poetinside

What if my only options are to be either stable and contented but never have anything interesting to...

Fri, 24 May 2013 15:26:00 -0400

What if my only options are to be either stable and contented but never have anything interesting to write about or terrifically depressed and highly prolific?

the flipping of a switch

Thu, 23 May 2013 14:52:59 -0400

the flipping of a switch:

outofherhead:

You part the corkscrew curls
 To get to the back of her neck,
Mapping freckles
You know this trail by heart,
No compass necessary
Besides, you don’t mind 
Getting lost in this neck
Of the woods. 
Fingers make way  
For the more serious of excursions 
As your tongue laps its way 
Followed faithfully by lips, kissing 
You feel the first slight tremble 
And you know you are on the right track
 And if your calculations are correct  
A familiar moan
Deep and throaty, will soon follow 
Passing over her lips momentarily, 
The sound of which  
Flips some invisible switch 
That neither one of you have the means 
Or desire 
Nor the will, to shut off.

(http://poetinside.tumblr.com/)

I never ask for prompts, but many times I see a photo and it just triggers something, and off I go. I scrolled by this photo once, and then the second time though, I found myself transfixed on those wonderful s curls. I mean just look at them…
Hours later, without even intending to, and not going back to look at this pic I just started writing.

I just wanted to include the photo, but didn’t when I originally posted it. And if it embarrasses the inspiree I will certainly remove it. :)

I HAVE THE BEST FOLLOWERS OMG.

This is the coolest thing.

at Forest Hill

Mon, 20 May 2013 20:02:01 -0400

at Forest Hill

Grumpy on a Megabus somewhere in Ontario.

Sat, 18 May 2013 17:51:39 -0400

Grumpy on a Megabus somewhere in Ontario.

To the girl I could love, but won't.

Fri, 17 May 2013 21:00:00 -0400

You wake in the middle of the night sometimes to go cry in the bathroom and you think I don’t hear it but I do. I can’t apologize enough for all of those things the men who came before me did to you. I wish I could promise that it will be different this time, but it won’t. I will leave you, too.

You once told me that you are in love with me but that I shouldn’t let it go to my head because you are also in love with a pigeon that sleeps on your balcony. You say that since the pigeon moved in you have stopped having nightmares. How can I compete with that?

I can’t make you happy and that daily defeat is wearing me down. You have sandpaper lips and with every kiss I feel another little piece of myself being rubbed away. I feel myself drifting further with every “I’m fine” and every “forget about it”. With every sigh. With every passive aggression. With every sleepless night spent talking you out of whatever anxiety- laden hole you have crawled into this time.

I will admit that, of course, I found it all fascinating at first. It was a turn on to feel you trembling as you lay clinging to my chest, slick with sweat and tears.The sex was always the best after a breakdown. I would take you quickly and you would wrap your legs around my waist and dig your nails into my back leaving red etches deep into my shoulder blades. When you yanked my hair and pulled me to your lips, begging me not to leave you as I came, I felt powerful. It felt like something out of a movie.

I thought I loved you at first but it wasn’t love. It was the idea of you I loved. The image of you, in black and white, of the sad, scrawny girl with bitten nails and unwashed hair that I had created long before I met you. If only I had really listened. If only I had heard the raw desperation in your voice. The very real despair. The genuine fear.

But it’s too late now and I can’t make the nightmares go away. I can’t help you sleep. I will soon become one more reason to cry at night. One more thing to be afraid of. One more nightmare. One more memory that will make you even harder to love when I’m gone.

odditoreum: See this wishbone-like scar on my knuckle, darling? This is where you bit me until I...

Wed, 15 May 2013 09:09:02 -0400

odditoreum:

See this wishbone-like scar on my knuckle, darling?
This is where you bit me until I bled.
Be my joy ride until I collapse but please
envelope me so then I don’t start to fray.
Tell me how good I feel in your hands
please make me shudder in delight.
Dive recklessly into my violent sea
and thrive on the salt you taste on me.
Make me come, my darling,
make me come like a 10 point earthquake and I’ll
make lamingtons for you in the morning.

tastefullyoffensive: [via] Accurate.

Mon, 13 May 2013 11:28:42 -0400

tastefullyoffensive:

[via]

Accurate.

Do not buy me flowers.

Thu, 09 May 2013 22:13:39 -0400

Find the loneliest star in the sky
One that for no matter how you try
You will be unable to find it again
Admire that star and give it a name
Call it whatever you like but think of me
Name a forgotten star and think of me

Throw your arms around a tree
One bent and rotting and ugly
Run your reverant palms along the peeling bark
Let the deepest root hear your beating heart
Love that tree the most but think of me
Hug a dying tree and think of me

Plant a tomato vine in the summer dirt
Dig and dig til your fingers hurt
Til your skin is pink and your nails are black
Til the stinking sweat streams down your back
Curse the blessed sun but think of me
Watch as a living thing grows and think of me

maza-dohta: Empty your words into the margins of this world; from what can no longer be held, a...

Thu, 09 May 2013 21:20:36 -0400

maza-dohta:

Empty your words
into the margins of
this world;
from what can no
longer be held,
a poem is born.

as fucked up as they say: to the boy i fell out of love with

Thu, 09 May 2013 12:44:33 -0400

as fucked up as they say: to the boy i fell out of love with:

lessgirlmoredisease:

my heart would do anything to make him happy

but my head constantly throws a wrench in those plans.

i’m tentative towards love,

still scared to dip my toes in the shallow end,

let alone dive in

as he wants me too.

but he says he doesn’t mind

waiting for my sideways, lazy heart

and my jumpy, anxious mind.

he makes me think about sunflowers,

and pale veins

and the rich moss of a forest floor.

he’s inviting and engulfing

and impossible to shake off.

he’s the quiet intensity in a room

when he’s pensive,

and the glue holding everyone together when he’s friendly.

i kissed him in the deep end of the ocean,

under the pier.

there’s still salt on my lips,

from all that time

and i hope it stays that way.

when he kisses me

he pushes the grains a little further in every time,

marking his existence on my being.

Spilled Salt

Thu, 09 May 2013 12:43:23 -0400

visionsdreams:

My life and luck run

like spilled salt,

each grain

a possibility,

a world unto its own.

Water under the bridge

flows toward a

great endless ocean

of forgiveness;

life, ever, goes on.

I have no greater fear than of becoming boring.

Wed, 08 May 2013 20:13:36 -0400

Spelling and grammar tips from John Green.Because John Green is...

Wed, 08 May 2013 13:46:00 -0400

Spelling and grammar tips from John Green.

Because John Green is great and so are grammatically correct blog posts.

Salt Submissions

Tue, 07 May 2013 22:07:23 -0400

That’s it! I didn’t count the submissions but there seemed to be about fifty or so. All were good, some were outstanding. I followed back everyone who submitted and I’m so excited to read more of your work.

Thank you all soooo much for participating. That was really a joy to be a part of.

Love, peace, respect in all things,

J

cicatrice sans tache: Why tears are salty.

Tue, 07 May 2013 22:04:55 -0400

cicatrice sans tache: Why tears are salty.:

indiefawn:

The most common way to vent out tears is. You were in the shower, or probably in the rain—it helps you to conceal how immense your teardrops would be. You cried, following the rhythm of the rivulets of water. Your muffled sob reverberated through the ceilings. You accidentally tasted your tears as it falls on the edge of your lips. You winced. You wondered why tears are salty. “Why tears are salty?” You were having your own kind of soliloquy, asking yourself while looking on the window pane.

Before being prominent for being salty, tears conquered a lot more. Tears tried mingling with a pint of acid, but it dissatisfied the purpose of crying. Tears cannot be acidic, because how will you be able to cry again if your visage starts to corrode as when your first teardrop lands on you. Tears went on with its second choice: to mingle with sugar. It was good, but not great. Tears cannot be overly too sweet, because cicadas might start to look for you as they track your face soaked in the flavors of caramel, chocolate, vanilla, and licorice. Tears have no choice but to try its last choice: to lace with salt. It is salty because it is a challenge for us not to taste this pool of saline all of the time. It is a challenge for us not to rely with tears in times of hardship. Because it drown us in our own kinds of seawater.

I'm Addicted to Words and They're Usless: An Apology of Sorts

Tue, 07 May 2013 22:04:03 -0400

I'm Addicted to Words and They're Usless: An Apology of Sorts:

batsby:

I know it was inappropriate, and I couldn’t bring myself to apologize then.

So I’ll say I’m sorry now for the time you were crying, and I licked the tears from your face.

I couldn’t focus
On what you were saying
Something about your dad
Or college
Or something else maybe
I wasn’t listening
I was too busy staring
At the droplets on your cheeks.

I couldn’t help but think about tears and why they exist, what they’re made of.

Salt and water.

Where does the salt come from?
And I wanted so badly to ask you that
But somehow I realized that it wasn’t the time
And so I didn’t.

I instead imagined a tiny cave behind your iris
Where tiny men
Mine tiny salt crystals
And sometimes the dynamite blows too quickly
And they lose
Precious
Granules
Into the river of your tear duct.

I didn’t want their work to go to waste
And so while a fresh surge of wetness
Merged from your brackish eyes
I leaned forward
I gripped your chin
And I licked you
From the corner of your mouth
To your cheekbone.

I felt so self satisfied
And you just looked at me
And I don’t blame you
Because that was
The last
Time
You spoke to me.

-Kayla Warner

We All Need A Little Petrichor: Salt & Stone

Tue, 07 May 2013 22:03:04 -0400

We All Need A Little Petrichor: Salt & Stone:

apostal:

He’s got salt in his eyes,

His mouth,

His mind.

Stone hands won’t rub it away

Because he can’t lift them;

They’re too heavy and so he let’s

The crystals bash around his mind

At night leaving skid marks on his brain.

It imprints-

It’s stuck,

it’s glued

Behind his eyelids and sometimes it burns

Too much to close his eyes, but they’re like bricks

So all at once his body turns into a battle field

And he loses every time, no matter what.

And he remembers when the monsters were only under his bed.

But Daddy can’t make these monsters go away;

Mommy can’t kiss the salt goodbye.

It’s stuck.

It’s glued,

And it burns his dreams like a

Fireball that’s right by his face-

He can smell his hair singe.

So despite the cup of water beside his bed,

And despite the pills and the doctors

He can’t get rid of the salt because

It’s stuck.

It’s glued

And it makes him worry that it’s all he’ll

Ever see,

Ever taste

Because nothing is working

To cure his stone limbs,

And his body isn’t an ocean whose waves will erode

The pain away so he can sleep at night without salt

Encrusted eyes and a bitter taste in his mouth.

He can’t even be bothered to move himself.

It’s too hard to walk with rocks in his pockets.

And that’s why Johnny left him, but before he did

He said that you can catch more flies with honey,

But vinegar is all he’s got,

Along with salt and stones that burn and sink him.

Now, he’s just hoping he’ll sink so low that he comes

Out the other side and things will be different.

a walk in the fast lane: Salt Shouldn't Burn

Tue, 07 May 2013 21:59:47 -0400

a walk in the fast lane: Salt Shouldn't Burn:

writerprobz:

The taste of salt doesn’t always have to burn your tongue,

it also doesn’t mean they have won.

Busy work doesn’t mean being productive,

and doing nothing isn’t always obstructive.

Some of the best ideas come late at night,

and the things you hear are nearly never right.

Love isn’t easy, but that doesn’t mean it’s tough,

and people are going to tell you you’ll never be good enough.

In the end the winners are

the ones that let the salt burn their tongue,

and didn’t let it leave a scar.

outofherhead: I ran the tip of my tonguealong the pathso many tears had taken,imagining salt laden...

Tue, 07 May 2013 21:57:40 -0400

outofherhead:

I ran the tip of my tongue
along the path
so many tears had taken,
imagining salt laden rivers
for which I could not take credit.
but still tasting the remains
as they pooled around your tender heart.

The Peeling Sky: The Elephant From India

Tue, 07 May 2013 21:55:21 -0400

The Peeling Sky: The Elephant From India:

concretelotionandlsd:

Disregarding my delirium, I dance
with the elephant from India

She smells of sweet heat
that rises from beats
of butterfly wings

The women are so friendly here
in the Palace of Psychedelic Daisies

I must confess my impure thoughts
to the Giant Centipede who guards
the gates of the Great Honeycomb Pyramid

The queen of Wasps invites me to kiss
her hard-candied hips

Just as my lips reach lavender bliss,
a crystal god smashes the moment

Sending me crawling back to the village of Fire Ants
where I am elected President
because my skin sweats marmalade

But I’m soon unseated by a toad on a stump
who promises a decade of dead worms

Now I sail the sea of Buttered Popcorn,
salting the stars with paper cut fingertips

I long for one more chance
to dance
with the Elephant from India