Wrote a poem

That was all it took;
A blink, a breath,
And the world collapsed,
Spiraling,
Endless and lethal.
  
I had always known
That monsters
Walked among us,
I just never thought
They’d look like him.
—  poeticallyordinary

Because Diaphenia won our PG March Madness tournament, and because I like writing rhymes, this is my gift to her:

Hail to the Champion

We shall not sulk, we shall not balk

Though Diaphenia went straight chalk

Is it fish or ball that fears the net?

She may not know—and yet, and yet

She did triumph in March Madness

And so I write in joy not sadness

To honor her pick of the Tarheels

And of their points, assists, and steals

Diaphenia is our champion, and her we hail

Because our own picks did wholly fail

So let us salute our esteemed opponent

Diaphenia, this is your one shining moment

by Laura, 4/24/17

I just realised that the poems I wrote today are the first poems that I’ve ever written about racial violence. it’s had me a bit uneasy all day and I think I just need to figure out for myself how to differentiate between using poetry to make a point about / make sense of racial violence, and using racial violence to bolster my poetry. especially as someone who’s spent most of my life in the West.

1. In my dreams we’re walking along the edge of the universe. My love for you, the sun. Time isn’t real here; there’s only us. Forever.  but then again, my dreams aren’t real either. And forever doesn’t exist.
2. Sunsets still remind me of you, and i’m still convinced you’re the one who makes the sky blush every time. But it’s been raining ever since you left. All i ever wanted was to watch a sunrise through sunset with you. 
3. We’re together in every universe. We’re happy in every reality. I’m so sick and tired of all these parallel universes playing out in my head where we’re together.
4. I wanted to love you so much, the scars they left on your heart would start to fade until i realized scars don’t fade no matter how much you try.
5. Today my friend asked me “how many fucking times do you think of him?” and i said “once” because ever since i met you, you haven’t left my mind. I guess i should’ve known i left yours long ago.
—  Lessons on loving you 
I wish I could read a book on what it would take to get you to fall in love. And I wish I could download an app that told me when you were happy or mad or jealous or confused. And I wish I could look up at the stars and they’d tell me what to say to you and when to say it. Because you’re a little too complicated for someone who likes things simple and I know you think I’m good at solving puzzles but I need something- just one thing- to be a little bit easier right now.

my bones are weak
from carrying you on my back
I have sacrificed
my strength for you
so that I can no longer
smile without pain
and here you are
walking just fine


stronger than ever.

—  don’t forget to help yourself by shelby leigh
And though your eyes
Are not blue like the sea
And are instead the colour of the forest
That is fine by me
As I have never longed for
The smell and the taste of salt water
But I seek stable ground in
The form of forgotten trees.
—  another thing i wrote for my not girlfriend // Adrian Diane Epps
that’s what people do
they move on
they don’t stay at the
exact same place like
i do and i know i
should get the fuck up
i know. trust me i do.
but i cannot stop crying.
—  ck.writes (on Instagram)

my nayme is Deen
in al the lande
no grayter dood
than bruthr Sam
and wen he falls
but is not ded

i hold his face
i lik his hed

[ oops there’s a sam version

continental drift

(#21 off the Super Sappy Prompts list: “I’m better when I’m with you.”)

It’s an experiment based on a hypothesis based on a coincidence. They’re sharing a room on a roadie, and Nursey has been stuck in a dry spell for a week and a half now. The words just haven’t been coming the way he wants them to, and he’s starting to feel dried out, like all the creative juices have been wrung out of him by school stress and lack of sleep. Maybe it’ll never come back. Maybe he’s just done. All washed up by the tender age of twenty.

He’s not even trying to write as he watches Dex from across the room, tracking his fidgets and expressions as he sits hunched over his laptop frowning at the screen. It’s been a while since he and Dex have been in the same room for an extended period of time – a fortnight, about. Dex has been on a project, and Nursey started isolating himself about when the drought hit. But it was nice to sit with him on the bus today, and it’s nice to dump his bag near the bed and just relax, hands behind his head, and drink in his presence. It feels like something he’s been missing for far too long.

Nursey’s not sure what it is that makes the words start coming back, but it’s like a cloudburst on a hot day – a few lines, scattered drops against a parched sidewalk, then all at once he’s drowning.

He writes for four hours that night. His poems are full of microchips and anger, all about the gray morality of man against the rigidity of binary code, and by one a.m., when he should really be getting his beauty rest for tomorrow’s game, he’s starting to formulate a theory.

The theory is that maybe being in Dex’s proximity jumpstarts his creativity. In a phrase, Dex inspires him.

So Nursey resolves to test it.

Keep reading

if my love were an ocean,
there would be no more land.
if my love were a desert,
you would see only sand.
if my love were a star-
late at night, only light.
And if my love could grow wings,
I’d be soaring in flight.