#bad poetry Tumblr posts

  • I am tired and I am terrified

    I’m moving forward, I’m moving out, I’m moving across country

    And I’m finally acknowledging that there are no tethers for me here

    My mother is ash, my father is a tree, my grandfather and grandmother lie in twin graves, my brother a crib under the soil

    They no longer keep me here

    My home has been sold and a new family has made it their own, as they should. As it should happen with all homes.

    My new home has been outgrown, my skin itchy like first down feathers and scales to be shed; my shell too small, too crowded, too weak to house the force I want to become.

    The way forward is clear and precise and open and fabulous and absolutely terrifying!

    I’ve been on planes and trains, in taxis and Uber’s and lyfts; ferries and boats and kayaks. I’ve seen the ocean east to west to south, and I’ve tasted salt in the air and on my skin; from my skin and my eyes

    I’ve felt the fog in Texas, in Oklahoma, in New York, California, and Oregon. I felt the sun in Louisiana and Arizona and Nevada. I’ve felt a weight in me change to something malleable and workable and liftable. Baggage lighter. Manageable. Hopeful.

    So it’s time. We have this dream, right? A good one? An aspiration? We have this moment to take? A new life to begin?

    It’s time to pack up and travel. I am tired and terrified, and it’s time to begin again.


    1:00am 1/20/20

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  • There’s this ache in my body I ignore; centered in my center, disrupting the flow of my body.

    I get drunk and she magnifies, increases in volume, a star that eclipses and swallows another. I don’t want to be alone. I’m so tired of coming home and going to sleep in cold sheets. I’m so tired of waking up to empty spaces and empty apologies. I’m so tired of doing this on my own. I’m so tired of rationalizing between “you have boundaries I need to respect,” and “you’d be here if you even loved me.”

    You aren’t fulfilling a need I have. I feel like I take and take and take. And I’m still sitting at home, drunk on whiskey and margs and beer and fucking beef nachos, and there’s no one here. I have to take more. I’m lying in a cold silent room. I’m crying alone.

    At what point do we realize we’re not enough for one another. That your pieces and my prices do not correctly align. At what point do we realize that I am achingly sad- and it’s not your job to fix what’s broken.

    It’s nearing midnight, it’s so quiet my existence would not be missed. And you’re never here to tell me otherwise.


    1/23/20 11:47pm

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  • Yesterday morning

    In a hotel in sante fe, I looked at myself

    In the double closet mirror

    Fresh and clean in the morning

    And thought

    Oh how pretty is she

    Hair clean for the first time in a week

    Tummy small in the lamp light

    Makeup fresh and powdered


    Last night

    In a hotel in Cheyenne, I looked

    I saw bloated flesh and fat

    In the wall of mirrors in the bedroom

    The wall of mirrors in the bathroom

    Dirty from travel

    Makeup smeared

    Oh how repulsive is she

    Tummy thick with meals from the day

    Thighs touching

    Hands cracked from washing

    Bruises from traveling

    How Repulsive is she.


    This morning

    I woke up and saw myself

    In the mirrors of walls

    Breasts drooping

    Hair fluffy and bent

    Eyelids puffy

    And thought, with effort

    “Oh how beautiful is she?”


    7:47am 7/17/2020

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  • I made a spinach mango carrot smoothie

    Consistency like porridge, green and orange

    Wet and gloopy and entirely unappetizing


    I made a strawberry shake

    Jelly congealed, sweetener and slime

    Swallowing felt like eating a pbj, in every frothy, milky, mouthful


    I made a chocolate and peanut butter shake

    Madi left crunchy peanut butter

    Chunks float desolate in chocolate baths


    I’ll make a mango and beet smoothie today

    Purple mash and frozen yellow and dull sweet

    Maybe I’ll add something else

    To my new creation


    5:35am 8/9/2020

    #katherinesbadpoetry#bad poetry #the joke here #is that im bad at making drinks
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  • The amount of rain pouring inside me is making the loudest noise I’ll ever hear

    As I learn my American sign language with no friend family or peer

    Robbed of a culture so rich and a language full of beautiful imagery

    Growing up a desert flower, a taigas hot bath, a deaf kid steered mainstream

    I reach out to the silence both figurative and literally sound

    To find the deepest isolation chamber

    Tho all whom I know’s around.

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  • Just wondering if she ever looks in the mirror and thinks,

    “f(•ᴗ•)k I look good”.

    Because I’m thinking f(•ᴗ•)k she looks good.

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  • So the Problem Is

    I can’t stop thinking about her

    I can stop thinking about those sad eyes

    I can’t stop thinking about the metaphors

    I want to leave

    Zoom call me because we can’t actually meet up

    I’ll ghostwrite you so we can tell the world

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  • Here

    Standing here

    In the world the world I live in

    Surrounded by the pain and by the death that they’re denying

    Standing here

    In the world that I live in

    Surrounded by the the discarded that none of us are seeing

    Standing here

    In the weariness that’s I don’t deserve to be be feeling here

    We all are

    Here

    Until we aren’t anywhere

    The microcosm of reality

    From Zimbabwe to France to Australia to Haiti

    The microcosm of reality

    Hey child of the universe what are we even doing?

    Standing here

    In the world the world we live in

    Community paved over by fear and by coercion

    Standing here

    But I don’t want to be standing here anymore

    When compassion isn’t something we allow for

    I don’t really want to be standing here anymore

    And I know I’ve said this before

    I wanna run off to that temperate forest

    Where little Herman was stolen by the Romans

    I wanna run off to that temperate forest

    And just live in the woods like a wild man

    I praise you river child

    I praise you

    Free and wild

    In your soul

    The one thing they can’t ever hold

    I praise you river child

    May your silver tongue shine in the firelight

    May you tell Baldr what the Aesir did

    In the emrald-glow of Helheim

    I praise you sweet river child

    I praise you

    Glorious and free and wild

    The sweetest water, the richest wine

    May your truth make it to that grassy hill

    And it will

    And it will

    And it will

    And it will

    And it will

    Glory, Glory, Glory

    Glory to you River girl

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  • Dysphoria


    Pull a thread through a needle

    Pull the needle through my arm

    I want to feel the flex

    Don’t let my screams cause you alarm


    When my arms are flexed correctly

    Knit my opened hole back closed

    I can no longer stand this gaping tear,

    It’s violent, leaving me exposed.


    Make millions and stab them inside me

    on my chest in a dark, wavy heap

    I’ll run my fingers on the delicate, forest

    Finally able to let go, and sleep


    Melt the needles together to scissors

    I’ll use them to tear off my fat

    Attach them to the ends of my shackles

    And pray that they press me down flat

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  • When the tears and fears creep in

    I think it’ll pass

    I’m only fraying at the edges

    The core of me is waiting for its moment

    Seething with light

    And burning with brilliant fire

    To be everything it’s ever been and more

    The edges are inconsequential

    Fraying fibers crumbling to dust

    Are nothing at arms’ length

    And only elbow deep counts

    How far can the edges fray

    Before just as fast

    The core is falling away?

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  • Dear future,

    how are you?

    Did you ever paint the north wall

    in the living room

    and how’s that pesky rose bush growing?

    I know you like to take care of things,

    even if they’re beyond your help

    I hope you learned how to embroider

    like we wanted

    and I hope your Wednesday nights are full

    of laughter and sweet memories

    I hope your strength is unwavering,

    your smile lines deeper than ever before

    and hey, did you ever get the paint stain

    out of the carpet? I can’t for the life of me

    but I know we’re persistent

    I know you have the power to do whatever

    we desire

    I won’t keep you any longer,

    I know you’re busy moving up

    and far beyond the grief I carry now

    It goes without saying but

    all your past selves and I are so proud of you

    and I hope you finally understand

    how loved you are

    how amazing you are

    Take care;

    I can’t wait to meet you


    love, me // hnl 2020

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  • Oceans have waves

    They rise and fall with the tides

    Emotion is an ocean

    Most times an ocean of pain

    That we have to swim through

    Just to make it to the next day

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  • I was a piece of fruit that you bit into a little too hard. 
    Your teeth sank into your bottom lip while ripping a chunk out of my tender flesh. 
    The blood dripping down your chin mingled with the sweet nectar. 
    You tossed me over your shoulder into the back of the car where I landed with a thud.
    I sat under the passenger seat for years, rotting and covered in your blood. 
    I listened to the world passing me by, but it was always out of reach. 
    Who could love a ruined peach?

    image
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  • Whenever I see a lot of Chumbley:

    image

    Originally posted by everdeen

    My facial expression:

    image

    Originally posted by buffysummers

    What I’ll be doing:

    image

    Originally posted by mementoanima

    Here’s to hoping that good old common sense revives itself.

    #toverij & spokerij #chumbley is schulke #but drunk #a bad poetic drunk #bad poetry
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  • they scream at you once in a lifetime

    use the phrase like airplane toothbrushes

    with careless disposal

    but they do not understand

    do not know

    that if you die every night

    and rebirth every morning

    your life becomes one, two, three more

    as many times as you can wake again

    as many sunrises as you see

    and flowers you can pick

    your lifetimes become endless

    once in a lifetime they yell

    and you smile and say

    it is good then

    that I wake up

    opportunities are not so rare//badpoetry

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  • Is it worth the fighting past the hurt,
    when everything feels inert,
    Is it melodramatic,
    or just thematic,
    when it feels like forever to wait,
    remind me that it isn’t too late.

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  • Two A.M

    image


    It’s two in the morning and I’m trying to sleep

    The air is cool and there isn’t a peep

    It’s perfect for rest, the sheets are brand new

    And yet right now all I can think of is you


    Well you and my car

    Is it locked or not?

    And a mean thing I said to a person I forgot.

    And the way that I looked in the ninth grade

    The weight that I’ve gained and the changes I’ve made


    Yes I think about you but I think about running

    If I’ll ever get around to actually trying

    Or if I’m softer - more yoga and tea

    And if that love with ever come back to me


    And I think of my cousins

    Taylor’s a teacher

    She makes more than my mom - I think she has tenure

    And Lauren’s a doctor

    Or something of the sort

    And I wonder if I’ll turn out better or worse


    Yes it’s two am and I’m thinking of you

    And everything today that I wanted to do

    Like paint the ocean

    And brighten the sky

    Maybe tomorrow I can give that a try


    But I want to go running and declare a major

    Call you up and apologize for my behavior

    But first I should check if I locked my car

    And if my refrigerator is running

    I hope it didn’t get far


    But in order to sleep I have to clear my mind

    No perfect poems and no perfect lines

    And in order to sleep I have let go

    Of all of the pain and the “I told you so’s”

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  • do you feel worthy?

    floating around on your bullet

    careening into the unknown and yet

    certainty of being?

    do you feel better?

    with that power you think you have

    roaring, rumbling, sputtering

    between your legs?

    it’s a ploy and a song and a shout

    is it really assistance you want

    when it’s obvious your only goal is to wallow?

    dont drown in the gasoline, the blood,

    the lighter fluid, the spit,

    or the lies you tell yourself.

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  • “happiness tastes good”

    happiness doesn’t taste good

    happiness tastes bitter

    bloody notes after a vicious victory

    where the panting conqueror holds aloft a mangled fist

    white linen stained crimson

    happiness tastes bitter

    like biting into raw chocolate

    (you tempered it yourself)

    hands dripping with cocoa

    happiness tastes bitter

    the acrid wafers of woodsmoke

    that curls into your bones

    rife with disillusion and hickory sparks

    happiness tastes bitter

    .

    happiness tastes bitter because you

    won it

    crafted it

    smelted it

    made it your own

    happiness is the essence of something lost

    something borrowed something blue

    it all turns into something new

    something

    yours

    .

    bittersweet.

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