#tumblr poetry Tumblr posts

  • how can i survive when the winter is not just cold

    but grey?

    grey paint over all my golden beaches

    my parisian pink skies have been washed out into nothing

    and my terracotta landscape is now just another city,

    another town where blank faces roam and romance

    is another word for fantasy

    which only appears on screen

    or maybe in a book

    but never in our hearts or actions.

    here, roses are white and coffee cups

    hold no special meaning,

    and when the sun sets

    it only means night, again.

    and still my tongue only knows the language it was given

    though sometimes i speak a different kind of poetry

    but other days are amnesia

    and i forget

    that hope was on the horizon.

    hope is gold and green and

    reflected in its light

    i see myself better than ever


       i am not here

       i do not exist

       i am silent


    sleeping forever

    in just another town, another city,

    and i am romance only when the film starts

    and i finish when it ends


    hope is golden

    but that’s the only thing i remember.

    #poetry#tumblr poetry #im sorry but
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  • This
    Through my
    And falls
    A scattered
    At my

    The cats
    Sniff for a bit
    And then
    Go about

    Leaving me alone
    With this
    That has
    So very
    To me

    I’m ok
    I’ve survived

    In fact
    I have
    Been better

    The hairspray
    That came
    My way
    Just now
    Missed me
    A 80th
    Of an inch

    Taking the
    Off my
    I place them
    On the turntable
    And bend
    To pick up
    The mess

    The wife
    Won’t be
    Pleased with
    A sight

    (I want to marry
    A lighthouse keeper)

    I wonder
    How much
    More heat
    I can take

    I’ll head back
    To my space
    In front
    Of the
    Have another
    Go round
    With these

    This pop

    Each and
    Every time

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  • My spine is
    Crumpled and old
    As I sit in the broken chair
    Smoking a cheap cigarette
    And wondering
    Where it all went

    Age slaps me
    Around my face
    And the marks are a
    Bright color of
    Mixed with facial grease
    And something that
    Kinda passes
    As a beard

    I do not dance
    Hell, I can barely walk
    But I smile still
    As I am ripped off and raped
    Under the sweltering sunlight
    Of America

    Rising I straighten my back
    And move one foot
    Ahead of me
    And then the other
    And it is good to be
    Despite the
    Colossal wrongdoings
    And pickpockets

    So, I shove some sweet candy
    Into my black tooth mouth
    And chew with care
    As they come to my door
    Looking for me

    Quickly out of the bath
    I bolt the door quietly
    And hightail it back to the water
    To soak my dying hip
    And corroding bones

    All of this
    And still
    I love my spine
    Standing up
    Defeated behind me
    Waving white flags
    And whistling hymns
    From long ago

    Out of money
    Out of luck
    Out of time
    Out of pills

    This will end sooner
    Then you know
    And I pat myself down…
    Make it to the bed
    Where I slowly climb in
    To call it a night
    As my spine will dream of glorious things
    Like fifty dollars
    And reefer
    Knowing full well
    That I’ll never see either again

    Life can be a difficult 24 hours
    At times
    And today simply sucked ass

    Goodnight sweet spine
    Goodnight to you
    With eyes shut tight
    I slide into sleep
    On a lead pillow and concrete sheets

    Yes, a horrible day
    For me and my bones
    And tomorrow promises to be
    A bit more of the same

    Good times are not here again
    As I smile to myself
    With the knowledge that
    I’ll make it to


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  • People remain silent
    As degradation 
    Becomes normalized,
    Nudity is still considered to be 
    Is being raped.

    #President Donald Trump #Tumblr nudity ban #misogny#rape culture#rape#puritanism#poetry#Tumblr poetry #poetry on Tumblr
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  • It is a strange thing to fade within
    The self, becoming
    One with the pale white jar that contains
    The mind in all its solemn grey,
    As such do I wonder if this fate
    Was self-chosen or inborn, but
    More and more I come to the conclusion
    That I am a brain.

    I am a brain.
    Scholarly nigh perpetually.
    Reduced to a processing information.
    Deductions. Conclusions. Philosophy.


    More and more the tangible world
    Has become foreign
    To me, and it is ever so rarely
    That I descend into the physical realms
    Dictated by the deficiencies
    Of my humanity.

    There is a book I’m trying to read,
    Yet the words,
    They cannot speak to me;
    They do not build the open world I seek
    Where hidden paths are illuminated
    By synaptic scintillation.

    This hunger remains

    Between the lines, no, between
    Each individual letter
    She appears.

    And I, more mind than matter, am baffled,
    Confused and rattled; appalled
    By my own incapacity to supersede
    These images flashing in front of my retina;
    Each blink but a short interruption
    Of the indomitable movie.

    I am appalled
    Because I do not love her.

    There is not even a volatile desire
    For a shared future.

    Not a single prognosis could ever justify
    Her invading and dominating
    The realm of my mind
    Like she does,

    Tearing me down,

    Back into this body I am used to do without.

    I do not find her beautiful. She does not
    Have me
    Helplessly mesmerized,

    Yet she is sex in the flesh,

    Exuding the premise of bodily pleasure
    From her every pore. She has
    An aura of passion;
    Of ecstatic gratification,
    Wild and unbound and free from inhibition.

    And in her liberty she is my polar opposite;
    Lascivious, she breaks
    My will so rigid;

    Annuls every
    Unwritten rule by morals dictated;
    The terms of engagement I have always
    Seen as self-evident for me to
    Share this body.

    This body that I do not feel, yet now do feel
    As images flash to play her intrusive movie.

    Her eyes, that do not stare lovingly, rather
    Fixate in a penetrating gaze to see
    The payoff of her mouth’s work;
    Her lips, that do not invite a
    Kiss, rather long to be
    Wrapping snugly.

    Twirling tongue. Concave cheeks.

    Her lips, her luscious lips;
    I feel my lips,

    My mouth exists and longs to bite, frenzied,
    Leaving marks on her curvaceous body;
    My lost tongue turns restless in its
    Desperate want to taste her; hot
    Blood surges through my veins
    Now my hands ache to feel
    Her back arching in them
    When I in twofold
    Everything she
    Gives me.

    Hot blood surges through my veins
    As this body aches to be.

    A body.
    My body. I have
    A body.


    I want to fuck her madly.

    Such a strange epiphany. Have I not been
    Stripped from every desire then?

    I cannot answer for myself, there is no way
    To justify this virulent need when
    One has a will so rigid.

    The life, so austere, on the verge
    Of becoming senseless.

    How dire it is to know
    This tediously maintained self-control
    Can be blown right out of the window,
    For reasons no other than
    Her existing.

    Someone ignored
    By heart, mind, and soul,
    Yet someone my body cannot resist.

    How dire it is to know
    One can be taken over wholly
    At a simple succubic snapping of fingertips,
    Like a marionette of meat, will-less,
    Driven by the long abolished
    Hedonistic instinct.

    I cannot give in.

    Her dominion is like a demonic possession.

    This hunger must remain

    8-12-2019, M.A. Tempels ©

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  • I haven’t got a single idea who is here

    I need to know

    But all these faces blend into one

    Blurring into eyes and eyes and eyes

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  • stare into a mirror

    at the other girl
    staring at the complex and sprawling veins

    they lie under her skin like snakes
    writhing and pulsing with her life flow

    Speculate of their existence

    glance down

    how odd there is life dripping down the arms

    hot, gushing, scalding?
    reflexively look back into the mirror
    she looks happy
    a smile plastered on her face,
    teeth, glinting and hard

    the hands wander across the face
    pry the mouth open
    there solid, damp smooth pebble lie

    shifting back to the mirror torso moves
    she is changing into a peach dress

    look around

    the smooth glass-like thing moves about in the brain? skull.
    perhaps they see
    the rest of the thing called body
    flesh lines the “body”

    a ripped gray and black shirt encase the flesh
    the things called legs coated in black cloth


    a void, with pricks of light, color, painting some places yet remaining so dark in others

    “ponder this” the abyss screams in silence

    “I” is false

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  • Como num filme assombrado, me sinto só, mas com forças para prosseguir, nunca desistirei, sei que encontrarei a saída deste labirinto que são meus pensamentos, eles se movem rápido, mas no momento em que te vi, tudo parou. Tornando fácil acesso à saída, é como se tudo girasse entorno de ti agora.

    …. Amor-tudo-pode

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  • Frozen daisies
    Which shatters with the
    Slightest of touches
    Leave bits of pieces
    Of chilly pedals
    On my Persian carpet
    Leaving me to
    Gather up the straw broom
    Get to work

    With wild flurries
    Creating chaos
    Outside my
    Kitchen window
    I twist the cap
    Off the bottle of booze
    And take a strong hit
    As I stare intently
    At the snowflakes
    Which comes down
    Like chess pieces
    Thrown in hurricane anarchy
    Behind my sheer yellow curtains

    With the thermostat
    Sweating it out
    On my wall
    I raise the numbers anyway
    …and wait…
    Here with mystery lungs
    (Which can be any color
    At this point)

    Like out at sea
    Overtakes me
    As I push my window open
    To free all of the dust and stems
    From the handiwork of my
    Witches broom
    (Which flies smoothly through the
    New York air…with me…
    Bundled up and high)

    Here I am now
    With a silver pipe in my hands
    Smoking a green leafy blueberry
    As the clouds outside
    Become large frozen Cloud Cubes
    Which would, no doubt,
    Rain cheese squares and crackers

    I blow

    I blow out the smoke
    And soon
    And cozy
    As the December freeze
    Continues on
    At my place…
    All is good with the world
    As the plants in my pot are
    All growing so nicely now

    The chess board sits alone
    On the table
    The vase is empty
    Except for a tiny amount of
    At the bottom

    And the Queen
    Gives me the finger
    From her checkered spot
    And I can only laugh
    Because the heat is on
    And I am ready for this day
    To continue on

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  • my old leather jacket smells like solitude
    or maybe that’s just the champagne bottle
    i snuck out of the house under my arm
    and promptly broke in the bushes

    there are thin little scars that run the gauntlet of my wrists
    and deep bruises beneath my eyes that will not go away
    i guess you can recognize how i can’t believe that
    someone like you could fall for someone like me.

    whole boys don’t fall for shattered girls
    except as a party trick, because we make
    a good story to tell at dinner parties
    somehow, i cannot believe that i am just a story to you

    i took your heart and crushed in beneath my heel
    in the all too memorable heady sweat of burgeoning summer
    and now i am at your door with tender confession and
    the sterile sound of snow falling into reddened palms is behind me
    and you still care about me.
                               wicked. if only
                                    i had that capacity for forgiveness.

    i hold grudges like lovers and hang hatchets like prizes
    on the empty walls of the little i have to call home
    you hang onto trust in a way that isn’t naive
    not innocent; but something that almost feels the same

    where is our final destination?
    will it be a chance meeting in a coffee shop
    abundant with stilted conversation and the
    dull remembrance of what might’ve been
    because somewhere i placed a piece of myself
    in your palm and i will never be able to
    take it back.

    or perhaps, and this is my hope
    that i am not the only one who cannot banish
    the thought of us as endgame from my
    unfortunate excuse for a mind
    and maybe, if you could give me one last chance
    shrouded in the light of the afterglow
    you and i begin the long-awaited dance.

    #astrid speaks#my poetry#tumblr poetry #tw alcohol mention #tw self harm mention #gryffindor boy #can y'all believe i wrote this based on #a few messages #also this veers dangerously close to a confessional from me
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  • #poetry#tumblr poetry #tumblr poet society
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  • all peaches

    she’s got the

    this cool

    so brightly
    for me

    My Puget Sound
    lady of the

    under the
    full moon

    she calls
    for me

    and the
    only way

    she’s so peaches

    she’s got
    what I like

    and sister,
    while I am here
    there is a
    secret I would
    to share
    with you

    I know you
    tell a soul

    I don’t
    have to
    write it

    I don’t have to
    say it
    out loud

    I bet
    you already
    know what
    it is

    Miss Peaches?

    Go ahead
    your guess

    I know
    pin that tail
    on my
    the very

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  • The rare potential of her moonlight
    Pulls me tight into her space
    Unused to my breathing finding solace
    In all the things I know she won’t erase

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  • These days I feel an overwhelming sense of loneliness

    It drowns me with water that is breathable


    stopping to feel the wet grass on my feet

    “ah- solitude” I say



    - SLD

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  • keep a love boat 
    tie it to your dock 
    it’ll bounce up and down but the tides can’t 
    take it from you 

    //joshua deson

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  • Pattern

    I’m the bruise on the skin

    The purple and black

    The stardust in the eyes that will never come back

    The grain of salt

    The grain of sand

    The grain of life sifting through the porcelain hands

    I fear not the future on which I travel

    Whether the roads be dirt, concrete or gravel

    A path is a path of which we should not worry

    It comes and goes as the snow flurry

    Ignite it on the flames of the nomad heart

    Settle for nothing less than the best til death do me part

    Free is the spirit that no shackles can hold

    A speck of glitter can become a mansion of gold

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  • you’re my coffee and hazelnut croissant
    you’re my dead west neon hotel cinema
    you’re my red canyon arch photoscape
    you’re my car erupted in flames, burning on a gravel plain

    you’re my girl in hoodie, wool cap, tight jeans
    you’re my sailor jerry mermaid pinup tattoo
    you’re my snow angel and december white light
    you’re my shy, agent provocateur, off to a freedom fight

    forever a trial to find comfort in her own skin
    darling, the door here is open, please… 

    come in

    you are welcomed by this roof, these walls
    surrender your aching body, mind… 

    it’s warm within

    my dead west neon hotel cinema sailor jerry mermaid pinup girl.

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  • In the Church of Zuck
    There will always be
    A collection plate
    For those who feel
    Sinful and wicked
    In their hidden thoughts
    And offline presence.

    Yet in the Church of Zuck
    One does not pay
    With mere coins or paper,
    Instead it is the outrage
    And the gall spat unnuanced
    That accumulates
    In that which bears
    No weight;

    The collection plate
    That passes by daily
    To be filled with
    The virulent hatred
    Of self-righteous hypocrites
    Falling over themselves
    To keep the stone throwing going
    Once the first has been cast
    And the victim’s established.

    Prepped to be

    Not much has changed,
    Only the shepherd
    That will not be held accountable
    For their flock’s actions

    And as is common
    In most houses of judgment,
    Those who are least compassionate;
    Ego-driven and unempathetic,
    Take up the front row seats,
    Finger on the trigger,
    To buy back their souls
    And rewrite their slates,
    Making sure
    They’re clean and polished
    Before pressing enter
    To ride the wave
    Of morals gone viral
    All the way into

    6-12-2019, M.A. Tempels ©

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  • November was colder than I’ve felt before
    No blanket forts to keep that shrewd draft away
    No glasses of wine, and not those 64-bit games we’d play

    The draft slipped in when you walked through the door
    You grew older, and suddenly I felt lost, on my own
    “Priorities,” as though I had none of my own 

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