Six-white-venus - All I Ever Wanted Was The World - Tumblr Blog

i hate it when i cant even write a poem about something because its too obvious. like in the airbnb i was at i guess it used to be a kids room cause you could see the imprint of one little glow in the dark star that had been missed and painted over in landlord white. like that's a poem already what's the point

if I were to do smth with your poetry I would inhale it and let it stick to my brain like moths

(I keep on saying this but it’s srs ur poetry is actually so cool. it makes me want to make a poet someday.)

people saying that my poetry inspires them to create is the craziest thing ever. wdym I made you want to do something of your own!! wdym my writing impacted you!! wdym!!!

thank you so much for this, it makes me very very happy to know someone likes my works this much <3

clears throat. hello fellas, here's some awesome news: i have created a servee for writers, both original and fanfiction! it'll be a place for writers to hang out, share their works, get proper feedback and create with others. of writers by writer and for writers :D if you're interested in joining, DM me! (NOT exclusive to just mutuals. any and all writers are welcome ^^)

to change

"to change," - a piece on grief and life after loss. I died that day, too. I will never be the same and neither will the world. But thank you; thank you for your pride and love. Thank you for giving me something to mourn and celebrate. Spring is of no great importance, but the rain is sweet and the sun is soft, as if nature too, has weathered after you left.

(crossposted on @/vrs.culdesac on Instagram and on Medium.)

lessons from the corridor

"lessons from the corridor," - a piece written the day I went to high school for the final time. I think a part of me remains there, unable to grow up and out, and trying to remain small enough to fit. The rest of me, surprisingly or not, has moved on, but moving on does not mean no longer feeling the loss - it just means that I am glad that this is the place I miss.

(crossposted on @/vrs.culdesac on Instagram and on Medium.)

on death, on grief

bungou stray dogs- s2// anne carson// bungou stray dogs- s2//tell me something about yourself by @six-white-venus//war of foxes, richard silken//bungou stray dogs//wandavision//madeline miller//house md, s6e9//john green// house md s4ep16

"It does come to a close and you sort of look behind you when it's over and you're like "Well whatever childhood was, that was it. It's over, now." and that you feel it and your parent feels it and it's difficult and it's hard to know if you're ready for whatever the next step is but it doesn't really matter if you're ready because it's already there. It's already happening." (Greta Gerwig)

The House That Built Me - Miranda Lambert/ @robertszombie/ unknown/unknown/half return - Adrianne Lenker/unknown/ @ryebreadgf/ unknown/unknown/ the very last country song - Sugarland/ unknown/ @ryebreadgf/ ladybird - dir Greta Gerwig/The House That Built Me - Miranda Lambert/ @firstfullmoon /unknown/unknown/Langstqon Hughes, "Poem"

noah ross / jennifer gennari / roadkill - searows / st. bernard - lincoln / thegirlhoodtheory / richard siken

golden rock

"golden rock" - inspired part by the bittersweet experience of seeing a childhood house, reinforced by the embedded song and written by me.

(crossposted on @/vrs.culdesac on Instagram and on Medium.)

the act and its consequences.

I jus wanna say i love ur works sm and i can’t commission to show you that but you must know u are a coolio person . not just bc of ur works but bc u

this makes me SO happy. i didn't respond to this right away cause I just wanted to keep this in my inbox forever. thank you SO much, your support and love means the world to me. commission or no commission. your appreciation is more than enough <3

Shh......

unknown//janet finch/white oleander//holyaches//unknown//sylvia plath/the bell jar// sue zhao//carol rifka brunt/tell the wolves i’m home//suzanne rivecca/death is not an option//ineloquent-creature

almost 19 feels wrong.

one day, when i was laughing with my friends (i meant it, too. i laughed and i meant it. how strange) when they said, "wow, i can't believe you're gonna turn 19 soon!" and without flinching, i said, "i know right? i don't deserve to live till 19."

i don't know why i said that. it came from the deepest corner of my soul, i think. a truth that i've buried for so long that it no longer feels like the truth. has it ever been the truth? has it ever been not the truth?

i'm having fruit for dinner. i push the final slice of apple through my lips and reach for the banana. it's overripe. i scrunch my brows petulantly and peel it; hoping, praying that it's salvageable. ma would be so upset if it rots away. ma will be so upset. did it deserve to live? i don't know. but ma will be so upset if it didn't.

i push my finger through its core, trying to get rid of the bad parts. it's brown. dig, dig, dig. dark, darker, darkest. rotten to the core. it sticks to my fingers, almost begging me to find its worth. begging me to put my fingers to my lips and lick off its essence. i keep the dismembered fruit down and move on to another. this too, is brown. but salvageable. i don't look at the core. i tear half of it out and push it through my lips. it tastes strange. but ma would've been upset if it went to waste, so it's fine.

dig, dig, dig. almost 19 and i'm already overripe. will you push your fingers into my soul and pick out my heart just to throw it away when you find it still, withering, lifeless? will you peel off my skin and realise that happiness has never fit me just right and strip me of it all? will you swallow me whole or leave me to rot?

dig, dig, dig. dark, darker, darkest.

almost 19 feels wrong. but my lungs being selfless and unmoving feels even more so. so i breathe. in, in, in. almost 19. dark, darker, darkest. i laugh and i mean it. it feels wrong. i scrunch my eyebrows petulantly and do it again, louder.  

KILL ME IF IT'S WORTH IT; ON FLESH.

silas denver melvin // ethel cain // george bataille // blythe baird // margaret atwood // nicole homer // emily palermo.

You meet god and she's mostly dead fish. You ask her why and she says most of the world is dead fish, and she's made herself to appeal to the most common denominator, the everyman funnyman comedy show that runs for eleven seasons but with the entire universe in mind. You ask her how much of the dead fish is your fault, she says it's far less than you'd think, in the grand scheme of things. You ask her if you matter at all. If you can do anything. She shrugs her rotting shoulders and says mattering is a made-up concept, like life, but sure, you can matter if you want to, on some scale. She has many scales. She doesn't know what you mean by 'anything', but you can do everything you can. You ask her if it's enough. She says there's no base requirement for deserving to exist. She's smoking a joint and the smoke filtering out of her gills gathers and forms gas giants and red dwarfs. You ask her if there's any hidden secrets of the universe you should know and she says it's not a secret if she tells, plus it's fun to let you figure it out yourself. You ask her if any of your questions were right questions and she says you worry about being right so much it might keep you from fucking around, which is as close to meaning of life as she ever bothered to make. You don't ask but she says she loves your hair, also your whole being, also your planet. She says she figured out what love is yesterday and is trying it out, which explains the ten thousand rainbows and sudden influx in rains of fish. She offers you a drag of her joint and you wake up half past midnight behind a chain restaurant clutching a smoked salmon. The new stars are winking like they're in on some joke and you're sure if you try hard enough you'll remember what it is.

everything begins with something inside of something else. a man in a woman , a child in a woman , a woman in a child , a man in a box , a girl in dreams. all round and round till everything blurs and your holding a person off the edge of themselves.

now our everything here begins with a boy in a house . a boy well aged - and sweeter than sweet. a lick of sugar so tender it melts your tongue to hold prayers at his feet. everything begins with something else inside. and this boy begins with a fear of teeth . of walls falling over to feel him till they get inside to hold him down.

everything is a lot to measure , but in the space of the boy and the house and its simply the way the house watches the boy. the way it wants to be a man to stuff itself into the boy like he sees on the dirty little shows the boy sneaks of to wet himself on.

so we enter on a set of players - the hunter and prey . a trap inside a person , ticking hunger down a night of wanton desire. here cannibalism lies sweetly to the side for everything begins when a need to devour the one you love arises. where everything begins with a boy in a wilderness that plays itself as a house. a cold thing with long limbs and secrets in every corner , peeling off the walls to sit itself in god.

as it goes everything begins with something else inside of it.

for @nosebleedclub 's prompt dated january first , twenty-twenty-four : EVERYTHING BEGINS - taglist @snickiebear and @smidgen-of-hotboy .

THE WHORE .

YOU ARE LEFT OPEN , STEWING ATOP A FLAME - LONG LIMBED DELIGHT STUFFED BLUE WITH BILE. A THIN-FLESHED ROACH - FOUND LEFTOVERS FROM A ONCE DIVINE THING BROUGHT TO CHOKE . ON YOUR HEAD IS A GARLAND OF INFATUATION - A RETORT OF DEMANDS MADE BETWEEN TONGUE AND RIB. TO SHAPE LOVE AS A HAND CUTTING THE BREATH FROM YOUR HEART TO BREAK THE WRIST. AND YOUR JAW DISPLACE ITSELF, BACKBITING THE TENDER-FOOTED PLACEMENT OF YOUR GOOD SELF. NOT SEEING THE GUN TO YOUR HEAD FOR YOU ALWAYS THOUGHT TO SEE THE BEST. AND SO HE WALKED , UNZIPPING YOUR SKIN TO REST HIMSELF GOD. AND YOU ARE HERE LEFT TO BREAK, A MOSIAC OF LOATHING NEVER TO SEE THE SUN AGAIN.

STUPID .

1+1 = 2 , 2-1= YOU WILL BE OKAY - SIMPLE ARITHMETICS YOU RUN EVERY DAY. TILL IT ISN'T TRUE ANY MORE AND IT COMES FOR YOUR HEAD. KNOCKING OUT YOUR EYE . AND LAUGHING AS YOU WITHER DOWN IN PAIN. MOTHER ISN'T HAPPY YOU DIDN'T GIVE UP YOUR LEGS TO THE BOY YOUR GRANDMOTHER PICKS FOR YOU . GOOD OLD DAD ISN'T HAPPY CAUSE YOUR A POUND TOO HEAVY. AND SO HE SLIPS A LAXATIVE IN YOUR DRINK - GLAD YOUR PUKING . WITH THE WORLD WIDED JAWED AND MOANING AS YOUR PELTED WITH A BARAGE OF IDIOTS AND HALFWITS , SLIPPING DEATH IN THE HEAVY FOOT OF A LIFE TINGED BY A CONFLAGRATION

GODDESS

YOU ARE A CHALLENGER - A HOT PICK ON THE TICKET . SWEET VOICED WITH A SOFT HAND. PICKING MEN UP FROM EARTH TO SET THEM UP IN PARADISE . THEY PRAY AT YOUR FEET - LICKING THE GROUND , PUTTING IN THE GRAVE ALL THE THINGS YOU'D DREAMED UP FOR YOURSELF . A WOMAN IS ONLY SOMETHING PURE WHEN SHE STRIPS HERSELF BARE. WHEN THERE IS NO IDENTITY ON HER BUT ONE THAT WOULD FEED HIM . AND SO YOU SLINK INTO A SNAKE AND PULL YOUR TEETH TO MAKE MADNESS YOUR BRIDE.

for @nosebleedclub 's prompt dated april second - twenty-twenty-four girls names taglist ( ask to be added or removed ) @kalonkakons @snickiebear @smidgen-of-hotboy

Too scared of... being forced to sleep in the yard or take a bath. in ice.

2.05 "Daddy's Boy", 3.12 "One Day, One Room", 5.04 "Birthmarks".