Transmittances

a writing collective for trans writers.

[transmittances]

Can you send out a link for the discord?

hey, the blog is super super dead and so is the discord but maybe we could restart it!! here’s the link :)

-mod Sebastian (?)

[girlbotanist]

hello! i’m violet, a 17-year old writer. i desperately need a new laptop, but i’m working around 4 hours a week and making $7.75 an hour, and so i’m opening poetry and editing commissions. when requesting, please keep in mind that i am a high school senior and have work aside from this. payment and pricing info is below the cut.

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[transmittances]

hey! i'm fairly new to tumblr, but i've also been looking for a community of writers. i stumbled upon your discord, and I'm wondering if it's too late to join?

of course you can join!!! its open to all!!! https://discord.gg/Wjhv5A

[transmittances]

a writing collective for trans writers.

its me the og admin back at it again restarting this bad boy with a shock to the chest. join our discord! im on it a lot more and its going to be more active with prompts.

[transmittances]

a writing collective for trans writers.

its me the og admin back at it again restarting this bad boy with a shock to the chest. join our discord! im on it a lot more and its going to be more active with prompts.

[transmittances]

can I get a link to the discord

ofc! https://discord.gg/HSukR4k

[transmittances]

a writing collective for trans writers.

its me the og admin back at it again restarting this bad boy with a shock to the chest. join our discord! im on it a lot more and its going to be more active with prompts.

[transmittances]

a writing collective for trans writers.

its me the og admin back at it again restarting this bad boy with a shock to the chest. join our discord! im on it a lot more and its going to be more active with prompts.

[bruisedpens]

[argentophobic]

twin fantasy it’s like the moon when it’s up on the other side of the globe. i’ll leave y’all behind when you decide to let me self-destruct in peace. it’s not the actual self-destructing i care about, it’s that it shows me you care. i woke up and i was trying to kill you. i tell myself that it’s going to get better better better! but when i hit the ground i still won’t eat enough and i’m still too large and i’d still die to get away from my mother. it’s like when i love you loud enough that the whole world knows but no one really cares. except for not really, because i’m terrified and you’re uncomfortable most of the time, and so it never really works out like that. i’d pretend to be drunk or something when i display vulnerability, especially around you, but we all know that’s not going to work out. we all know i don’t drink and i’m too candid to fake my way through something like that. i just want to learn how to say “i love you,” without hurting anyone or myself or making things weird.

[achingbonesofmine]

Set each offering down

In a circle on the grass:

The old CDs I used to listen to

Every summer, alone in my room,

When I was eleven, or twelve;

The watercolour paints and 

My part of a matching ring set

(The one that says forever);

And the books with folded corners

And torn edges;

And I say to myself

I don’t want to let these go

As I light a fire in the centre,

Watch it spread,

I don’t want to let these go,

But I offer them anyway, to 

My future. Please take them 

And give me back some stability.

I don’t want to lose my past

But I need a future,

I need to believe that tomorrow

Will be followed by tomorrow

And that when the sun rises

I will still be here. 

E.B. 20/1/18

[cordofcommunion-deactivated2026]

she told me all about this kind of thing once– the bone breaking, the moonlit howling, the begging to be saved of the matter. i wish i knew how to tell you about the blue moon you’ll never see, so i stare into the sun until my eyes burn away, i fumble for yr hands blind as the birth of me, i call out to you with a mouth full of all of the things you left behind. she told me it would hurt like this and it does, isn’t that the fucked up part? it does. like a fact of the matter. yr gone, this too a fact of the matter. when does my mouth stop being a graveyard for all the things you said you’d do and won’t? when will my body stop being a wound?

[tenderbeasts-deactivated2019101]

Angels on a horrifying battlefield, wearing only god as their armour, well known for bone breaking, their own or others it didn’t matter.  At the front, giants. Bodies humming in and out of existence, bodies falling to pieces leaving a swirling mass of creation in their wake.  The air smells like gunpowder and raw meat and, sweetly like apricots.  Their hummingbird hearts uttering omens against the swelling word of god.  Waiting, some with a dozen legs, some with a dozen eyes, restless wings honeyed with gold, stirring up dust with their trembling, brushing against wildflowers and making them grow in the cold dawn light.  

For “A Field Kit Full of Old Medicine” 

[tenderbeasts-deactivated2019101]

The night was insect loud and alive with the flutter of bird wings. A field of red poppies caught and comforted the wind. An angel stood and then sat in centre of it, wings trying not to scorch the flowers, trying to drown out the smell of blood with the bitter, earthy smell that inhabited the field like an unruly tenant.

With its hands it tried to sew, a clumsy pierce of a needle through cloth like it had seen the townsfolk do; gentle hands against a loom, nimble thimble covered fingers, stitches through flesh.  It traded three of its eyes and a memory of its unearthly years with an ageing woman just so she would teach it how to sew. Her hands had smelt like lemon thyme from the garden, a reminder that its own hands used to smell like leather and metal and whatever holy smelt like before everything turned to smoke.  It was a gift for woman in town who asks. What can I fill my belly with? A rumble of midwives in the distance, a hunger for birth so strong it filled the air. Maybe this, it might rasp, if you’ll forgive me enough to accept it.

It was shooed out many times, with a broom, with a butcher’s knife, with a booming voice that made its body hum with bell-sounding chills, all for the ability to sew a button on a shirt. 

-I’ve been thinking about this all day, and the concept of absolution and what it might mean to an angel

[argentophobic]

for @antigoneblue

my darling divya, you’re everything to me. you talk me out of all the things i could be doing (but shouldn’t ever do.) you’re the (intelligent, amazing) klaus to my reckless & daring violet. i’d bring you

flowers if you weren’t 8,000 miles away. (G–d, please don’t let me fall in love.) a server filled with ghosts & reserved seats for girls who hadn’t arrived yet was the start of our friendship.

someday we might meet, & i pray that i’ll be able to eat like a normal person if that day ever comes. i want to avoid being the cause of more grief for you.

i’m your cheerleader, and i swear on my life, divya, my love for you will last forever.

[bruisedpens]

with the clouds out of my eyes i can now see how the poison that runs through the flower, masked its ugly, masked the leech that grew inside.

oh how i revel in my glory i earned over you.

another disorted mirror reflecting my own views but you never bothered to change.

[tenderbeasts-deactivated2019101]

A little bit of writing for today / J.S.Potter