honestly, all my absolute favourites have deleted their tumblrs which bums me out (calicowords & noeuds if you guys ever read this please email me!! email@example.com. especially you calico, i am borderline worried about you where did you go?!?!)
but some writers i like a lot include these guys. there’s a lot of talented people on here. i highly suggest browsing the poem and spilled ink tags.
kind words from a good poet. thank you!
the incline and decline
warmth in the pressure
pure; the untouched blooming of roots
wholesome with a hint of hunger
melodious in the movement of crimson
the love they felt
windowless, sit in your place
suffocate you- now,
you feel it
and it hurts
just the way it did-
i might have become worthless
with my words.
since i don’t write them for you,
each night, you give me words while i sleep,
but i’m dead,
asleep. two heavy eyes and a empty body
creep around the air
and finds boxes of secrets
with dreams of the sick,
i throw them into the air
just to watch people breathe them in
and fall down with me.
it’s worst when you’re alone.
i’m not mean, it’s just lonely at the bottom.
pieced back together with the sound of each bell,
in a noose i’m tugged through a rope,
towards the door up into the scars of the skin.
drag me across the sea
and plant me with the flowers that i love so.
i’ve always wanted to blossom,
i’ve only wanted to bloom.
i hid my scars,
no picture, no promise, just pain.
to feel every heart i walked over.
drowning myself in liquid courage
to feel a little okay at night,
to forget my heartbeat.
i stare my scars straight in the face
i’ve made them an endless part of me.
and i’m told,
"be fond of yourself."
something urges me inside, saying
“go far away. where you know not
a single face. where your name
carries no weight, where your touch
has no burden.” get swallowed up
in everything and everyone new.
where you stand before
new born eyes, where you can keep
your lips shut, where you can die
to your own self, where you can
belong and believe in that.
isn’t that the longing of a heart?
to rest well inside the hands
of another, while trusting
they will not tear it apart and then
loving them through it when they do
rip you to pieces. trust me,
rest comes only when the latter
sees the sun each morning.
i expected none less;
innocence to stay innocent,
blades of grass cut me up.
wanderer that wanted to be found.
summer’s heat and it showed,
your burnt bones
in my parent’s home.
nothing broken had been fixed so fast.
now the winter’s stay longer
than the promises kept;
forever your shadow haunts the front doorstep.
wanderer never found, broken and never fixed.