a poem on the inner workings of my chaotic mindit isn't like i'ma poem on the inner workings of my chaotic mind in Free Verse More Like This
lazy or anything it's just that
the thought of getting lost
in a crowd of ten or more people
makes me want to puke.
this is not just some
stupid little hang-up that you can
joke about when i'm
digging my fingernails into my palm so
hard that blood is drawn as we walk through
school hallways so packed that it feels
like we're suffocating from too much
oxygen but i just grit my teeth and
laugh "yeah, i know, i just don't like
being around people sometimes."
but you know,
there's just something about the way
my mother says "go out and have a life
and stop looking like the world
betrays you every day"
that makes my stomach drop
or when my dad looks at me and just
sighs, like they've finally realized
i was never good enough to be
and to everyone who believes that
i just need to relax,
to just calm down and think:
fuck you. fuck you for trying to pretend
like you know how it feels when my
bones grind together like broken
gears as i walk by people who may
Drink Me [Mad Hatter!England x Reader]“It is time to wake up, Alice.”Drink Me [Mad Hatter!England x Reader] in Horror More Like This
“Come now, dearie…you’ll be late for tea if you keep sleeping.”
Late? For tea? Why would I be drinking tea?
(E/c) eyes snap open and look around in disorientation, heart beating fast as the voice jolts her awake. Said eyes widen as they take in the scene before them: a great long table before her, every inch covered with silver dishes stacked with sweets and teapots letting white steam into the air. The girl looks down and finds herself in a light blue dress and white stockings, almost like the clothing of a doll. Her (h/c) hair is decorated with red ribbons and all she can think is What’s going on?!
“Ah, you’ve finally awoken! Good, good~”
She lifts her gaze towards the voice—the same voice that woke her up, she realizes—to see a man sitting at the other end of the table. His eyes are like a snake
or maybe it actually is.thisor maybe it actually is. in Free Verse More Like This
a love poem:
this is not about
me and how i hate
the way realism tastes.
this is about you.
this is about how you
are one too many shades arrogant,
how nearly every night you
try to forget that time has
left you behind. this is
about your laugh and the way it
whispers "i can't remember
what i was like before i
became this." and,
if i'm being honest, this is about
how i will never see your too
cocky for your own damn good grin that
makes me go weak in the knees.
this is about you
and how you're not real and how i wish
to god that i wasn't either.
How to pretend that you are a writer.Act like you're notHow to pretend that you are a writer. in Free Verse More Like This
okay when you are and
that you are when you're
not. Run barefoot in
the snow. Stand out
in the rain for an hour
and think about anything
and everything you can.
Fall in love with
riddles and things that
aren't real and the
way some stars
shine. Cry when
you realize that life is
just one big sham and write
one hundred cliché poems
about it, and then write one
that you actually mean.
Use profanity. Be the
one fucking introvert
in a room full of
extroverts and scream
shit just for the fun of
it. Swallow every goddamn
metaphor you ever dreamed
of and write them down
with your own blood.
Eulogize your own
misery. Put a crown on
it and let it rule your
heart for six years before
you throw a coup d'etat
but just end up with
your head in a basket.
Ask yourself why
you feel so
empty and when
you forgot how to
laugh and where you
last left your smile and
who you even really are
anymore. Mean every word.
Don't cry at funerals. Cry
yourself to sleep every
other night for
red red rosesi am not a goddessred red roses in Free Verse More Like This
nor do i
believe i wish to
i'd rather be a half-forgotten
or a girl with opium
eyes and a
who doesn't believe in
kisses demons with lips
that whisper poetry as artificial
as the mannequins in a
i want wings:
appendages stitched from
and the feathers you
can find on
the ground - dirty,
ripped, but still
and i would soar
higher and higher
and buy up
all the stars.
if i am being
i fall in love with
and wolf boys
much like the way a candle
melts; fast, hot, and dripping
wax down the side.
i just want to fit
between these ugly bones
and the too-tight skin
that stretches across them.
No rest for a weary heart.Yesterday my mother asked me what INo rest for a weary heart. in Free Verse More Like This
would name my children and I told her that
I did not want any. She scoffed at me
and shook her head, insisting
that once I found the
all of that would change.
And I thought back
to all the times when my palms
sweated and my throat ran dry
and my cheeks heated up just because
a girl walked by whose lips
were so pretty and pink that all I wanted
to do was taste them.
I replied, swallowing the acid
that was threatening to crawl out of
"it will take a lot more than that
to convince me."
Because despite the fact that
the mere thought of a man
with arms that could carry the weight of the
world holding me tight could
make my legs crumble beneath me,
I just don't know if it
would be the right choice.
I remember once
when I let it slip that I supported
those who loved all genders
my parents stared at me as if I
had admitted to murder. "It's wrong,"
my father had exclaimed and to me,
his words were a toxin more deadly
How to love a girl who can't love herself.one.How to love a girl who can't love herself. in Free Verse More Like This
When she cries herself to sleep
six out of seven nights a week you must
say nothing. You must simply take
her in your arms and kiss her gaunt,
pale cheeks and wait for her to
slumber at the sound of your heart.
On the days where she wishes she
were part of the stars, tell her
no. Tell her that there are too many
lights in the sky and that just one
would be forgotten the moment you looked
away from it. Tell her that she is perfect
the way she is: completely human.
Don't let her think about the scars
that no one but her can see. If she
says "I think I'm broken" smile like you
know a secret and say, "No, you're mending."
But do not be the one to fix her - no, she
Untitledwe are in Rome telling the dirt how it murdered its brother.Untitled in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
we are shouting at every historical monument from the books with affection and insult and nobody cares about yesterday.
"he wants to kill himself but he just writes a lot of stories with sad endings. don't talk to him."
i believe in love now. i don't know if i've grown up at all or learned from my mistakes or just lost and lost and lost. i'll write something. i'll write you stories. i'll mean it. i'll run away and never come back. some things never change.
"well the boy was found to have consumed the full body of a small mouse, a penny, broken glass, dirt, whisky... then hanged himself."
i am an abandoned house, i am here, i am still here.