non fandom poetry

A Valentine to Myself

Hey lonely heart,
you are not broken,
or if you are
it will not last forever.
Better weather’s bound to find you
and that fight inside you
will chase out the dark
and spark a change.
For all that’s truly certain 
is that time will pass.
and even if right now your whole
feels like a half,
the world will turn
it’s suddenly enough,.with maybe
some to share.
Or maybe not.

But do not listen when they tell you 
“all you need is love”.
because all you really need
is already yours.

angels living among modern society, their wings fold together in fear because they’re so defenseless in this form. their flesh doesn’t serve them as well as their armor did. compared to their true forms, this form is nothing. this vessel is a cage for troubled kids.

angels who befriend demons, who run with them now because they provide a darker thrill. angels who turn their back on their brothers and sister because the family was too troubled for them anyways.

–Tamarra’s Writings

writing commissions!

Hi everyone! now I don’t actually post much personal stuff on here, but I’ve recently had a huge fight with my father. His denial of my gender and my sexuality, in addition to both his and my mother’s denial to allow me to see my therapist, has finally resulted in me giving up on them. I’m going to open commissions to allow me to save money that they don’t know about(on a private paypal account) for when I can finally move out. 

If you have any questions about where I’ll be putting the money, where I’ll be going when I get out, or anything else, just shoot me an IM!

Prices are under the cut because I don’t want to clog up anyone’s dash.

Keep reading

hallwayperson  asked:

Okay, I can't resist although you made me a beautiful poem once but apparently I'm greedy. Nanna (🙃) and a word.. Hmm, ambivalence.

New moon rising, clean and clear,
As though the stars could be induced to change.
No fresh face charms the heavens, moon,
Nor will your waning sorrow shatter constellations.
All things spin in constancy, you are not new, dear moon


Acrostic Poems by request!

frangipanidownunder  asked:

Victoria and promise for the acrostic poem. A wonderful idea! Thank you.

Vulnerability was a dress I outgrew;
It fell with innocence, soft potentials
Crushed by a world which wanted only strength.
“Trust me,” said the Man, “to thrive you must be hard as I,
Or perish.” I believed him, fought until I fell and then I saw it
Raw in my reflection, tough tenderness and bones beside the bruises.
I was more than him, in my true skin. I’d always had it all,
And now I’m sworn to bleed with beauty, battle like a beast


foxathanmulder  asked:

The acrostic thing sounds so cool! "Lorrie" and "Persist." Obviously if you can't think of anything, no worries 😘

Let not the bad days hang heavy on your shoulders
or unkind words echo in your mind.
Remember this instead
(remember it when all else fades to sadness).
It does not end here, it never will.
Everything you are endures and time will bring you everything you need.


send me your name + a word and I will write you an acrostic poem


I think that for me
love is not a June sunset,
or a heady rush in chiffon white,
or a warm hearth, pounding heart,
or clasping hands in tender dark…
It is when I am finished,
my daytime worries lying with the blankets on our bed,
and how I close my book,
give up escape
and share your story instead

we like to think of monsters as being beasts,
with claws and fangs and horns
we don’t think of people as being monsters

we don’t think about those who led our countries,
and who run our schools,
who share our houses,
and who share our beds

monsters can come in pretty packages,
monsters don’t want to be seen

it was humans who came up with the idea of a monster
so i think that it’s time that we begin to wonder
who it is that we should really fear,
begin to wonder what it really means to be human
—  where is your humanity now (l.g.)
When I fell in love for the first time
he was a man and I was fifteen and
fuzzy around the edges, solid only in mirrors
and in my head. And I realise now that it
had to be him because he was everything I
needed a man to be: miles away, alien,
uninterested in my fingers laced with his.
He was beautiful, don’t get me wrong, but he
looked better with someone else in his
arms in a candid shot in a celebrity mag
than he would have with me.
All the times afterward it was with women,
sometimes with girls. I still don’t know what
this says about me, or them, but at night I
feel as substantial as my reflection will have
me believe. My mirrors still tell lies now,
different ones, but this time I recognise them
for what they are. It aren’t really my lips that
I paint red now in what will never be Chanel,
but my soul. They say that beauty is only
skin-deep and they might be right
but I will fight to prove them wrong.
—  growing up was different from what they told me when I was twelve.
i met her one morning by the shore, shoes forgotten in the sand.
she told me she was here with the sea
and the waves and depths
her worth with each lap at her ankles, each salty tangle in her hair.
and if I’m being honest all the while I couldn’t tell
where the water ended and where
she began. 
the mermaids I drew after that
were all women in love with what couldn’t love them back,
but did.
—  they had swapped their lungs for gills, two legs caught in the currents // e.k.