For Your WrittenConsiderations

A place for writers. Reblogging all written works. Submissions welcome. Tag pieces with #WrittenConsiderations to get our attention. foreveratlas, imperiallefty, and kathrrinka at your service.

[jojomills]

Landmarks on the long drive

[elegiesuponyourgravestone]

photo retreived from: pin.it/22Z2ClWnW

how did the storm know your name? how did it learn to whisper through the hollow corridors of your skull,

to rattle the windows of your mind until every dream you built came crashing, until the faintest light you held inside your chest flickered and went out?

you have always carried a hurricane with you. down every street you’ve longed to walk, into every city you’ve imagined as a safe place. and still, it follows. still, it howls. its mercy is a myth you stopped believing in.

even when the air is clear, even when the day is kind and bright, your body remembers the storm. it tightens in your throat, fills your lungs until breathing becomes a labor, until you are drenched in a grief that feels older than you.

darling, the next time you open your chest, do it in a room the storm cannot enter. lay your heart in the hands of someone who is not made of hurricanes and saltwater, someone who will not leave you in wreckage.

for you are already the storm. you are already the street left flooded and lamp-less, the quiet after the power has gone out. you are both the thunder and the broken tree. you do not need another storm to name you.

— jv orongan, "storm inside my head." check out the video version of this on my facebook page: Elegies upon your Gravestone ᝰ_

[beforeyearning]

[elegiesuponyourgravestone]

photo retrieved from: https://pin.it/3boK5kghH

my mom told me that every time there’s a forecast of an incoming storm, i should never forget to bring an umbrella with me.

i should make sure to go home safe, to go home early. before the heavy rain catches me, before the wind grows angry, before the streets turn into rivers.

but no one ever told me what to do when the storm is inside the house. the kind that cannot be forecasted, the kind that comes unannounced.

when the storm is inside my head, inside my chest, under this skin.

when the rain does not fall from the dark skies but through these hollowed eyes.

when the wind does not shake the trees outside but ravages my throat in the sound of my own deep sighs.

when the flood does not swallow the streets but fills this room with everything i cannot say.

when i am the one clawing at the walls, tearing the curtains down, wrecking the only place where i sometimes find the calm.

when the storms in me come without mercy, without warning. tearing through everything, until there is nothing left to ruin but me. tell me — where do i go then? what do i do then?

— jv orongan, “what would you name a storm that ruins itself?” check out more pieces here: Elegies upon your Gravestone ᝰ_

[elegiesuponyourgravestone]

tonight, i looked at my palms. the hardened parts have grown more prominent, calloused from years of holding on. like something inside me has been turning to stone without my permission.

i think of everything these hands once held. dreams, desires, small prayers whispered into the dark. and how they have gone still over the years. how they froze the moment i stared too long, wanting too much.

sometimes i think i have the eyes of medusa. that everything i love, everything i dare to keep alive, turns to stone the moment i look at it. i wonder if she felt the same, if her heart ached every time the world froze before her, if she begged the gods to let her look at one thing without ruining it, just once.

maybe somewhere, hundreds of years ago, she prayed to see her dreams breathing, to see them stay, to see them survive her gaze. i think i am praying for the same thing now. and maybe tomorrow, i will dare to look again. just once more. and hope something finally moves.

— jv orongan, "medusa and her dreams." postscript: i also post my pieces on Facebook.

[elegiesuponyourgravestone]

mornings used to be mercy. but now even dawn feels cruel, the light too sharp, the sky too wide, as if the day is daring me to step into it, daring me to try again.

some days like today, i stay in bed and let it win.

— jv orongan postscript: i also post my pieces on Facebook.

[beforeyearning]

[elegiesuponyourgravestone]

photo retreived from: https://pin.it/1S8Z4IcbC credit to the rightful artist!

the sea was a wound, and today i stood at its edge, tossing my heart in pieces to the birds that circled overhead, as if they could carry it somewhere safer than my own chest. i thought it might feel lighter this way, letting my grief grow wings and vanish into the blue. i stared at the horizon as if daring it to swallow me whole, to end this aching. i watched the birds scatter. small fragments of me spiraling outward, never to return. and how i wish it worked that way. how i wish that every time you give something to the wind, it takes all of you with it, until there is nothing left to ache, nothing left to disentangle.

— jv orongan, "so that for once, i could feel weightless." postscript: i'm also on facebook, Elegies upon your Gravestone!

[elegiesuponyourgravestone]

photo retrieved from: https://pin.it/2ndTTrFf7

i watched the butterflies feed, watched them turn death into a feast, and wondered if one day they will find my body too and mistake me for a garden

— jv orongan postscript: i also post my pieces on Facebook.

[elegiesuponyourgravestone]

photo credit to: @AmulyaVashistha on twitter

my ribs feel hollow, buzzing, like a nest of moths is living there. i think they learned your name, i think they beat their wings every time i whisper it.

i wonder if one day they will fly out all at once and leave me empty, leave me quiet.

— jv orongan postscript: i'm also on facebook, Elegies upon your Gravestone!

[karmaalwayswins]

Writing Prompts: September 28, 2025

"What kind of yogurt do you want?"

A satisfying noise.

Doll allusion versus doll illusion.

Pyrite.

Fifty-five thousand boxes.

"These are cute."

Difficult test, tiny reward.

"He's got green hair and a bad attitude."

Unintended chaos.

"I bought a raincoat." / "I bought a laundromat."

Bonus Photo Prompt:

Photo Credit: karmaalwayswins

[beforeyearning]

[wordsandmorewords]

sweat, and all its sisters

I want you to smell of dog To have my name tattooed on your breath Sweat, and all its sisters

I want to masturbate to the ugly thought of you Spit Leathery gripping hands, worn and tough, taut skin November Scorpio and venom, toxin

But I would not dare launch a word your way, if it were to tear a page in your book Head-in-hands shy, teary and ashamed And my aim suffers from distance

So the blood pulses A headache drumming in my temple veins The thought of you That slippery, unchaste thought remains

No more a pervert than the ones behind your neighbour walls

[ginadope]

love to my tides

A step back takes me forward I am still a drop of blood A secret in your wine  A glint in the sand  But it is not silence, hiding in my ribs On my eyelids  Not the pale flowers that help me spin dreams  It is my stare Equal to yours  Dignity, the water's clarity  It flows and it grounds  Love to my tides

[wordsandmorewords]

pillbox.

she left her plastic rainbow pillbox behind. SMTWTFS.

do I try what's inside, to get a taste on my tongue of what it takes to cure her madness?

[n-ehpamoi]

Time together, as we are,

is never just

you,

and me --

It looks like it is.

Feels like it is,

at first.

But both of us aren't really,

alone.

You look behind me,

and I behind you,

and with the knowing

we have, of each other,

we can see them --

ghosts of the past,

lingering --

hovering, whispering,

and painting what is

with memories

of what was --

making us jump at shadows

that neither of us

would ever cast --

for right now,

its not just,

you,

and me.

I say something innocent,

and mirror trauma,

from the past,

without knowing.

You respond in a way

that past pain taught me

to never take at face value,

and I struggle

to not spiral.

I love, time, with you --

your presence is like

honey, for my soul,

and soft moonlight

for my tired, day-weary eyes,

but I,

you,

we,

are so full of hurt

that neither of us

would ever actually give

to one another --

I guess what I'm saying is,

if I'll stay,

and you will too,

then,

if moments now can still

feel so good,

even with hearts full

of apparitions,

what will it be like,

when one day,

finally,

it can really be just

you,

and me?

"We."

V. Rue, 2025.

[beforeyearning]