tl-trashwrites

TL. they/them. enby. 31. biromantic demisexual. city of trees. its just me and you, welcome to my so called life. Everything i write/post here is based on real life or otherwise tagged as "fiction"

[tl-trashwrites]

[tl-trashwrites]

[tl-trashwrites]

[silversuggestion]

I go to feed him,

and god bites my hands through the bars of the cage -

the preachers ask what prayer is like,

and my fingers bleed in answer.

[martyrsuggestion]

and the preachers laps up what i bled,

from the cold marble floor,

because maybe -

to even be able to stand god,

is to be something divine yourself.

[darkearthsuggestions]

I go to worship

And the temple calls itself clean.

The blood is banished, the altar burnished,

as if peace could satisfy

the god who taught me how to hunger.

And so I pray and gnash my teeth

And hope that my libations sate him

My god– my god, a holy beast.

[perfectquote]

“Sensitive people should be treasured. They love deeply and think deeply about life. They are loyal, honest and true. The simple things often mean the most to them. They don’t need to change or harden. Their purity makes them who they are.”

— Unknown

[blossomfully]

[secretgaygentdanvers]

Attention all writers

Don’t. Delete. Your work. Don’t throw it away, burn your paper notes and scribbles, character doodles and failed verses. Keep a record of everything you do, every trip and every hilariously bad piece of work. Because often its hard to see the quality of your own work up close. In a few years, you’ll be rummaging around trying to find a different paper, and you’ll find some scrumpled draft scene from a book you started writing but gave up on. And you’ll read through it, and there’ll be lines that /sing/. You won’t recognise your work for the first few lines, and you’ll be thrown out of the writers chair and into the audience for the first time, and you’ll be able to have the magical experience of hearing your own words and not knowing how the sentence ends. And yeah, sometimes it’ll be laughably bad, but then you can see how far you’ve come. And when its not bad, its usually really, really good. Keep your notes. Keep copies of your drafts and keep your old notebooks. You are your own best inspiration.

[tl-trashwrites]

My skin feels

stretched too tight

paper thin

and easy to tear

all you'd have to do is

just

scratch

just a bit

and you'd expose the

hollowness

that drowns me

inside

[tl-trashwrites]

perhaps this isnt true for all creative souls. but it has been for me. it seems as though there's this tight rope you unknowingly walk. and below is a double edged sword. when you share your art via whatever creative outlet you choose, you walk this tight rope. and to your right of the rope is the exposed, raw, openness of your inspiration. the place that leads back to the core of your being. wherever you pulled from. and on the left of the tight rope is the place you hide once you put it out into the world. the place where you separate yourself from whatever you've left on the page. where you have to have thick skin and the mental prowess to hold strong against the aftermath of being so exposed. they don't tell you that. the other artists of the world. it's an unspoken secret. perhaps they don't tell you because you don't truly understand until you've been left on this tight rope walking alone, looking down and wondering how the fuck you're going to get down without injury. the unfortunate truth is that most of the time. you can't. there's always an injury to be had. if we didn't get hurt. where would we pull inspiration for our art? the cycle allows us to be the creative souls that we are. to suffer is the purest form of creative express whether you share it with people or not.

[tl-trashwrites]

target practice

how can it be that

on the inhale

i breath insecurities

yearning for approval and

words of a job well done

from my peers

and on the exhale

breath out seclusion

seeking isolation to

hide myself away from

the disappointment that

inevitably lies

at the end of

exposing a part of myself.

creative expression

regardless of the outlet, leaves me

exposed

a piece of myself on the

metaphorical canvas.

a digital dart board

for the arrows of judgement to land on

my heart as the bullseye

i am on display showing the

most raw and intimate

parts of my soul.

no one tells you how lonely it gets up here

when you're the target.

[tl-trashwrites]

tethered souls

deep in the depths of my

being

my spirit aches for

connection

not just friendship or internet meet cute

but something real, raw, tangible

someone with grit and gumption,

someone that will let me

sink my teeth into

the substance of their soul

i want to be understood

on a molecular level

lay out my DNA for their inspection

the fabric of our being

intertwining like the braiding of hair

some of them, some of me, some of us

the pattern repeating until the

connection

tethers our souls together an

unbreakable bond

one that goes so deep, we keep

finding each other

with every reincarnated existence

we find ourselves in

[tl-trashwrites]

time may heal all wounds, but it doesnt do shit for memories.

i thought ive said all there is to say about you. well this isnt about you. but just the idea of you. the idea of us. the idea of being wanted by someone. ive said a lot about it. haven't thought much about it since you broke me. not just my heart but all of me. a part of who i am left in that shitty motel in salem, oregon. its been so long ive lost count of the years. i might have been 22. or 23. i dont know that it matters. what does matter is that you ruined me a lot more than i ever realized. and i dont know what to do with that information. because i think a part of me thought i'd uncovered all the damage you left behind. but the part i didnt know was there was the "what if". you know the thing you do when the person you love broke your heart. you dream of the "what if" they hadn't and you'd stayed together. or "what if" they said i love you back. i never did that. i couldnt let myself think or feel those pains. you said it was over and then i let the damn across my lips break loose and spilled every secret that had piled up in my esophagus over the 18 months we were hooking up. and at the end of it all just when i thought i'd said all there was to say. i still tried to get you to love me. but instead you cried. you sobbed harder than i did. in fact. i hardly shed a tear. but your head fell onto my shoulder, all 6'8" of you hunched over onto my 5'5" form. and i held you while you cried. my hands in your newly cut hair. fiddling with the curls at the base of your hairline. you'd just cut it that day. it felt a lot like samson and delilah. you cut your hair the day you left me after not having cut your hair in years. i didnt even have the time to enjoy it. just a few moments, comforting you. when you were the one that broke me. that sums it up for us though doesnt it. you hurt me and i end up comforting you. and then you stopped crying suddenly. and it was like nothing happened at all. i still dont know what it was i said that brought you to tears. the only time i ever saw you cry the entire time i knew you too. and then we were driving in your car. an hour and a half to the airport in silence. didnt even get there until 2am. i couldnt bring myself to think about the amount of debt i racked up just that night, chaning the flight, paying for the hotel, god knows what else. and i stayed up all night long. and i deleted every single picture on my phone that reminded me of you. of us. i have nothing left. i was a fool to think that it would even erase one memory of you. theyre all still here in my head. rusted and collecting cobwebs in the darkest corner. but 7 years later and im still pouring out my heart to you. words you'll never hear. i think what scares me the most is that if i was given the chance to do it again right now. if you said you wanted me even a little bit. i'd probably say yes.

[tl-trashwrites]

its 2am and i should be asleep

I have these strange moments of flashback remembering myself in the past. little blips of situations that meant seemingly nothing at the time, and probably even less now. but they’re stuck in my brain, rattling around like the last few coins in the bottom of your change purse. but they’re not even worth enough to cash in for something better. so i have no choice but to let them rattle around and sometimes, if i’m feeling brave enough, pull them out and examine them for what they are, desperately trying not to romanticize them. moments like the little gas station in salem, oregon with my ex. he’d stop there for cigarette, beer, and snacks. it was owned locally and nestled off the main road in the rural woods of this suburban paradise. he smoked malboro reds which always smelled like my father and drank mickey’s beer when he was broke or pabst blue ribbon when he felt like spending a little money. his snacks were always well balanced, something savory and warm first, those cheap barely edible convenient store snacks like taquitos or corn dogs, some kind of sour candy or a chocolate moon pie for midnight with a cold glass of milk. but the most important item was the flavored swisher (grape mostly but sometimes whatever else was new) so he could roll a blunt at home. id watch him with intensity, pulling the cigar a part and dumping all the tobacco out into a pile, blowing it away with his breath. carefully picking the buds out of his stash and placing them in the grider, twisting and turning until all the pieces were fine like cracker crumbs. carefully refilling the wrapper and getting the seam nice and wet with his long, pink tongue. the skill of his fingers rerolling the blunt and keeping the wrapper from bubbling. it was a work of art. even if i hated the smell of weed. he was always better to be around when he was high. something about the adhd and the bad memories and the way his guard would come down, easier to show me that he cared, show me that he loved me as more than just a piece of ass he’d been fucking for 18 months. but i let him put me there. I consciously thought i could keep him, like a secret stash in my pocket, and hopefully distort someday into actually falling in love with me and keep me around for good. i was a goddamn fool. too immersed in internet information overload, romanticizing the love interest going against their instincts and their family and their destiny to keep the side piece around. the difference with us was that i was the side to piece to his inability to love me. the other “woman” was his bad relationship history and his inability to commit. it’s a little bit crazy for me to think back on now. and how its been so many fucking years later and there is still so much i remember about him. im a completely different person and i wouldnt go back and change anything that happened not even all the bad shit. because it never would have worked out between us and my 23 year old self didnt know that yet. but its okay. because i do now. and even though we havent kept in contact and we dont care what the other one is up to now. i can pull out these little coins of memory and realize they all make me who i am today. and who i am today is a lot better of a person than i was back then and im relearning how to love this person. appreciate them. maybe this examination is all a part of that process. i didnt think i could have anymore to say about him, about the way our lives intertwined. i talked it to death during and after. but somehow between the free time, the caffeine, the sleeping in, the nostalgic music, ive found more words to vomit out on this digital time capulse. sometime in the future ill go back through and read this entry as i have done the others over the past 11 years and hopefully that time i dont feel so disconnected from the person i am now as i did looking back when i was 23. 

[tl-trashwrites]

It's so hard to see my mom in such mental anguish and not be able to help her. She makes it so much harder on herself than it has to be. The need for control is her biggest downfall. I hate to see her so upset and know that she's doing it to herself. Walking in faith and trusting that god has a plan is what she needs the most and unfortunately only she can get herself there.

[tl-trashwrites]

my brain feels heavy like a wet sponge

sloshing around inside my head

the liquid it floats in has been polluted

soaking into the porous flesh

poisoning the rest of me.

the blood in my veins feels full and thick,

sludging through and slowing me down

it's cold from the inside, out.

the warmth I seek does not come from

fire or heat or blankets or sweaters.

but from the sweet release of my

inner demons. battling constantly between

warm and cold, light and dark.

where can I find the truth?

where can I find the antidote?

my mind's eye has been blinded for far too long

someone come and restore my sight.

[talkfastromance4]

don’t forget, love of mine, that i tried// . . . . .

#poems #poem #writing #creativewriting #poemsofinstagram #poetsofinstagram #poetry #poetrycommunity #poets #writers #writersofinstagram #writing #love #lovepoems https://www.instagram.com/p/CIzpKWhlnv6/?igshid=12f0w72p2ai5z

[tl-trashwrites]

Journal Entry 12.14

I feel as though I've only ever seen myself through the eyes of others.

My mother's eyes tell me I'm defiant, disappointing, disrespectful, lazy.

From the eyes of my depression I am a failure, a late bloomer, ugly, disorganized, forgetful, unable to keep my promises.

Through the eyes of my anxiety i am weak, fragile, overly sensitive, a cry baby.

My family's eyes show pity for all the many loses they've had to watch me go through.

Society's eyes tell me I'm entitled, that I'll never survive in the real world, that I've been handed too many things in my life, that I'm spoiled.

But I can't remember the last time I saw myself with my own eyes and even if I did... Would I recognize what looks back at me? What if I don't know who I am anymore? What if I don't like the person I've become? How do I find the strength to change? What if it's too late to change and this is just how I am? I think maybe I've just fooled everybody into thinking I'm someone better than I am. Perhaps everyone's been fooled and I'm not worth it. I'm not good. I'm not kind. I wanna be good I wanna be kind.