Poetry - Blog Posts

Dear [Redacted],  

I honestly don’t know how to start this, but I have a feeling that it’s going to be quite long. Hope you don’t mind. 

Not a single day goes by that you don’t occupy my mind; thoughts of what we had and how if i’d done some things differently we might have had longer together. I genuinely believe that with you, it was the right person, wrong time, wrong place. In college I couldn’t love you the way you deserved, and now I can, but I spend most of my time on the other side of the country, and we barely talk. 

I constantly find myself daydreaming about getting you your favourite flowers, and holding your hand, and kissing you. God, how I wish I would’ve had the confidence to kiss you. I should’ve done it. I wanted to so badly. The day you lay in my arms and almost fell asleep as I was playing with your hair? I wish I’d tilted your head up and asked if I could kiss you. I wonder if things would be different if I’d have had the courage. 

Northampton has a performing arts degree. Well it’s called “Acting for stage and screen” but it’s basically performing arts. And there’s a theatre literally not even a five minute walk from my current accommodation. You wouldn’t believe the amount of times I’ve imagined you coming here and us being together and being able to pursue our dreams in the same space. Little coffee dates where I read novels and you memorise scripts. The sun shining through your hair in the spring and summer. Honestly you must be so so blessed by whatever almighty force there is to be so beautiful, and for that beauty to only be enhanced even more when you’re in the sun. 

It’s funny to think about how a few months ago I would have let you kill me. And I don’t mean that figuratively. I mean that if you had a knife in your hand, I’d bare my neck on instinct. I would sit obediently with your shotgun to my skull. I wouldn’t even bring up my hands to stop blows to my ribs. I would let you dismember me. Skin me alive. Bite until the skin tore. Touch me in my sleep. It makes me feel so meek but then I remember I love like a dog. Beautiful and wretched as that may be. 

And I did love you. I might still do. I tried to move on, but nothing’s felt the same since. It’s like as soon as we broke up, you took half of my soul with you, leaving what was left to wither up and die. A bit dramatic but it’s true. 

If you asked anything of me, I’d come running. I should’ve done that the entire time, but I didn’t. 

It’s been about a year and a half since we broke up. Your birthday isn’t in my calendar anymore. It feels like a piece of me is missing. 

That time in your living room at your birthday party when we held hands properly for the first time, with your arm wrapped around me and me leaning on your shoulder. As soon as your skin touched mine, I knew it was over for me. I was entirely yours. Now, I am a demanding creature. I am selfish and cruel and extremely unreasonable. But I was your servant. If you starved I would’ve fed you, if you were sick I would’ve tended to you. I would have crawled at your feet. I would have, if I had been braver and loved you the way I wanted to. Before your love I was debased. For you alone I was, and am, weak. 

I never did tell you how proud I am of you. The night I got to see you on stage, I was utterly speechless. Perfect doesn’t even begin to describe how you were. As soon as you stepped on that stage, I couldn’t take my eyes off you, even if you weren’t the main person performing. And when you went off again all I could think of was when I would see you next. I should’ve held you afterwards, kissed the side of your head and told you how proud I am of you. You put in so much hard work for it, all while being sick and not knowing what was wrong, and you did incredibly. That whole night the only thing that was going through my head was how much I loved you. But I never told you.

Before the show started as well, when people were getting ready. I was talking to one of the then second years, and you came by, obviously distressed and anxious. I should’ve ended my conversation right then and gone to you, holding you and telling you that everything would be okay and that you would do amazing. But I didn’t. I just watched you out of the corner of my eyes. Even then I knew I was making the wrong decision. I still regret it.  

I dream about taking you on a picnic. A flower field or an apple orchard or a grassy meadow in summer. But I don’t know of any near either of us so I’ll have to stick to my imagination. No-one around so we can truly be ourselves, the sun shining on us as I fed you grapes. Or whatever your favourite fruit is. I’ve forgotten. The sun shining through your hair, making you glow. Your eyes bright with happiness. I think it would be perfect. I hope you would agree. 

Honestly I only want for one thing now, even though I know it’s probably impossible. 

I want you to want me as I want you. Desperately. I want to make you shiver from my touch. I want to hear your voice, breathless and shaky. I want you to say my name like a prayer. Full of devotion. I want to bind together our bodies, intertwine our bones. I want you to devour me. To watch you strip off all layers of my being and digest every single piece. 

But I ruined the chances of that happening too soon. 

If I’m ever brave enough to give you this and you do read it, I hope you don’t think I’m weird lol. I hope you realise that you still own half of my soul, and that there isn’t a day that goes by where I don’t think about you and what we had, and how I should’ve treated you. I regret so much and I just wish I had a chance to love you the way you deserve and to show you how amazing you are. 

There’s so so so much more I want to say but I can’t find the words. 

You’ve always had that effect on me, making me speechless. 

You’re incredible. 

Love, yours

Cogito, Ergo Sum

I write ugly things.

That’s who I am.

I expel the bad onto paper.

Otherwise it gets stuck in me. Emotional constipation.

That’s probably why people hurt each other.

They need to get rid of it. The ache.

Can’t keep it in. Easiest way to get rid of hurt is to pass it onto someone else.

Most readers like it though. The hurt.

Look at Bukowski and Hemingway. They’re successful. Apart from the alcoholism and suicide.

I don’t understand them all that well.

You’re too young to understand, they tell me.

I don’t know about that.

I think I just don’t understand men who create their own suffering.

I’ve had enough pain. Disease and dead friends and all that.

Good thing for a writer though. To suffer.

Suffering brings validity to narrative.

I hate that.

I hate that perspective only matters if the writer has gone through something horrible.

Suffering adds to character. Solidifies it.

I also hate that.

Identity should not be so fickle.

It should be made of curiosity, interests, relationships, passion, and peace.

It should be made, fostered, cared for.

Not victimized.

But maybe that’s just the way we are.

We must rot so that others will salvage our blossoms.

We must dish out counterfeit pain to remember we are alive.

Mortal.

Look at me, you say, beaten red.

I bleed therefore I am.

And,  Wherever I go,  Wherever I end up being, these eyes, These eyes keep looking, only for you For, you're still the face My grieving heart keeps searching for in a crowd, For, I had once found my meaning in love, And I found it, with you.  But then one day you left, taking away With you the meaning I found. So I kept searching, kept looking, in places, in Names, amongst faces, and not one of them yours. So tell me, where do I find another you. For, you're still the face My grieving heart keeps searching for in a crowd. For, I found my meaning, in love,  And I found it, with you.

Munchi

I used to build dreams about you.

F. Scott Fitzgerald

The weapon isn’t sharp,

but it wounds all the same—

innocence worn

like a well-practiced game.

A smile, a shrug,

a task left undone,

they play the fool

but they've already won.

Each failure rehearsed,

each “oops” on display,

leaving the other

to clean up, to stay.

They dodge the load

with a clumsy excuse,

while someone else tightens

what they set loose.

It’s not lack of skill,

nor honest mistake—

it’s a quiet control

they refuse to forsake.

The cost isn't loud,

but it's heavy with strain,

a silent exchange

of effort and pain.

So call it what is—

not careless or dense,

but a choice to avoid

by feigned incompetence.

And the one who bears it

feels furious within,

caught in a loop

they didn’t begin.

Roses are red

Violets are blue

On top of this hill

I’ll pick both for you

But roses have thorns

And violets are toxic

So as I grab one, I’ll say

“Hey, I got it.”

A thorn can’t hurt me

Or keep me away

And a violet is only toxic

If you make it that way

You’ve always loved flowers

It’s so easy to tell

So much so you’ve rubbed off on me

For now I like them as well

On top of this hill

I’ll pick two for two

Because the roses are for us

And the violets are for you

The Taste of Stale Ink

Ink the backbone of life. Bleeds unwritten.

Swallow back the blue

See how blotches gather under skin.

Cloying, Choking, All Engulfing

Embittered Stagnation.

a due extracted

It Was Greed That Demanded

And Fear Who Commanded

Hope is Thanks. so thank the dirt

from which

Ink and Blood came

breathe.

Be Grateful and Live.

it’s what you still have

In the far distance my father coughs weakly

And scares the cat off of my lap completely

Love is wishing that your lover died before you so they don't have to go through the pain of losing you.

Love is wishing that your lover lives longer than you so they can experience more of what life has to offer them

Highkey was inspired n wrote some lyrics, hope you don't mind??? can't do melodies for shit but uhh i think this is nice for being written in 10 minutes lol

the scripture goes like this: be sure to fear God;

He is good. christianity and catholicism: creature,

holy, human. oh, joyous line. oh, joyous life.

arms up for celestial beings, divinity abound,

heart wide and smile big and the priest prays,

his hands in yours, and the church cross stands

before the sunrise, unbowed in the face of adversity

God's going to murder america and let me tell you why:

please, take a seat, you're going to need it, little bad guy.

God's going to murder america and let me tell you why:

sky's so high in montana, mountain cliff and clouds cry

God's going to murder america and let me tell you why:

the scripture goes like this: be sure to fear God;

He is good. christianity and catholicism: creature,

holy, human. be sure to conform, else they won't

accept you into the kingdom of heaven. oh, joyous.

joyous line, joyous life. arms up for celestial beings,

divinity abound in the farms i raised myself on,

sun setting on fields of my own making; conformity.

God's going to murder america and let me tell you why:

please, take a seat, you're going to need it, little bad guy.

God's going to murder america and let me tell you why:

sky's so high in montana, mountain cliff and clouds cry

God's going to murder america and let me tell you why:

the scripture goes like this: be sure to fear God;

He is good, and He'll kill you if you don't pray

in the morning, believe so much He sucks out your

soul. conformity in the face of adversity so you can't

fight back-- don't worry, it'll be alright, this is your

promise not to burn in damnation. don't make Him

punish you, don't be gay, don't question, don't worry

be sure to fear God because He put His roots in our

family's tractor and now if we don't listen and pray,

hearts wide and smiling, He'll send the priest to stick

a knife in our sister josie who went and got an abortion,

and be sure to fear God because He'll kill cousin georgie

who's not allowed to use the pronouns she (he) wants

and be sure to fear God because God is good; suicide's

not allowed in this land of divinity: conformity in the face of adversity. God is good, God is good, God is good.

God's going to murder america and let me tell you why:

please, take a seat, you're going to need it, little bad guy.

God's going to murder america and let me tell you why:

sky's so high in montana, mountain cliff and clouds cry

God's going to murder america and let me tell you why

Me, trying to explain my obsession with southern gothic and weird alt country: look I don’t know why, but if a song is acoustic, in a minor key, and about murder, god, or america, i just go absolutely batshit

"Curiosity Killed My Beia" A comic I did for The Spinoff's Comic of the Month

Rice in the fields,

Rice in the bed,

Im too cents less,

Im a mess

Pardon me if I'm wrong

Perhaps I'm just an idiot

I do not take advantage of the road I take

Paved with the blood sweat and tears

Of my ancestors

I do not go to college just for a degree

The paper at the end of four years does not matter to me

The classes I take do not simply fulfill a requirement

I do not study latin just to say Pulchra Femina es to a friend

I looked at someone today, and

Yes, I was colored by curiosity

Becasue my life is more than a few words

Read from a computer screen for a test I will take on Friday

I do not learn to say I know

I learn to expect I know nothing

The classes I attend have a purpose

The money I pay

The debt I choose

Is not for you or my employer

To say that it didn't matter

Yes, my school is too expensive

And yes, the programs I participate in will decorate my resume

But today, I looked at my friends

Crowded around a table to have fun

Like childish adults just trying to make sense of everything

And I knew I never wanted anything less

Then an education.

I want to learn from my peers

Engage in this class,

Maybe try hard or not try at all

But give this road a chance to shine

For the rhyme

I will make of it

If education was free how many people

Would take a class just to know

What color frogs turn in winter

And if Edgar allen poe knew her.

I embrace my debt because it is a privilege

To know my family supports my decision

Even if my bank account runs dry

And the stress piles high

Because being educated is important

At least to me

And I can't

For the life of me

Think of a reason to ban it.

The children in the schools don't know their letters,

But they know how to hide from an active shooter,

They can't use their mind but

They can leave me behind

In a race for their lives.

Maybe I misspoke

I need to know my place, right?

I can't be too woke,

But dammit I can fucking fight.

Fight for the children who deserve to read,

Fight for the young adults who yearn to be

In college

Fight for the women who are fighting for their right,

Fight for the man I call my best friend,

Whose very existence is the definition on rebellion

Fight for the change I want to see,

Even if that change means going back to just yesterday

Gray and Brown

Old worn cliffs that echo tales both old and new.

A speeding stream running beneath drawing the curious to those that echo the present and past.

Stories told by the gray and brown bluffs, not trough words but presence alone.

“We have worn time itself” they seem say through bumps and cracks.

Wistful Mother frost could only slow their white words of water, creating great beards of ice that will melt in but months to reveal their faces of Gray and brown Stone.

The weight of my eyes and the fog in my mind is overwhelming.

Sleep, they say; sleep, as if it’s easy.

My body shakes from the cold, goosebumps littering my skin all over.

Am I the only one who feels the frosty touch of the wind? Am I the only one without the constant warmth in my skin?

And now as I stare into this screen and type the time away, the bone-done deep ache is only shortly kept at bay.

Do you understand what I’m trying trying to say, the words I’m trying to convey?

My voice is a quiet whisper, one shadowed and hard to hear.

If you want to hear what I have to say, you need to listen:

I’m tired.

welcome! stay a while <3

about me !

ash | 17 | autistic

what i will post !

my writing ( fanfics & smau’s ) ( i will soon make writing request rules, right now i’m just working on my own things 🥸 )

reblogs of my fav fics & art ( but most reblogs will be on my other account @reblogforeblogsake )

art (fan art i’ve made) , but that’s will be mostly on this account @artfromtheashes )

likes !

my hero academia (current hyperfixation )

fav characters : ochako uraraka, himiko toga, izuku midoriya, shoto todoroki, katsuki bakugou, mina ashido, mei hatsume, hitoshi shinsou, eijiro kirishima, touya todoroki, keigo takami, shota aizawa, hizashi yamada ( but honestly everyone )

fav ships : togachako, bakudeku, erasermic

yellowjackets

fav characters : lottie matthews, laura lee, shauna shipman

fav ships : lottielee, jackieshauna

the disastrous life of saiki k ( never gonna give it up… never gonna let you down…🤓 ) ( sorry. don’t hate me. )

fav characters : kusuo saiki, shun kaidou, riki nendou, kineshi hairo, kokomi teruhashi ( basically everybody !!!! )

superstore & b99 : fav sitcoms, especially b99 at the moment

music : … i just love music 😵‍💫 (i’m big on big thief, mitski, fiona apple, chappell roan…)

editing, i edit on tiktok under a different username than here!

stickers… stickers..

avatar the last airbender : what can i say! it’s the best thing ever made 🤷

gravity falls, because of course!

horror movies & horror media : i don’t watch enough movies, i’m trying to watch more!! but i’m obsessed with the dead meat youtube channel and the kill count !!

the amazing world of gumball : actually never letting this go. i love it okay. it’s so funny.

the sims 4 : i haven’t played in so long cause of my shit computer 😔 but hopefully i can again soon! i miss CAS…

don’t likes / dni’s !

racist, homophobes, transphobes, ableism, bullying, pro/dark shippers, accounts that promote ED’s and SH, prominently NSFW accounts ( suggestive is fine, but if you only post nsfw and not safe for minors content it would be best to not to follow me as i am a minor )

i hope you’ll enjoy my blog and all my creations !!

Dream

"I want to sleep for the rest of my days, because in my dreams is the only place where I have you alone for me and with me; where your love belongs to me and only me."

He held her cold hands, with the intention of heating them as he wore them slowly towards his face. Seeing the confusion in his gaze, he clarified.

"Do not confuse, my beautiful lady, dream forever and dying, then, I do not want to die, but neither live without you, then I will allow myself to dream."

She opened her mouth slightly to refute, but no complaint came out. He continued to extend his idea, in a more delicate, almost ironic tone if it was compared to the message.

"And if I were dying, we both know that your purity will take you to a clear paradise, instead, me, perverse and broken, I deserve a darker destination, if it exists. Rotound irony, as I'm separated from the love of my life, even in death."

original work, I think I'm projecting haha

“That’s what people do who love you. They put their arms around you and love you when you’re not so lovable.”

— Deb Caletti

You punch me

And I puke poppies

Am I kind enough

To Go to heaven

Now?

Rabid

I often think I an rabid.

My heart races,

my eyes dart

my hands tremble.

My teeth ache

to dig into

your shoulder

My nails score

lines in your

hip cradle

You coon and stroke my hair

You kiss my bloody lips

You hold my stained hands.

Waking up

feels like

walking in syrup.

You've moved on

My teeth are dull.

Heart and mind

When you are born

you are given two things,

heart and mind.

From little age you are told:

"Be careful with the heart,

it is a fragile thing. "

"Sharpen and strengthen your mind,

for it will serve you right. "

But no one tells you,

how fragile mind can be,

how easily it breaks

and how tough one's heart is,

how hard it is to get inside.

No one talks about the way

they work so closely together.

No one could say

the truth about their bond.

No one tells you

how it hurts when one breaks.

Just one thing they let you know:

"Be kind. For it is your shield and your sword."

But how can that be,

when your arms are trembling

and your eyes are filled with water?

“Dead men tell no tales?”

Have you not heard the symphony of how one decays?

The clicks and chatters of bones rustling against each other as they’re trampled on by the fauna that they never knew,

The rustle of wind through one’s hair, similar to the great weeping willow,

The squeeze of muscle and flesh as the divine earth reclaims what it has lost from the dust we came from,

The squelch of eyes decaying and flattening as they go foggy, unable to view the blue sky above them,

The rattle of their final breath, trying to articulate the view before death brings them home in their arms,

They still tell their tales, you’re just not listening close enough

i feel tonight as a being wrapped in old memories.

They are cloying and drip with slick and cold silver strings. A web of fear to enclose my little heart.

In this darkening void, i knew where the edge was. I still willingly walked out onto thin air.

I could understand that I, myself, am a being of lack and disgust

I know what makes a void like me too heavy for any surface to support

Yet how stupid am I to be surprised when i fell.

I have been caught in such a web again,

my fingers sliding off it’s wet surface,

deeper and deeper i slip away from the surface.

I can do nothing but grasp at empty air.

I wonder when the dark will claim me again.

I feel

Today i feel like melting

my heart hurts

maybe i just need to eat

i never feel satisfied

i am falling

into an embrace

of my own cold arms

my skin fragments of ice

i really should eat

all i feel is like lying in the dark

pretending my blankets are a hug

my pillow her kiss

maybe i should just shatter

dissolve into dark

breath in my salty tears

or just get up and make dinner

I had a dream

someone I loved

had their heart ripped out.

We trusted the wrong person,

and they suffered for it.

I had a dream

i held them as they slept

praying for a pulse

head buried in their chest

I had a dream they shook awake

as if from a nightmare.

Their face said confusion

their eyes wild with panic

I had a dream I calmed them

Relief in my tears.

“You really were worried about me”

They said, weak smile on their lips.

I had a dream i held them in close

shaking in relief

their head on my chest

I slept

fish guts

[pt/ fish guts /end pt]

you have the eyes of a fish

cold and dead and strong

you have the eyes of a fish

where did I go wrong?

you have the eyes of a fish

helpless yet unafraid

you have the eyes of a fish

so every day I pray.

"I have my mothers rage, and my father's ability to walk away. this, I've learned, is a very lonely combination."

Rose Brik, my father's eyes, my mother's rage

i sink my teeth in, every bite i take i crave more of you

feeling far away, i haven’t been me for awhile

Adrianne lenker is a genius.