; and if hurt is all i have to feel alive, then let it bite deeper, let it carve its name into me so i know i’m still here.

-night script no. 1

[some-sort-of-mess]

Midnight

---

You and me— a star-filled sky. Looking for constellations. Your hand brushes my shoulder, warm. "There's the Little Dipper." You point, smiling, delighted. I glance, nod. I'm watching you. These stars mean nothing without you.

We stay out late, waiting for the Big Dipper to shift into our point of view. We lay in dew-wet grass. The blades are cold, itchy. It's worth it to hold your hand. The stars do shift. We forget about the Big Dipper.

I smile at you and point out how beautiful the moon is. You tell me that I am beautiful. We stand. We kiss. You check the time. "Better head inside, it's almost midnight."

---

Written for the prompt "Midnight" by @thenightquill hosted by @picklemafia

It's not so much a poem, I don't think, but I hope you enjoy reading it just the same.

[thenightquill]

This is so friggin great! I loved it...and it is nice to see smth "different" because I don't think it's necesserily bad to take some freedom on how you write about the word prompt. Great work @some-sort-of-mess