TVSTRANGERTHINGS
occasionally subtle
shark vs the universe
Peter Solarz
★
Discoholic 🪩
roma★
🪼
KIROKAZE
trying on a metaphor
if i look back, i am lost
DEAR READER
tannertan36
taylor price
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
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$LAYYYTER
Cosimo Galluzzi
noise dept.
ojovivo
seen from Türkiye
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seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
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@thewrittensunrise
i cut mooncake into four on a midautumn night. first, the salted yolk crumbles into sweet prayeron my tongue and i savour balanced memoryand wish. on the second, the golden syrup wistfulness sticks to my teeth andi want more, not ready for it to endso i take the third, but there is not enoughsalted yolk. then i feel guilty for all the sweetness i did not deserve. on the last, i am…
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the sky begins to slip off todayat dusk. in the deep of winter,her dusty lavender is the soundtrack that leadsto rest. against my tired footsteps, a last lullabycarrying me home.
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“summertime” the day stretches long, revealing desire.it is the possibilities and dreams,it is the possibilities and dreamsof us. i purchase an orange creamsicle to share.our laughter is the soft openingof a song we have yetto hear. the cicadas join in chorus. at twilight, we intertwine ourselves,our hands a duet of sticky exploring,discovering, mapping only outlinesof maybes and could…
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read while listening to this.
read while listening to this.
the gentle hearts that hold
the gentle hearts that hold
“The sadness and the tears just keep pooling and puddling. i am a body of cracks and three little thorns and deep deep brokenness nothing can mend: i’m letting the sorrow spill everywhere and the teacup that used to hold it all is no longer mine. please watch out. my sorrow stains everything it touches and everything i try to hold onto disappears into its depths. why can’t i go too? i thought…
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https://vimeo.com/257272647 Lately, i’ve been thinking about all the work i have silenced and held back from the world. From the past nine months, i have barely let any of my art out into the world, afraid of judgement and condemnation, punishing myself by withholding what i had created from a greater audience, and believing that others would condemn me for the acts of creating and sharing what i…
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in the aftermath
i recently stumbled over the #maybehedoesnthityou hashtag on twitter, and it brought back a lot of old memories. Several months ago, i watched Mockingjay pt.2 and what i loved about most is that the entire story revolved around Katniss' struggle with ptsd, and life after trauma. There are many stories that have yet to be told. Please be kind.
i wonder if Noah felt guilt when he sailed on his driftwood home, knocking into bloated bodies of his neighbours without them knowing they touched survival. it keeps me up at night – the weight of the water the sound you cried when i closed my legs from you. how do i talk about survival without talking about the wood beneath me? one morning, i heard the Present say “i used to be important.” the…
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appropriatea'd
appropriatea’d
earl grey tastes in the day like encouragement. in the late nights when i brew it by drip , it is sorrow. on those nights, i am all dark iron, sweat and salt. wikipedia tells me the Brits invented earl grey to imitate expensive Chinese tea. they tell me it is an English tea associated with the upper class. i guess that’s why i can’t sleep afterwards. it’s always been the jasmine black pearls or…
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rehabitating
rehabitating: a play on rehabilitation. on living healing. living healing. on Spring. on newness.
i’ve been sleeping on seabed and moss. since my ocean, the softest thing i’ve known are ashes and the air, to breathe morning’s dew rolling from the skin & lift ing the sun is the gentle bud’s life after wreckage.
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w.hole: heartbreak, healing, and all that is inbetween
in which I reflect upon the past six weeks as Lent draws to a close and Easter approaches.
Here we are / at the last stretch of this year’s Lent journey. Pushing out poetry this Lent season has been terrifying for me because it has been so damn personal as I wrestled to understand past and present events in my life. I remember thinking to myself several weeks ago as I entered a bathroom at Starbucks: ‘Writing (poetry) is hard, for I am as bare as the page before me.’ But poetry is…
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healing (in) waves waves waves
it took me an unbelievably long time to piece this poem together; kind of like healing. i am / daring / not to let our best memories bring me sorrow.
i. there’s too much clutter like too many poppies after coming back from war, so much remembrance i’m not sure where the graves are any more. there are five stages to grief: the ticking of a clock. the waiting and the digging and the burying, digging and burying into emptiness. numb, the words fall through. the ghosts talk too much. ii. i grew up on newspaper and perfume, clutter clutter by the…
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to the graveless
i have been learning what it is like to be erased. i think i've finally reached the shores of acceptance.
he named it Francis. the day he found the bowl empty, he crumpled silent and silver. farewell to the graveless fish, how your simple existence & innocence rippled kindness kindness kindness. what is it we want to rewrite when we name them after someone? do you remember? i am unfolding un(her)sinking. i am uprooting you. this is for the graveless fish borne of the lily. here is your…
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how many okays does it take to turn a day into a good one?
"How are you?" is a difficult question for me. 'Okay', 'bad', even a shrug is usually how i answer. I've been thinking. What does it mean to have a 'good' day? When does an 'okay' day turn into a 'good' day? And: Is having a 'good' day something that I'm willing to admit?
how many okays does it take to turn a day into a good one? a dream where my ex and his fiancé were present: not okay. (why you gotta ruin the peace?) vs. a perfect egg cracked with one-hand & cooked, brown edges curling: okay, good. the number of times i remember goodness (- badness). (now everything’s an equation.) there was a dream i had once where we were all given flowers. our teacher told us…
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Part of my "Towards Life" series, where i seek to write from a place of hope.
i lie bare on my soul’s Winter wasteland, sinking as the sadness pools. Despair closes her fist. i thought to myself, “I have to wait for Spring” but then i remembered the beautiful things. one Winter evening you took me out for a drive and Jack Frost touched our windows as we shivered. the frost blossomed to trees on our windshield. did you know we’re composed of roots? that roots are the things…
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towards life: prelude
a Lent project, where i seek to write from a place of hope. i'll be aiming to post a poem each week. Towards Life is a series i hope to grow from and struggle with. so many excites.
“Why is this important? Why ‘towards life’?” God has been taking me on a very slow and long journey towards healing from myself, and the things of myself (mainly my depression, and the neurotic beliefs i hold towards my self). Up until two years ago, i had been on a very circular journey on learning to love myself. Two years ago, i met Loneliness and Despair, two friends who loved me more than i…
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