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verdant by ohsostarryeyed verdant :iconohsostarryeyed:ohsostarryeyed 16 1
Literature
your body isn't a means to attain forgiveness
it doesn’t have to be perfect;
it doesn’t have to be neat,
tied up, origami
in a soft little bow my body
is not a gift
for()giving.
my body is a home
that I don’t mind sharing,
it is a well worn bed
it squeaks, rusted springs
but it welcomes you home, I
welcome you home.
I don’t know how many flaws I have
but science tells me that if I stretched them
end to end,
they could wrap three times around
the immensity of the apology you say
with your flesh.
your skin doesn’t need to say sorry
for covering the stardust inside,
you don’t have to apologise
for taking up space
when you and space are made of the same things–
you are beautiful.
you don’t have to be perfect.
you don’t have to be neat
with a soft little bow.
you have the expanse of the universe
inside you,
you are a gift of your own,
not for giving
but fully forgiven.
I am always, always
here to welcome you home.
:iconohsostarryeyed:ohsostarryeyed
:iconohsostarryeyed:ohsostarryeyed 30 4
Literature
if alice in wonderland was set in 2012,
i might cut my hair if it didn't remind me of you,
but just like the fade from september into the pits of october,
i fall.
down
      the
rabbit
      hole.
i'm not alice, this isn't wonderland, but i am just as surrounded by things that yell,
"eat me! drink me!" and they don't say it but i know they'll all make me bigger,
sadder, fatter, too big to fit into a house, my arms my legs come shooting out,
everything i feel is just too loud-
look.
i should be better than i am.
i should be taking the world by the shoulders, shaking back its shoulders because i am a storm, i am a force of nature and you will take notice-
but my winds are quiet. my rain is sad.
i'm too afraid to swell up in full vigor,
to take what is mine in case it's taken from me again,
i will never forget what you did- in camera flash moments, in sharp moments-
to leave me broken.
there are some cuts that never close up.
there are some things that never get spoken.
and there are some things yo
:iconohsostarryeyed:ohsostarryeyed
:iconohsostarryeyed:ohsostarryeyed 73 24
Mature content
special, bulimic fairy :iconohsostarryeyed:ohsostarryeyed 30 10
Literature
i am my mother
i am my mother.
i carry empty bottles
for every feeling
i never wanted;
they clatter in my bag
and where they are tied
on my wrists and ankles.
the glass glitters
until dulled by the weights
and dim light of the heavy feelings
that fill them.
i am my mother.
i have felt things
on my skin i have tried
to cut away to no avail,
i have tried to smile
until it hurts my god it hurts
and my bones are fire
but you think i'm okay so i'm okay
i am my mother
because i will never be angry
when others smudge the mud
from their feet onto me,
i will never show a scowl or reddened face
for being treated like wasted space.
i will take every jibe with a nod
and half smile,
lips closed over broken teeth
to prevent the possibility of baring them,
presenting a threat,
projecting confidence instead of regret.
i will drag my weighty bottles
and break myself into shards
that cut me with every move
before i dare let them crack.
(mother, do not worry
i am fine.)
:iconohsostarryeyed:ohsostarryeyed
:iconohsostarryeyed:ohsostarryeyed 38 4
Literature
10 ways depression can say i don't love you
1. "i'm sorry
i don't want to
come over today."
the clock reads 4pm
and i roll over in my bed
again.
2. "i forgot it was your
birthday."
i'd forgotten my own
too.
3. "i promise i won't
hurt myself."
the ER doesn't believe
it's an accident
anymore.
4. you asked if i loved you.
i had to sneeze and it
never happened.
i think you took that
as a no.
5. we haven't had sex in a month.
6. we don't see
your friends.
we don't see
my friends.
i've forgotten
i even have any.
7. i never answered your text.
it asked if i was okay.
8. "i need you to open yourself
up for me," you said.
i stopped talking.
9. "what do you want from me,
blood?"
apparently you didn't.
10. tonight i will sleep alone
but not really.
depression will hold me
close
and stroke my hair,
telling me everything
will never be
all right.
:iconohsostarryeyed:ohsostarryeyed
:iconohsostarryeyed:ohsostarryeyed 136 32
Literature
Landlocked
Day 1 –
The idea of being landlocked has always terrified me.  At age eight, I sobbed as we crossed coasts from Maryland to Oregon for my aunt's wedding and  her husband's ensuing funeral; at the funeral, I stayed silent.
Day 2 –
Sometimes it's nice to think of the shores, especially when I am so far from their comforting infinities.  At college, I am in a university surrounded by trees and mountains.  The nearest body of water is a man-made mess in the middle of campus; it is rumoured that it is filthier than the aftermath of a Friday night in the partying capital of the school.  
The only difference is that one has snapping turtles.  In all honesty, I am unsure which that is.
Day 3 –
While I swore I never missed you, I missed you all throughout.  With trees and skylines punctuated by tall, ugly buildings, my heart ached for the water.  It also ached for you.  
At night, I would find myself remembering the night I graduate
:iconohsostarryeyed:ohsostarryeyed
:iconohsostarryeyed:ohsostarryeyed 37 4
Mature content
what's a typical day for you like? :iconohsostarryeyed:ohsostarryeyed 31 14
Literature
100 theme challenge
001. morals
there is nothing wrong with leaving behind politeness for happiness and we could all do to remember.
002. parade
the aches in my skin parade within my bones like a sin.
003. prayers
i say your name over and over like it is a prayer to keep my head above water.
004. clear skies
just because things are cloudy doesn't mean there's no sun behind them.
005. happy birthday
i give you a feminine loofa, funny boxers, and your favourite candy- i want this to show you i love you even though i'm broke.
006. apples
my white flesh browns under my thin skin- i am rotting to my core.
007. letters
hours of letters written and phone calls singeing my anxieties: these are the cinders of us.
008. full moon
in the full moon, we turn into wolves and howl our sorrows to the sky.
009. first breath after coma
after years of empty eyes, i felt the air stiffen in my lungs and the next thing i knew, i cried at how full i was and the silence i would never again have.
010. sunflowers
in the warm light
:iconohsostarryeyed:ohsostarryeyed
:iconohsostarryeyed:ohsostarryeyed 42 4
Literature
five down .collab
love, tell me -
tell me i see the future and you
will wind up well alone;
i don't want you with anyone,
especially me.
i pull your air into my lungs,
an influenza in every syllable of
breath. and i am a cluster of hills
across your face, the reason you
said you didn't believe in
wearing sandals in july.
i keep track of time
in terms of crossword puzzles,
sundays especially difficult
because i used to pray like god listened
to my repents and hopes then.
you would take my unfinished columns
and fill them in with a different pen colour
and that was how i knew things were
wrong.
and there was never any bitterness
to it either, the passing hand to hand
of platitudes that wilted like the heads of birds
but never broke too much. tomorrow night
i will do the sudoku puzzle instead and
ask the moon to put its trauma back
where you kept the pencils
(when you kept
anything other
than the needle)
instead i tuck my hands
under the pillow beneath my head,
hoping that hiding them
will keep me safe.
id
:iconohsostarryeyed:ohsostarryeyed
:iconohsostarryeyed:ohsostarryeyed 30 14
Literature
materialism .collab
john's bed was crooked against the wall, with enough space between the two for his pillow to slip down every night. it is never made but usually empty, much like the rest of the room. his wallet was full of condoms, the box in the slightly opened nightstand drawer with two strays within. john's socks were paired up neatly in his dresser, and he had no closet. a baseball bat was stretched across the threadbare rug in such a way that it would trip someone unfamiliar with the layout. like a robber. things you will never find there are his iphone, ipod, and his grandfather's pocket watch from when he was in the world war.
evelyn paints a small canvas in the center of her garden. her cheeks are always stained with a coral blush, but nothing else. she hangs easter-egg coloured bird houses from the low branches of her maple trees. she only wears dresses. at six in the evening each day she rests on the stoop of her mother's house with a plaid quilt. she spins her mother's wedding ring around h
:iconohsostarryeyed:ohsostarryeyed
:iconohsostarryeyed:ohsostarryeyed 37 7
Literature
100 sunday crosswords
this is a story of broken pieces
letting go feature by feature;
shattered pieces, ice rain,
and something blacker than sadness
turning from snowfall to knives
and the scarlet ground that follows.
this is about knowing when to stop
but never knowing the time.
because fingers snap louder in the cold,
they shiver and shake, shiver and shake
until the tremours turn to bone
and you feel it when they break.
a century's warning isn't enough to prepare for an earthquake;
a thousand years is still a blink when the last sinews
split.
there is nothing welcome about the open air
and how it bites your exposed skin,
its teeth sharpen and gnash,
dull enamel that scrapes,
and the bleeding won't tell you
how it stops.
just because you have spent a hundred sundays
pouring over the globe's crosswords
doesn't mean you'll find that eight letter word,
finally,
for a warning sign of dissipation.
you will never see the end nearing,
you will never know when to stop,
you will,
i swear you will,
feel the way the
:iconohsostarryeyed:ohsostarryeyed
:iconohsostarryeyed:ohsostarryeyed 27 14
Literature
why jk rowling embodies depression as dementors
i wanted to talk to you about happiness
but i don't think anyone in this room is qualified to talk about something
they probably don't know much about, and
how it spends most of its time
seeping out of your skin in whatever ways it can
because maybe your body is too toxic for it.
that's when you start having your moment.
the moment when you're not sure
how to be alive,
when strings become nooses
in the stars of your eyes,
thin objects mock your bones
and the instruments of your heart
act like knives thirsting for blood.
pavement shatters underfoot.
the cracks become teeth,
sharp and unfriendly as you pass;
they're grey, great sheaves of skin.
the world is alive, but unfriendly and cold.
so we sink back into what we're used to.
the way settling into sadness
is like settling into bed after a long day.
so they put you on everything they can find.
prozac, where you stayed miserable.
abilify, where you stayed miserable.
seroquel, where you stopped eating
when being treated for having stoppe
:iconohsostarryeyed:ohsostarryeyed
:iconohsostarryeyed:ohsostarryeyed 71 19
Literature
home is in the hollow of darkness .collab
i stand quivering,
like a candle's flame open
in the winter breeze.
my heart skips
a beat. then another,
and again.
death feels like this, when
you let it creep into your
hollow bones again.
spreading out
like a spider's web,
it catches
everything
big or small before
collapsing.
it becomes true that
you are never freer than
the moment you breathe
your last, and let your
fingers slip through the thin cracks
til you disappear.
forever
lost in eyes of the
forgetful.
so breathe deep young one,
as deep as the hollows of
your lungs allow you.
cut free the tangles
that hold you beneath ever-
shifting tides, and know
it is finally
time to embrace the darkness
that will take you home.
:iconohsostarryeyed:ohsostarryeyed
:iconohsostarryeyed:ohsostarryeyed 44 17
Literature
For Madison
Streams of summer air carried well-wishings and sleepy symphonies of crickets' nighttime magic, but nothing compared during sunlit hours to the music made by his own two hands.
They would never touch a piano again, never breathe notes in patterns full enough of beauty that they would make Debussy bleed with envy, never resurface from the cold glass of the lake's mirror. He was a sorcerer of sound, a soul on fire with compassion and artistry -- he was dead. Caught in the undertow. Forever frozen in insufficient rescue of a boy smaller than himself. His heart had gone still, but was bigger than any beating above ground.
I heard him breathing Clair de Lune every afternoon as I walked home. He was invisible, as though he was hidden behind thick veils of water, quashing his reflection, but never his sound. I could hear how beautiful his fingers were as they pressed gently over ivory and ebony, solid bricks and thin like enamel, striking chord after chord of pure moonlight. As the leaves and
:iconohsostarryeyed:ohsostarryeyed
:iconohsostarryeyed:ohsostarryeyed 71 33
Literature
12-18-10 .collab
i am sitting with rumpled pieces of paper and my hands stained with ink, as if blood has turned indigo, wringing your name like a paltry confession. and i feel as pathetic as you think i am, i feel as though i could walk across the ocean with salt making my lips sting and i could travel for miles just to get to you, and you would be standing on the other side with empty eyes and you're asking, "why have you come?" and, somehow, you're bigger than me, somehow, you're a giant and i'm forced to look up at you and admit —i don't know.
i have lost my footing. the sky is the earth, my head is underwater and hair dancing with seaweed. i am drowning in not-knowing, i am bleeding my heart into the sea of flowers.why have you gone,
and why have i stayed? why am i where i am, and you where you are, and why are they not the same?
the mirror laughs and i feel small, held in your gaze.
i am tired of begging, of crushing my pride beneath bruised knee-caps and asking you to forgive me; i am tired
:iconohsostarryeyed:ohsostarryeyed
:iconohsostarryeyed:ohsostarryeyed 63 18

Random Favourites

Literature
eternity is watching you
Run the bath water, trying to wash
off chapters of war and poverty and suffering.
Submerge myself, watching
the water cave in on my stomach as I suck it in, cascading
in the shape of a heart that quickly disappears.
Or maybe it was just too full to be seen,
so full that it sunk beyond what I can comprehend.
Reading love poetry,
daring it to prove me wrong,
and it doesn’t.
Lay there for thirty minutes just breathing and crying
and whyohwhyohwhyisthispainsohugesometimes?
Soon I am swimming in saltwater;
pretend it’s the ocean
pretend I am a dolphin and can swim away from here.
Turn on the shower, trying to wash off
the salt-crust around my eyes and the snot-crust
under my nose, pretend it’s a waterfall that will
wash away this hurt, hot for eternity.
Five minutes and it’s cold
and I remember that eternity isn’t that long.
Eternity is two years of love and then turn it off.
Eternity is fighting off the demons and angels and
everything that tries to stand in
:iconaMidnightMasquerade:aMidnightMasquerade
:iconamidnightmasquerade:aMidnightMasquerade 6 8
Literature
throw off your skin
to be ashamed of the skin over
my bones is to be ashamed of the past
eighteen years wasted.
ashamed of the dizzy nights
that left me breathless, longing, empty.
ashamed of the mornings I just shut off
the alarm, becoming an earthworm buried
deep
down
in the earth of my blankets. ashamed
of heated dreams, beating
my mother to death with a tire iron and vengeance.
to be ashamed of the skin
over my bones is to say that
I hate what I have become,
feather-weight and transparent.
I am ashamed of living like a leper,
losing pieces of myself and all my
other possessions in the process.
ashamed of the tear-stained pillows and
the empty bottle. ashamed of hiding behind
a cheshire smile, canines bared and deadly.
ashamed of wishing my bones were
snow white and past decay, gnawed clean by
the scavenger birds, eyes like oil slicks.
to be ashamed of the
skin over my bones
is to peal it off in layers,
and throw it into a washing machine,
hoping that surface clean will be more than superficial.
:iconaMidnightMasquerade:aMidnightMasquerade
:iconamidnightmasquerade:aMidnightMasquerade 4 4
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Activity


I'm thinking of deactivating my account here or just deleting my posts. if you are interested in keeping up with my work, here you go:

p h o t o g r a p h y

instagram: @melissabeephotos
tumblr: melissablack-photography.tumbl…

w r i t i n g

tumblr: thewritingsickness.tumblr.com

P A T R E O N - currently, my patreon (patreon.com/melissablack) is only for my photography. I would love to open it up to my writing as well! however, I need to know that there is interest there before I do so. would you like to see exclusive written content on there as well? my tiers begin at $1/month.

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ohsostarryeyed
melissa
United States


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my name is melissa.

i was born on the cusp of summer and fall in 1992, which feels like it was about twelve years ago - my maturity level reflects this. as a result, i am a poor college student. (if you would like to assist me in this endeavour, feel free to note me about receiving your own handwritten copy of my work and letter!)
i do not like certain words. (anion, anyways (because it's not really a word!), armpit, baked, blastula, breadth, bun, clotted, crusty, cusp, feasible, fondle, frottage, horndog, hospice, lest, mayochup, pusillanimous, refurbished, scalp, smug, sustenance, waft.)
i like quailman and dirty dick dastardly, and i hope you know who they are. i love with more than a love, and i quote things (in this case, edgar allan poe; in others, harry potter, 90s songs, and chuck palahniuk ) off the top of my head because it makes me feel good.

to do list: breathe, laugh, use tumblr less frequently.


inspiration| tim walker | irving penn | emily soto | mark harless | anna demarco | larissa felsen | harley weir | tamara lichtenstein | karen jerzyk | jimmy o'donnell | jeff bark | marta bevacqua | chuck palahniuk | charles bukowski | jonathan safran foer | kurt vonnegut | franz kafka | geoff trenchard | buddy wakefield | everyone on my watch list

Comments


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:icondearpoetry:
DearPoetry Featured By Owner Sep 4, 2017  Hobbyist Writer
Happy birthday! :D
Reply
:iconcomatose-comet:
comatose-comet Featured By Owner Sep 4, 2017  Hobbyist Writer
Happy birthday! I haven't seen many of your writings here in a while but I hope wherever you've landed that you are still writing because I am so inspired by your style and many of your poems have really moved me. Have a wonderful day, lovely :party::dalove:
Reply
:iconohsostarryeyed:
ohsostarryeyed Featured By Owner Sep 4, 2017
thank you! I post my writing the most on thewritingsickness.tumblr.com but I need to update it more often
Reply
:iconithaswhatitisnt:
ithaswhatitisnt Featured By Owner Sep 4, 2016  Hobbyist Writer
happy birthday! :tighthug: :heart: :iconrainbowcakeplz: i hope you're having a lovely day!
Reply
:iconsasukekiller:
sasukekiller Featured By Owner Sep 4, 2016  Hobbyist General Artist
Happy BIRTHDAY <3
Reply
:icontheemptychest:
TheEmptyChest Featured By Owner Sep 3, 2016
Happy birthday, lovely! :heart:
Reply
:iconreanimated4now:
Reanimated4now Featured By Owner May 22, 2016  Professional General Artist
plikkity plaow plikkity plaow!
Reply
:iconjeruka9-san:
JERUKA9-San Featured By Owner Apr 26, 2016  Hobbyist General Artist
watching how people living walking step by step im thinking my life cruel and not deep want be ruler of life chosen
no sense of life sorrows dozen there no place to go just sit and cry life is cruel im want die find own estate neverending with death date dont go lady even when you such bonds create
let me me sacrifice because of my bad mental state
hate and love that what people often see
be a happy and dont become sad me
life death its just gate go and change your life dont just wait
hapiness cand be find there and here
take care dear...
Reply
:iconberkleydown:
BerkleyDown Featured By Owner Jan 12, 2016  Student General Artist
Your writing..,
Reply
:iconsnakekiller9119:
snakekiller9119 Featured By Owner Sep 22, 2015  Student General Artist
Good Poems. Very good. Check out mine if you don't mind :3 not as good as yours
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