but here is your poem

Lay your head here on this soft ground
That blanket the stone earth like green snow
I will show you the beauty I house
In this garden, it is a place of rest from heat.
It is where I flourish peacefully
Untainted by whatever it is unknown
Out there, I do not know, I do not know.
I am a stubborn safety you may rest your heart in.

And please do not exhaust me
With your way of life, your way of style
It is yours to keep and not to give
I have my own symmetry I reside in
And it will keep so.
No matter how soft my shoulder feels
It will stiffen to put you out
So please do not put me out.

I am a solid existence to myself
Where friends can anchor
Their weary soul
Whenever, wherever
I am here, I am here.

—  The Beauty of Taurus, written by @satsune

“I want to create a world where people can live their lives smiling.  For that reason, a ‘symbol’ is necessary.”

Forget the stars
Forget the moon
She is neither

Forget the sun
Forget the clouds
She is neither

She is not mystical
She is not magic
But she could fool me

She is warm and soft
But she strong
Stronger than me

She is beautiful
She is more than I
Can understand

She is confident
She is kind
Who am I to
Stand near her

She is also sad
She is angry
She is quiet
She is loud

She is not just something
distant and abstract

She is real
She is multidimensional
She is herself
She is more than I
thought possible

She Is

—  She Is, an original poem for Sapphics
I am not here for you to embellish your dreams upon, I am not a flawless individual. I am not a pastoral figure within an Arcadian landscape, I am not here to inspire your inner voyeurism. I am here out of my own action, to be standing before you is a state of unrest for me. I am going against my faith and my historic depths to be here. Do not tell me that I am as helpless as you, or that I am here because I am free; that you are imprisoned. I struggle for my moments of freedom, I have to act as an individual to create them. You have your privilege, you have your wealth and honour, and the only thing to hold you back is a fragile relationship built on bureaucracy. The world will welcome you. Yet, you are stagnant in your misery. You are on the verge of escape, yet refuse to open the gate. Instead you project passive dreams upon me, you expect my kind words to fulfil your happiness. But you will never be happy, and those dreams will never be met. Not until you step out into the land you have inherited. I refuse to allow it. I refuse to focus on your life, knowing that my only role is to fuel intangible, romantic notions. You have to act. You need to act. You must act.
—  Celestial Dynasty
I heard a poet say the other day about how easy it was to write with a mask on, to tell the truth and nothing but the truth, if I hide the words good enough and toss away the keys to this lock, could you still find yourself if it’s so deep inside of my flaws? You love it when people write about you, especially if I’m doing the writing it seems. I don’t write about you much, so here I am. One last poem. And I give your eyes a solid peek with every letter, a silent whisper that says nothing, but if you pay attention to my lips it mouths an I love you each and every time when you catch me staring at you and I look away. I wonder when I see you staring, do you do the same when I turn away my head? I love to write, but you’ll wonder if it’s about you, you, you, you, you or her, her, her, her, her or her. It’s about you. This is about you. You know who you are. In the first conversation we ever had, you asked if my favorite color was red before even getting into my head. And those eyes that peer, that leer, that steer straight into mine, we haven’t met, we have met, we haven’t loved, we have loved, we haven’t fallen, we have fallen, we haven’t fucked, we have fucked, we haven’t broken into, we have broken into, we haven’t written, we have written, we haven’t been, we have been, we haven’t talked, we have talked, we speak for five minutes and I feel like I’ve known you for several lifetimes and attention is such a trickling thing as it falls from my eyes and into yours– we haven’t been anything before these five minutes, but I’ve made love to your every way before we knew, before you knew, before I knew, we were kinda fucked. We made sure to not get too close, we made sure that it never happened, it stays as it stays, it says as it says, and one day, we’ll never be. She says I could never date a writer. And as ironic as it is, we’re both writers, so as enamored and as pulled to one another as we are, we’ll think about it when the sun decides to go for another eternal nap, and when the moon finally decides to give those love letters back with different people holding each cloud up, with separate lovers holding us, we’ll think about it until it hurts. And we’ll do it for the sake of falling in love, the art of the what if’s while you’re young and stupid, it goes like this. You are something that casts more deadly spells than a dark lord’s wand, that bends more trees than the wind during hurricane season, that breaks more often than a sidewalk during the heat of summer love, that admires more deeply than artists comparing themselves to Van Gogh, that swells more quickly than a mosquito bite because you forgot bug spray although it never works because they too find you irresistible from blood type to skin, that itches worse than eating something you’re allergic too, it’s often our favorite foods too, that stretches more than the horizon when the sun asks the moon to come out and play always, always, slow dance to that one song from now on, that sings as beautiful as the Mona Lisa when we try to figure out her smile, that still to this day, I choose to not talk to you because yes it’s true, I’m a little in love with you, and yes it’s true, we won’t ever exist at the same time, too many obstacles and yes it’s true, we live for poetics the modern romantics trying to be antiques inside of a masterpiece, we never knew how to love properly, so we tried to pave way inside of a kaleidoscope– if we ever fell in love, it would be a bad trip, like overdosing on lsd because you thought that you were a cactus and spines started to grow out of you, yeah that kind of fucked up. We would be messed up, but I think in some lowkey happy offset universe, we would’ve been happy about it. She talks to me about poetry like I invented it, the truth is I write to feel something, isn’t that why we do anything? These words have been written before, I’m just following footsteps, I’m just another person trying to write down my wrongs, am I wrong for it? And it was one of those days, some strange scene from an anime when the sun is setting and they’re walking across a metal bridge as friends and he comments on the days that go by without a second thought, and the water is running and she says that you can’t skateboard down slopes because you’d get in trouble, rules were meant to be broken, and if you don’t break them, you can bend them just right. And it’s that kind of day, where bookstores mean more to us than clubs. Neon soul, would you care to stay here as you are for just a little while longer? She speaks about poetry like it’s the only thing that matters. He utters back wildfire spreads wildfire. I don’t know why he said it, but it just felt right, right? And the day will end, but not before you walked us through two art museums and there’s always a juicy secret near the end of us whispering to each other about other people and what they’re up to. In this fairy tale, they don’t fall in love. In this poem, they don’t get together. In this life, they’re just friends. In this heart, they’ll be just two lost souls stuck on a bench, I’m a little tired, I’ll just rest my head on those shoulders, and I must tell you, that you look better without make up. There will a day when this is just a faded gem you’ll find in your brain. There will be a brief moment when you’ll remember those five hours, and it all started because of those five minutes when you asked if we have met before, and I know that I write long pieces with very shitty grammar and not enough elaborate metaphors, but the thing about my writing and why it’s so damn relatable may be because I write with a cold heart that just wants to feel warm, we all need that day. That day, that’ll indefinitely change us in ways that we may not be able to comprehend today, tomorrow or even by next year. A day that explains, a day that demands to be listened to and just like how a chest needs a careful set of ears to listen to its heartbeat, I’m glad that I gave a listen to yours. And maybe I’ll move out of this city where people do the same shit every fucking day and pretend that it’s okay, that this is it. We’ll work until we’re grey, get that 401k go on vacations while we’re fragile with an old passion for pastries, cheap hotels and some famous beach that all of the old people go to. There’s got to be more to life, you mentioned that a few times. This was just a glimpse to what could be with someone else, and I’m always holding onto your hands just a little too tight because I don’t want you to let go and it’s okay because today will end, but not in this memory. In this memory, we’re young forever. In this memory, we’re breaking every rule just a little bit. In this memory, I write down every little detail because I don’t give a fuck. In this memory, I play a slow dance with you until the moon finally explains itself to us in entirety. I’m full because of you, I’m empty because of you. In this memory, the metaphors never run out and the poetry isn’t just about love, it’s not about sadness anymore, it’s about clawing my way out of my thoughts and back into a moment where I’m not so depressed and I’m cracking jokes right next to you all the way down Central Park and in this memory, there’s a small chance that you could’ve been more than just someone who showed my heart around New Orleans. In this memory, I remember you as my pretty crimson. And if this memory shall ever fade, I’ll fade with it too because the more we write, the more we are, if I am what I eat and I am what I do, I’ll eat the yellow paint and write until it’s dark and if I’m ever blind and no longer the person that I was when I walked across that bridge with you– at least it’s an ending that I can dwell on. Poets write poetry, clouds use rain as a disguise, but this writer is just wearing another mask and tomorrow isn’t any different. I am the wildfire, and I’ll spread in many directions. I just hope that we never burn down together and if we do, that wouldn’t be so bad, right?
I never thought someone could outshine the stars,
or make the moon seem obsolete,

But you change the tide of the waves crashing in my head;
you are more comfort than the distant pinpricks ever could be,

And I can’t look the sun in the eyes,
but you always let me see the light in yours
if only to remind me that I have my own.
Promptlyrefined: week 1

The first weekly prompt will be a poetry game. I saw this game back in 2015 (wow, time flies) as it was instigated by the lovely @wrote-you-a-poem. It made for some excellent poetry by various poets, but mostly, it was very fun to do! So, let’s give it a try. The rules are as follow:

Write an eleven line poem. Each respective line includes, but is not limited to, the following in order:

1. A natural phenomenon
2. An onomatopoeia
3. A question
4. Your favorite artist (painter, singer, writer…)
5. An endangered species
6. A sentence containing an exclamation mark
7. Must start with “All these…”
8. An object  
9. A well known fictional location
10. Includes or repeats the third line’s question
11. Use this line to write whatever comes to mind

Tag your poem #promptlyrefined and I will reblog it here. Be sure to use the tag #promptlyrefined in one of the first five tags accompanying your poem. If your work isn’t reblogged within 48 hours, please let me know.

The next prompt will be up around the same time next week. In the meantime, have fun writing! I hope this poetry game will contribute to that most of all.

No. Don’t you get it? I’m not worth this. I don’t deserve to have your shoulder to cry on. I don’t deserve to have you care about me. I deserve to be alone until my very last breath. Save yourself from me. I’m a walking disaster area. I’m a fatal wreck waiting to happen. Its so painful to be in the middle of a storm like this. To stand in the eye of a hurricane that you created. Watching everyone and everything around you break down to nothing. Knowing that it's your fault and you can’t do a thing about it. Save yourself from my destruction, trust me it's inevitable. You deserve so much more. I’m sorry I can’t be the one to give it to you. But you deserve a full person, not me. Not the girl thats shattered and broken so badly you can’t touch her without shredding your skin. I wish I was worth fixing, but I'm not. I wish I was worth your words, but I’m not. I wish I was worth you, but I think its time we both accept the fact that I’m not.
—  I guess I could be the reason they name hurricanes after people, But please don't stick around to find out. I don’t think I could live with myself if I destroyed you. // L.E.C.

and so i lost you.
and so i finally accepted you’re not coming back.
and so i’m writing another poem about you,
pounding your name on the page,
screaming into my pillow on a sunday,
preparing for another week without you.

and i wish i could let you die
but every day is a reminder that you’re not here
and every poem smells like your sweaters
and i’m tired of writing about letting go.
i wish i could write about love again,
but love is written in your goodbye,
love is hidden in last year
when your arms were wrapped around my neck,
love is just a word without you.

because being without you feels like
being lost in the woods with a blindfold on.
being without you feels like
stumbling over my own skin,
being stranded on a deserted ship;
every breath feels like drowning.

and i hate to be so melodramatic,
but i don’t know how to survive in a world
without you in it - it’s like
being chased by monsters without a weapon,
it’s like a losing battle, it feels like
giving up and giving in - and so
i wish you didn’t exist
or you and i didn’t exist
or maybe just that i don’t exist

because being without you is hopeless
and dreary and dark - it feels like
never being able to trust again,
like hard work doesn’t pay off,
like wasted time and forgotten feelings.
being without you feels like
every plan i once held in the palm of my hands
slipping through my fingers
because i guess i just
never imagined a life without you in it.
i guess i never thought you’d go.

now i sit and watch you leaving
in my peripheral vision
and wish it all away, wish you back,
wish i wasn’t missing something
that doesn’t exist anymore,
but i miss it anyway.

and so i lost you.
and so i’m not really okay anymore,
but when you ask,
i’ll tell you i’m doing better
and i hope you are too,
work on moving on without you,
and write you another poem.

—  and so i lost you
Arashicrumb update

Some folks had asked for the entire poem in text form and one has even raised their hand to finish drawing the series! To you I say: YES! Please feel totally free to draw the rest, draw it from the beginning, draw it in any style you’re like! Here at your disposal, the entire poem:

The Arashicrumb Tinies

by @meretreecious and @pickyfingers

A is for Aiba who so easily cries

B is for Boats that never stay dry

C is for Concerts filled with emotion

D is for Dreams set into motion

E is for Experiments, no idea is too strange

F is for Fight Song, which Nino arranged

G is for ‘Gool’ and ‘DO YOU LIKE BIRD?’

H is for Happiness, a PV to applaud

I is for Idols who don’t act their own age

J is for Jun who sets up their stage

K is for Kiiroi Namida, and ambitions arrested

L is for Leader, who’s often molested

M is for Mago but just for one day

N is for Nino who needs games to play

O is for Ohno who loves open seas

P is for Pikanchi where Jun’s Vietnamese

Q is for Quarrels, ‘cause the members don’t fight!

R is for Rainbow, everything will be all right

S is for Sakurai, no heights preferred

T is for ‘Time - the Power of Words’

U is for Uzbekistanand costumes that shine

V is for Volleyball 1999

W is for Wish and songs that rocked the nation

X is for Xiao Long Bao, a delicious celebration

Y is for Younger days, first filmed on a cruise

Z is for Zero, where Sho reads the news

Back to A for Anniversaries, their tenth* year together

and A is for Arashi, for now and forever

*As you can see this poem is 7 years old now… 

Writers Creed Participant Recap (3/5-3/11)

It was a real pleasure reading all your various interpretations of our prompt. Thanks to everyone who participated! If you did the prompt, and we somehow missed your poem, please message @katrinnac with a link to your poem.

Here are this week’s participants. Thank you all and looking forward to seeing your writing for the next challenge!

@itsanotebooknotadiary (poem) & (poem)

@randomlyjay (poem)

@cruxymox (poem)

@hangingoninquietdesparation (poem)

@oneamateurgirl1612 (poem)

@asongwithnoend (poem)

@just-4-thought (poem)

@anjo-da-guarda-me (poem)

@midnite-ride (poem)

@therealgirlx (poem)

@katrinnac (poem)

@onecacao (poem)

@hereticalwritings (poem)

@lzlabs (poem)

@grapesofcontentment (poem)

@wordsaregolden22 (poem)

@darlfinch (poem)

@donutpoet (poem)

@mariposaheart (poem)

@liam-and-the-inn0v8-r (poem)

@snuffyart (poem)

@restlessmuseum (poem)

@autumnsunshine10 (poem)

@neverthelessalive (poem)

@mysublimejourney (poem)

@something-like-scripture (poem)

@fakesurprise (poem)

Well & Good

Ive asked the angels to lie to me
Their voices collectively sigh
My thoughts filled with thier prescence
Feels like a thousand eyes

Softly they sing like moonlight
The very air soaked in thier tune
Melodic words arrive in my mind
“All will be well and good soon”

Ive asked the demons for the truth
Collectively their voices laugh
Im reminded of the grip they have on me
Feels like another trap

Through shadows that rest on my walls
Their shape-shifting bodies loom
The voice of white noise through their lips
“All will be well and good soon”