poetry archive and a main for other tendencies. too sentimental to give it up but the day tumblr lets me switch primaries i will rejoicemostly @crossbackpoke-check here
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What Kind Of Person Are You?
what kind of person are you?
he said what's wrong? i don't know, i'm just not much of a morning person. it's not the morning, he said gently. oh, well i suppose i'm not much of an afternoon person then either. but you're not a night person, he said. i know that much. well i'm not much of a person in general, i think.
More Posts from Csoip
She was not meant for a life in a glass cage, playing at happiness. Children can only be childish for so long. She grew up, and when she did: she was strong enough to kill her heroes, and brave enough to become her own.
excerpt from kill your heroes
how to know when to stop
When there stops being a want -that ache in my chest for more more more- that’s when I’ll end it. When every day stops being a battle, when there are more no’s than yeses, pleases than try’s, lined up in a row and counted like a ratio of would you mind if I stay? to it’d be better if I go. When there are more reasons to stop than there are to continue on with it. It’s not so much that I want to die. It’s just that I want to stop existing, stop moving sluggishly through life like a half-asleep shadow. When the time comes when I feel like I can’t stand it, when there is no point. When there is no one left to miss me, no one to cry and ask for one more day. By now they know that asking won’t get them anything so they pack my bags for me, ready for me to leave. More no than yes, just sooner than later and leave a note telling us where you’ve gone. When there is no one who would miss you. Would it be so terrible?
extract longing; hold it. disclosure, full between your palms.
thought.
is abstract.
chase it.
the way you write.
poetry.
lines.
dividing line.
in two.
cross lines.
fold through.
like paper origami.
cut and hold.
a snowflake.
a real snowflake.
quick.
before it melts.
a passing glance.
hold it.
wait.
for the train.
abstract extract.
thought.
Nietzsche’s horse’s eyes, pt. one
how did you get those scars?
cats and curling irons and accidents I say, rattling off excuses in a list three pages long when all I really want to say is knives and needles and scissors and my own two hands, I did this I did this I DID THIS LOOK AT ME AND TELL ME THAT THIS COULD BE ANYTHING BUT MAN MADE, ANYTHING BUT BROKEN AND ABUSED. THIS WAS NOT AN ACCIDENT AND NEITHER AM I- I CANNOT BE WASHED AWAY OR HIDDEN. LOOK AT ME AND TELL ME THAT YOU DO NOT SEE YOURSELF, REFLECTED IN THE BEAST WITHIN MY EYES.