there's an itch in my fingertips. it buzzes, like a wasp trying to break free. my skin would bend in a cartoonish curve and resist.
it's not ideal. where would it go? i can see the sugared tops of the mountains, the oceans of fields below with sundrop flowers sprouting through dewy grass. they wave to me in the wind,
my arm is outstretched, and i take one step but collide with an invisible barrier made of whispers and poisonous stares and guilt and glass.
the sun kisses my skin and i think a breeze grazes my face. but the grass is dry and I yearn to smell the flowers. a deer folds its legs underneath itself and i want to greet it.
im halfway there. too close, and not close enough. powerless to change the indestructible barrier between myself and life. of the deer and the bunny hopping towards it. of the healthy flowers but the hidden colosseum of roots under the soil.
there are shadows of people, distinctly my shape. the bunny jumps at one and the itch spreads, buzzing in my veins and heart and eyes.
i am not allowed.
the stars will remind me
i hope i don't forget my youth.
i am by no means old now, but i feel time catching up with me,
and i don't know whether this is a race that can be won.
i would very much like nostalgia to wrap itself around me,
seep into by bones and infuse my soul with the memory of what it was like
to exist. as a child full of joy and hope and love. full of
dreams, wishes, delight, impulses.
i would very much like love to be personified as my imaginary friend,
someone who will inspire me
i will look up at the stars at night and know that they are the same stars
that i gazed upon as a child. they will tell me stories of how i used to talk to them about my day. they can time travel, you know. and they will tell me about how they waded through the thick, gelatinous substance of time to tell the child struck by magic, stuck within a fantasy, that it will all be okay.
i may grow old, but i will never grow up.
1: i knew the stars, once.
before city lights swallowed the last of the starlight and spit out a black, black sky
a sky that beckoned and beguiled until I became one with its shadow
i can hardly recall the stars, anymore; hardly recall anything but the darkness that swallowed me whole
5: i see the constellations in dreams, withered and weaving their way into my consciousness
I wonder how a memory of beauty can exist among the ruins of destruction.
and so Memory Lane has become a wasteland of dying stars and long-forgotten dreams
how i wish time could be turned back to those shooting stars once more
the visions of stars, though bright, are faded and blurry inside my head, and i know they would not accept me anymore
10: and yet, and yet. here i stand, arms open and eyes unraveled.
welcome to another poem written by us! i cannot believe how long it took me to get around to posting this but thank you so much to everyone who participated!! much love to you all, tagged in the comments < 3
hi! if you know me you might remember almost a year ago i asked everyone to write a poem together by adding a line in the comments! i loved it so much, and the end result was so beautiful (see: astronomical on my profile) that i wanted to do it again!
so please, anyone is encouraged to contribute a line or several! the only rule is that the comment above yours must not be your own :)
line 1: i knew the stars, once.
my eyes burn in the pitch black of my room, only illuminated by a 13" screen that screams in the darkness. it attacks my eyes with the talons of some ancient beast, but my head is too full. it's spinning and whirling and overflowing and desperate. hilariously underworked and heartbreakingly neglected. it's 3 a.m and a firefly lands on my arm. it tickles, advancing slowly to my hand, then to my desk. it illuminates the path it takes as it goes, the memory of its journey imprinted into my nerves. it settles onto my desk and, like a puppy, lies down and is still. i hope it's sleeping. i feel an unceasing tug to my laptop, to my dreams, the bubblegum streetlights streaming through the hastily dropped blinds.
i click the big teal button that says "write". i return to my dreams, my hope, my home.
i click "publish."
what is grief, if not love persevering?
i love you.
i will love you until the moon disappears and the stars begin to dull. i will love you as a bee loves nectar, as humans love honey. i love you as the iceberg loved the titanic, as the passengers loved the lifeboats, and as the ocean loved the shipwreck. i love you as the birdsong loves the dawn, as the flowers love the earth, and as the fruit loves the sun.
i love you as detectives love disguises, and as disguises love to be temperamental, until the disguise is no longer a blessing and the truth comes gasping out into the world.
i still love you, even if you don't know. i will love you until i don't know what love is, so somebody will have to remind me. i will love you in those glimpses of light where i remember, and i will still love you when that light is replaced with darkness. i will love you until the sun becomes dim and the roses wilt. i will love you even if the ocean turns to sawdust and the clouds to dust. i love you as the books love the shelves, and as the shelves love to break, and as the broken pieces love to surprise innocent passers-by through their feet, and as their gasps love to escape into the frosty air, which shouldn't be frosty in the first place; we're inside. i will love you even if slushies turn bright orange or strawberries turn blue.
i would much prefer if you could tell me this too.
i lost myself to my dreams tonight. i took a path that never existed, never should, never would. the universe didn’t like that, the roof of the bus stop is leaking; hot, acidic water drips slowly through the gaps. and i think, what if? what if i climbed the steps to the moon tonight?
would orion detest me? would his arrow pierce through my heart like a blunt butter knife, slicing and poking and prodding at the illusion of a strong heart?
i’m waltzing through the raindrops with each step... except i’m not.
no, i’m not.
each one splashes on my face, in my eyes, telling me to wake up, wake up, wake up! the water burns white hot, dripping and slithering down my jaw, neck, igniting the pools of my collar bones with a flame that would make hestia jealous. the stars on my neck weep, and all i have left is your alkaline love. is it enough? while you sit on the edge of your clouds, reckless, giddy, drunk, can you even spare an ounce?
is it the sun, darling? does she scorch your skin as she does mine?
the cracks in the pavement run towards me. oh, the spines i’ve shattered. a piece of paper floats more gracefully than i. zeus scoffs at me; he can put stars in the sky. he can crush living creatures with his thumb and his finger and return them to stardust. ha, something you and i have in common. haemoglobin. could he peel these stars from my skin and save my soul?
my heart aches. yours lies in a glass box in the center of the sun. beating hard, or hardly beating?
i'm looking for some new books, and i would really, really like to know what your favourite book is! whether poetry or fiction, please comment a book or two, or if you're like me then three, books that you love and a quick reason why ^-^ thank you in advance to everyone who comments! <333
stars whisper to your heart
I do not need to see you to have you always on my mind. Always in my thoughts, always in my head, always on my mind. Your name is eternally on the tip of my tongue, escaping my lips in the witching hours, whispered into my pillow and floating into the night. Except -- what is your name? I sense that from day to day you stray further from yourself.
Love, surely you will have priority in the workhouse due to having been there before these floods of people? Your life seems to me to be nothing more than misgivings after misgivings. I have also had little time to write these days, George is becoming busy with business, and this presents me with an idea -- he is on a trip next week, I will become head of the house for at least a short while... come and visit me, darling. I will ensure you will have a clean set of clothes, warm bath, and rich food.
As the candles dance together and taunt me with their togetherness, I yearn for the next occasion we can be together. And I will make it so.
Do not lose hope, J. I lose myself each day in the stories of the constellations and the whispers of the stars, each reminding me of how unique you are, and how glad I am to be with you, in spirit and in soul.
I would not compare us to that of a burning flame, more of liquid wax, we melt and then reform. We adapt, and I admire this of us. I do not care if you are James or if you're Josephine, you will always be the second half of my heart.
This page is so bare as my head is too full of thoughts, my conscience is falling into a whirlpool that never ends, and I have too many thoughts to even begin to articulate. I apologise for this, but know one thing, Jo.
In the starkest way I can put it to you, I will not dilute;
I love you.