#prose Tumblr posts

  • I understand why I use vicerally painful words in my work. Words that make people blanch. I’ve been told they are distracting.

    Meanwhile, I’m drenched in the guts of my childhood, looking for my baby teeth, because I know we kept at least one, and that matters to me. It’s so little, it won’t fit in my mouth. I still want it, though useless. I used to be that small. I used to be.

    Isn’t that gross? That’s not really my worry. The world is ugly sometimes, darling, and healing is a mess.

    Get on your knees in the blood or leave.

    View Full
  • So Much

    There is so much that we have had between us, love. I never want to put it all away. I want to reminisce and display our memories forever.

    And I know that you want to do the same.

    - Maartje Andersen

    Photo by sarandy westfall on Unsplash

    View Full
  • VALENTINE’S 2020

    (February 22, 2020)


    An unconventional affair

    Could stay or take us anywhere

    The right amount of love I need

    You’re perfect to me, and for me

    In every measured step forward

    We pray there’s no going backwards

    Like a slow progressing story

    We’re meant to meet or meant to be

    Play our hearts like how we play chess

    Winning with veiled tricks we possess

    Look up and see the stars I see

    My Valentine from New Jersey.

    #prose#poetry#Wattpad#inkitt #the next chapter
    View Full
  • Brown Liquor.

    I’d love you to pieces, and maybe that’s the problem.

    I guess I was holding you too tight.

    Coming on too strong, like the whiskey I pour.

    I have to just ahhhh, and wait before I take another.

    But I’ll always go back to those fruity little drinks…

    Because they are easy.

    They don’t take the work brown liquor does.

    You can have more of them without the consequence.

    And they… taste better.

    Or should I say softer?

    That’s me for you.

    I’m your whiskey.

    I’m too difficult,

    I’m a sit and sip.

    I’m a long drag on a cigarette,

    A moment to sit and ponder.

    To contemplate…

    But you want that party drink.

    An easy pour,

    Shots to throw…

    And I’m sorry,

    I’ll never be a martini, or a margarita.

    But real men drink whiskey.


    View Full
  • I will die of these comparisons.

    #my writings#poetry#prose#writing#quote#poems #six word sentence #lit #six word story #love
    View Full
  • Having a way with words is strange

    For I can plait them into poetry and

    Sew them in the soil until they blossom into sprigs of green.

    I can hollow them out into tunnels leading back behind my eyes

    Or stretch them thin until their insides are on display.

    But when my pages tuck themselves in for the night

    And I’ve exhausted all my analogies,

    I fumble through a minefield 

    Without a pen or keys to guide me by the hand and

    Try as I might,

    I am nothing but a first draft.


    a/n: we get it martine social interaction is hard for you. also yeah this is really bad sorry,, my mind just started reeling. I’ve also accepted that no one sees my stuff anyway. welp prob just gonna delete later

    View Full
  • Been a long time. Since we’ve seen each other, I mean. It’s funny though. I always thought you’d be the one to stick around. There was something about you that always struck me as odd. Maybe that’s the wrong word for it. Different? Weird? Quirky? Hm. They all seem wrong. They don’t fit you well. 

    Maybe that’s it.

    Nothing fits you. I came to realize this in your awkwardness. You fumbling your hands. Fumbling with your hair. Stumbling over words. They didn’t fit with your sharp wit, the anger that came at surprising times, and a sadness that darkened your eyes. But maybe that made you all the more of a puzzle to me. 

    At first I pitied you. I was in your situation once. That lonely person no one really talks to or thinks about. And then you know the story. Someone reaches out and brings you back into life. I wanted to be that person for you. Give you that stepping stool you needed to feel human again. 

    Once I got to know you a bit better, I can’t help but say I was charmed, and maybe a little amused. How did you always know how to make me laugh so hard? It’s hard to make me snort through my nose, you know. Wow, when we talked, we could’ve talked for a long time. And sometimes we did. Just bouncing off of each other’s nonsensical thoughts like an intense game of ping pong. 

    I think I wanted you to like me. Or maybe I liked you. It’s been a long time. I’ve forgotten. 

    Anyway we were meeting for the first time in a long time. You went to art school (of course) and actually posted some of your artwork (finally). I’ve gotta say: I”m impressed. I didn’t think you could get any better, but obviously I was wrong (duh). My sister’s birthday was approaching soon, so what better gift than a commissioned piece of artwork by someone I’ve know (and want to know now?). You usually don’t post pictures of yourself, but when you do, well, you sure know how to do it. I think I’d describe you, physically, to others as cute. Black hair. Nice, wide smile. You throw your head back and clap your hands together hard. And when something really gets you going, you turn red. Or at least that’s what I’ve remembered. Like I said, it’s been a long time. People can change. 

    When you walked in, I think I can say with confidence that you definitely changed. No more jeans, sneakers, and a t-shirt for you. I never think I’d see you in heels casually after prom. But there you were, wearing them. Bright yellow kitten heel shoes. Checkered pattern black and white jeans. A yellow blouse to match your shoes. And a short pixie cut to boot. You were sunlight. 

    Sunlight bustled in, quickly threw down her backpack, introduced herself, exchanged pleasantries, mentioned hunger, and scuffled over to join the other coffee addicts in line. 

    View Full
  • The other night I couldn’t sleep, though my lover slept soundly next to me wrapped in the warm sheets. The TV was on. The bedside light was on. And I couldn’t help but just stare mindlessly at my phone for hours. Tossing and turning. Today I couldn’t focus on anything I attempted. Not coursework. Not impending responsibilities with deadlines. Not party planning. Not yoga or meditation or breathwork. My mind was both buzzing yet blank. I spent all day on my phone.Laying on the couch. That’s it. I was consumed by this idea that we need to constantly consume. We constantly “need” to have a buzz, a noise. We constantly “need” to be on autopilot. On default. Lately I’ve forgotten how to create. I’ve forgotten how to simply live, to let myself be in the moment. I’ve forgotten how to just let my mind hone in on precious moments I’m blessed to witness. Like the freckled, warm back of my lover as he sleeps so peacefully. Sun warmed green grass between bare toes digging into the earth. Spending time soaking in the sun. Inhaling realness and exhaling artificiality. I’m learning to live again, and soon I’ll be able to sleep soundly too.

    View Full
  • “When dealing with myself I am powerless.”

    - Franz Kafka, Letters To Felice

    View Full
  • it’s the little things we do for the people we love. it’s the way i always pretend not to notice whenever my boyfriend enters a room so that he can come up behind me and scare me like he always does (“boo” is his way of saying “hello”). it’s the way one of my friends always packs an extra tangerine in her lunchbox, despite her mother’s questioning about whether she really eats both of them, to give to our friend who never brings his own food. it’s the way my best friend doused her new car with air freshener because her boyfriend gets nauseous at the smell of a new car. it’s the way my lover leaves a trail of green paper hearts or pink paper cranes that always end up in my pocket. it’s the way our latin group always prints too many copies of the text before class because we know someone always needs one. it’s the way the ap lang students keep a locker full of red bull in the winter because someone always needs it, and the weather keeps it cold enough. it’s the way my table partner in ap calc always slides the textbook over to me when we use it in class because i never bring mine. it’s the way the upperclassman i share an incubator with occasionally disposes my old petri dishes for me and leaves fresh streak plates if he has the time. these little things show the biggest love, and i’m so grateful to be a giver, a receiver, and a witness of it.

    View Full
  • A faint noise erupts from my stomach as I adjust my hands on the steering wheel for the fourth time in a minute. I shift my weight and ignore it, skipping to the next song on my playlist. Not a minute later, my soft humming is interrupted by a louder, more fierce grumble from my stomach, forcing my hunger to the surface of my consciousness. With a sigh and an eye roll, I decide to get off at the next stop. I’ll have to remember to tell my wife, Kira, I’ll be late for dinner.

    I didn’t particularly mind road trips, but it had been a long week on a difficult project far from home. I was aching to get back and settle down to a glass of wine by the fire with my lover. I thought of her angular face and gentle eyes, that thick, dark hair falling lazily around her neck. A feeling of loneliness creeped up inside me, clinging to my insides. I tried to push it back down by reminding myself that we were about to spend two weeks together on spring holiday. It would be our first spring break as a married couple. I smiled at the thought and my loneliness washed away. Only a few more hours.

    Finally I see the big blue sign with some obscure-looking restaurant logo on it. I feel a surge of hunger as the thought of food finally becomes real in my mind. The monotonous hum of tires on pavement fades as my cozy little sedan rolls up the ramp to the stop sign. I hear a gust of harsh late-winter wind hit the car and I’m thankful for the warmth of the leather on my body. Proceeding down the road, I round a turn and the freeway disappears behind a hill of shrubs.

    Looking ahead, I see the same landscape I’ve seen for the past few hours: flat and barren with some sparse vegetation and a rocky horizon. I decide to make it a quick meal so I can get out of this ominous landscape and back to the mountains as soon as possible. 

    As I step out of my car, a rush of wind bites my face between my hat and my scarf. I shudder at the crippling cold. There were no mountains or trees here to protect one from the unforgiving winds of second winter. Tiny flakes dotted a gray sky and tickled my nose and fingers as they melted onto my skin. I looked into the glass panes of the restaurant as I swung the car door shut and locked it. The restaurant seemed dead. Not closed, not empty, but dead. I hesitated, scanning my surroundings. No cars, one gas station, a few shrubs, and an endless mass of gray that threatened to coat the earth in fresh snow.

    Having come this far already, I bowed my head in apprehensive determination and walked towards the door with a sign that read “open”. To my surprise, the door swung open with ease as a bell tinkled overhead, announcing my arrival. I froze, my hand still clutching the ice-cold handle. I stared, astonished, into a warmly lit restaurant filled with a handful of customers taking up half the tables in the establishment. The sounds of food frying in a wok and plates clanking plates filled my ears. I glanced over my shoulder to assure that the grey nothingness still existed in its sprawling mass behind me. Confused, I walked into the restaurant and sat at a table under a soft, yellow light, encircled in green decor. 

    The table and walls were a natural wood, almost soft to the touch. A long rectangular hole served as a window into the kitchen along the wall adjacent to the door from which I’d entered. The room was modest, with booths lining one side and tables filling the open floor. A stream of water flowed endlessly into a small pond opposite the entrance. My eyes followed the stream from the pond up to its invisible source about waist height. 

    As I surveyed the restaurant, I realized the soft yellow lights emanated inexplicably from regular intervals around the room. I could not make out any sort of bulb behind the light. The wall opposite the kitchen was decorated in art, most of which seemed to display bizarre patterns following three dimensional vectors, making it impossible to tell if it was coming out of the wall or not. I turned back to the seat opposite me, its plain red leather suddenly a comforting sight to my eyes. 

    As my mind slowly caught up with my new surroundings, I noticed a screen had appeared on the table in front of me, seemingly built into the wood. A picture book menu was displayed on its surface. I swiped through pictures of food, some familiar and some apparently from exotic countries far from here. I found what looked like a simple enough curry dish and put in my order. The screen disappeared back into the wooden surface of the table. My eyes automatically grew wide at the sight, and a feeling of awe at this technology overcame me. I would definitely need to tell Kira about this when I got home. This whole restaurant was quite the trip. Maybe we could come here together sometime on a spontaneous adventure. I pulled out my phone and messaged her to say I was stopping for a late lunch and might be a little late getting home. 

    My food arrived in an elegant, bean-shaped bowl placed awkwardly on the table by a tall, skinny, vest-clad individual. They were not identifiably male or female, but the side-swept black hair complemented a sharp jaw. As the server turned to go, I thought their eyes looked odd, almost inhuman, but before I could have a look they were gone, disappearing into the kitchen.

    Immensely satisfied and perfectly satiated, I leaned back in my chair. Once more I took in my peculiar surroundings, trying to remember the details. The mellow honey glow of the yellow light, the soft feel of the wood, the positively astounding visuals framed on the wall. 

    I stood up to go, dangling my scarf haphazardly around my neck and stuffing my hat into my jacket pocket, then hanging the jacket over my arm. I suddenly felt stupid for bringing such warm clothes. I opened the door to blinding sunlight that warmed the hair atop my head. I blinked until my eyes adjusted and began walking to my car. The sound of early summer travelers in their luggage-filled cars echoed from the freeway. 

    I tossed my clothes in the back seat and sat down behind the steering wheel. Excited to get home, I  tapped the brake and started the car. Coming back into town, I decided to stop for some flowers for Kim. Hydrangeas, his favorite. Relief enveloped me as I found the local flower shop open, its aisles dotted with customers. Walking through the store, I became so absorbed in finding the flowers that I nearly walked right into a woman. I made an awkward apology then hastily grabbed my flowers and left. 

    On the way out to my car, my feet slowed and stopped. My face felt suddenly hot. I reached a hand up to my eyes and felt tears begin to stream. Why? It didn’t make sense. I was so happy to finally come home, so excited to be reunited with my family after such a long trip. Why was I crying? Somewhere deep inside me I could feel it. A familiar old feeling of debilitating loneliness, creeping up from the inside, latching on to the edges of my lungs. I turned around. The woman was gone. I got back in my car, dried my eyes, and left.

    View Full
  • we’re so high that we don’t know where we’re going, we just know we’re going fast. we’re fashion and we’re terrible. we sold our souls to machines so we don’t even have to breathe on our own anymore. nothing is free but everything is out for the taking. when will the insults stop rolling in like punches? when will stop being slaves to this blood sodden world and take our lives into our own hands? when will we, as humans and sinners, ever learn from our mistakes?

    -original writing by me

    View Full
  • #edgar allan poe #the black cat #prose#1843 #burning down the house
    View Full
  • View Full
  • #Marquis de Sade #de sade #de sade quotes #juliette#vice #Juliette or Vice Amply Rewarded #novel#prose#literature#lit#literature blog#literary quotes#excerpts #marquis de sade quotes #juliette quotes
    View Full