April is Poetry Month
Added 2024-04-22 19:44:57 +0000 UTCLike I said before, the rest of the month will be a little [cum]-and-go. Doing a ton of talking in my other life any my voice will be running the gauntlet for another week and a half. Tomorrow's the first Quinn Collab. High Charisma [2] is after that so [BFE] and [butt stuff] is in the near future. And then guest scripts. We'll see how far we get in the next 8 days. Don't worry - I'm all yours next month. April showers bring gentlemen callers. I'll try try and keep you fed until then.
Anyways. Here's some bad high school poetry. Quid pro quo - the more you leave the more I'll leave. These are truly BAD so have fun with that. So angsty. So teenage. I didn't like capitalism because all the art I liked told me I didn't. I didn't like "society" for the same reason. My neighborhood was very conservative and white and 9/11 colored too many things. Seeing people I [thought] I respected enshroud themselves in racism and prejudice was very educational. I had a good friend named "Hussein" and us hanging out in public was always a story waiting to happen.
Here's two to start.
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"Rest in Chaos"
It's a beautiful day for a funeral.
No one here is crying.
The sun is shining brightly,
and the coffin bathes in light.
The clouds don't shed a tear either.
Made up like a whore,
an old, ugly cadaver of days.
A salute to the cabaret and a hero to people like me.
No one mourns the wicked,
except those who thrive on fire.
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"America the Fairy Tale'
Wale up and whistle, Dwarf,
That plasma screen TV,
those handcrafted plates,
that ikea lamp,
is calling.
Keep your damned eyes closed
if you ever want to see yourself happy.
Pledge more allegiance,
spend more money
turn in your neighbor, your kin.
Tell me O how you can see.
There is only one nation.
There is only one god
with only one son.
With liberty and justice for all.
From sea to shining sea.
Manifest destiny has no room for you so
mow my lawn/build my casino/steal my TV/iron my clothes/fulfill your stereotype.
Love is only science,
pulses in your brain soon to be auctioned at an internet near you.
Wave that fucking flag.
No more fucking questions.
Whistle while you work.
Whistle, Dwarf.
Whistle until your lips are raw and bleeding.
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I have some short stories that are less mopey and more fun - maybe we'll mix it up a bit.
[your dice]
Comments
It took me a minute to find but I found it: Le tue parole vengomo a me Colorato come la sabbia Scaldato col sole del tip payese Parli in modi che non e chiaro Ma capisco lo stesso Il senso del terraino E nel vonto tra quello che dici e quello che hai detto Tra la giaia e il mare Stanno I Emotione che non detto Ma assor bato _______ And your words enter into me Sand-coloured Warm with the sun of your country You speak with utterances I cannot understand Yet comprehend The sense of their landscape And in that place between speaking and spoken Between pebbles and ocean Lies conceived Emotion never given breath yet inhaled. Story: I wrote this poem (obviously) for a boy I knew and asked him to translate it into Italian for me. This was waaaay before Google translate of course. And I think he got the message I was sending to him (please fuck me, please love me) although nothing came of it.
Heather
2024-04-24 15:31:05 +0000 UTCI dig. I have dug. That’s all that I do; Empty hands are compelled to the work. I dig. I have dug. For it’s all I can do— To find purchase in unsteady earth. The work here is plenty, My shovel is ready By the time the morning sun breaks free. “Neither pray, Nor cry” To my lover said I; “I carry you always with me.” The day will be long, And the work will be hard, Many hours will I be away. But once I’ve dug all I can, As deep as can go, In your arms once more I will lay. I set about my work— Fastidious, Efficient; No one digs how I dig but me. I dig, I have dug, For it’s all that I know. My work is all that I need. I go with ironclad focus— Never frenzied, Never rushing my pace. I dig, And I dig, Daring the ground to give, Until finally my wish I did get. As morning slipped to noon, Noon slid to night, The moon kissed the ground with its glow. I dig, I have dug, And I must keep digging; When I am digging, I am in control. My brow does quiver, My body does ache, But the digging is not yet done. So I think of my lover, And think of no other, I don’t think of collapse soon to come. I dig, And I dig. But I have no reserves, No respite from the fate befalling me. Sediment digs its way in, Beneath nails, beneath skin, I dig further in what buries me. I look to the sky, And fix eyes one last time Upon the moon that my love and I share. “Neither pray, Nor cry” To my love whispered I; My work is done, And I’ve done it with care.
kindofquixotic
2024-04-23 14:46:40 +0000 UTCThis is how I know I like y’all, because I actually revisited my own incredibly angsty, hilarious-in-hindsight, teenage poetry and am sharing it 😂 I can’t wait to read through all the comments! I’m pretty sure I wrote this while deep in the throes of young love, depression, and while having _far_ too much access to tumblr:
kindofquixotic
2024-04-23 14:45:59 +0000 UTCyou know the one has such a power to it
bestieplstryquinn
2024-04-23 13:15:17 +0000 UTCThere’s a few buried poems and lyrics in my old LOTR-inspired email. Though none in English. I did find one quite sweet (and bad) and not emo like the rest. I think I was 15-ish when I wrote for my older sister’s birthday. She had a lingering guilt about a bicycle accident when we were kids, which to me is a good memory cause I was stoked about hanging out with my older sister (she was so cool and had Buffalo shoes). Imma have google help me translate a bit. Scar. I remember the smell of summer and my sister’s smile as I sat on the back of the bike and was ready. Ready to take off downhill at great speed. I remember the smell of freshly cut grass and the sound of insects. The taste of strawberries which lingered on my tongue. I don’t remember the pain in my ankle as it hit the bicycle wheel, but the smell of summer and my sister’s smile.
Frøya
2024-04-23 08:54:15 +0000 UTCSo many hugs, dear *Pear.
Bama Angi
2024-04-23 06:27:23 +0000 UTCRegardless of whether you kept a record, it happened and you made it through to here. 💜 Maybe the written word isn't how you'll get the rest of it out, but you'll find your outlet. Thank you for sharing. Hugs.
Lina
2024-04-23 04:21:13 +0000 UTCIt’s posts like this that make me sad/wistful/envious. It brings memories of me at 17 walking into the sheriff’s office to file charges against my step father for years of abuse. Being asked to write down memories. Questioned whether I kept journals, drawings, anything that they could use as proof. I was so angry….angry at myself because it never occurred to me to write my feelings down. To capture the pain in something tangible… because in that moment I knew somehow that the pain I’d felt for decades would be mine to bear. That without something written, it was easy to dismiss. I wish I had the ability at that age, hell even now, to put my feelings into poetry - in part so I could understand my feelings.
Julie Ludeman
2024-04-23 04:04:50 +0000 UTCThe women at this party blot their lipstick on my cheek. If they think themselves chic they kiss me twice, blot their friendship parted lips on dusty air. But the women that excite me change the color of my lips with each hello. Never officially came out til I was grown lol, just kept writing hints in my poem doodles hoping someone would see them🤷🏻♀️😏
Mare
2024-04-23 03:01:59 +0000 UTCI...really appreciate the second poem. My family is brown and my dad wears a turban and we hid the days after 9/11 afraid that if we went out, we could become targets. I think for a lot of us who grew up in the War of Terror era, it is hard to imagine people understanding how difficult and often lonely it was to be brown skinned and feel frustration at the way we were characterized, knowing we could never say it outloud because we'd be "less American" and that just wasn't something you could afford. The tone of the poem is how I felt growing up, but didn't feel safe enough to express. It's nice to know that at the same time I was worried for my family/scared to move in public, there were people around the country who called BS. A while ago, when I had just started writing poetry, I did a challenge where I wrote a poem every day. Some days were such shit or short poems lol but some days I wrote something really cool! But a lot of it was shit and I was going through my first, very bad break up. Picked a number at random (126) and this was the poem: Some nights I wrack my brain for the words to tell you how I long for you. The best ones. The right ones. I need the exact words that show you how the bird in my heart flapped away, And left me an empty cage. Most nights I fail. Words escape me like summer fireflies. Softly, but quickly, They fade away into the dark leaving no traces behind. These nights, I let silence sink deep. I let sorrow throb noisily. And I let myself miss you. I am not built to house this kind of grief. But the ghost of you still lingers in the hollow of my bones And I can’t be sure Which one of us invited you in. I can’t even be sure if I want you gone.
Sensual Pear👄
2024-04-23 02:49:58 +0000 UTC*tapping foot, waiting for the rest...
Jamie
2024-04-23 02:34:37 +0000 UTCLike many others, all of my Emo Teen Poetry is lost to the ages (and that zippo lighter I had), but let me see *ahem* There once was a man from [Nantucket]...
Margaret Peffy Margie Maggie
2024-04-23 02:22:51 +0000 UTCYou aren’t alone. I would get lost in the art/expression of others. I wanted so desperately to be artsy but I always had to work at it.
siesta_maven
2024-04-23 01:08:08 +0000 UTCMan, these were all gorgeous! There is a TON of talent in this group! Am I the only one who didn't write poetry growing up? I've always expressed myself through music & performance. My friends and I would perform covers/parodies of popular songs from the 80s & 90s, along with the soundtrack to whatever musical we were doing that year and found ways to make them our own. We made happy songs sad. We made sad songs hilarious. We'd take a monologue & change one word to change the whole meaning of it. Talent show & tell was every Saturday night (usually after we're hopped up on adrenaline from a show) This was in the VERY early days of the internet, we're talkin AIMchat days, so luckily for present me, NONE of it is documented anywhere except our pretty lil heads. This was a great journey down memory lane. <3
Lina
2024-04-23 00:54:12 +0000 UTCKowliga I hung out with that Wooden Indian today. You know the one. I always felt so sorry for him and would kiss him every chance I got. So surely he’d have something to say. I asked him why he taught ‘Lonzo to drink like he did. I asked him why he didn’t take that stoic silent stubbornness and shift some to my dad. Make him less loud by osmosis. He didn’t say anything, so I turned to God. I hung out with The Lord today. You know the one. I always felt sorry for him and would kneel as often as I could. So surely He’d have something to say. I asked Him why He didn’t change my daddy. Why He didn’t bring quiet to his heart and his hurtful hateful hory mouth. He didn’t say anything, so I turned to the water. I didn’t ask anything. I slipped into the peace of the rolling, rippling, running waves. I softened my gaze to the glimmer of the sun on its surface. I watched the tiny ducklings follow Mama from one dock to the next. I watched as they disappeared one by one into the mouths of giant bass. Why is every damn body a liar?
Bama Angi
2024-04-23 00:40:05 +0000 UTCThank you for sharing Doc. My high school poems/stories were mostly of my falling in love and then being heart broken. I feel safe here so I’ll share one that I haven’t read since high school. I always wanted to add more.. I left it like that. Thanks for sharing everyone ❤️ I’m sorry I lied to you when I was ten She told me it will destroy you If I would have known then It was to protect her, I would’ve sung I should’ve told you where we were I saw too much, my innocence gone I’m sorry I lied to you when I was ten Cause see you wouldn’t have forgiven her so easily Now she’s left us, not for the old him, but a new him She’s destroyed our home Time to roll my sleeves up, I’m the oldest Don’t worry about me Dad, I grew up years ago Let’s clean this up together my brother doesn’t need to grow up yet
Delicada19🫀
2024-04-22 22:57:34 +0000 UTC
