Lovesdisrepute - Tumblr Posts
sestina 02
Three street corners down a boy is hilarious and the laugh in his chest feels something like fate. He chokes over the sound of his father, axed timber, shuts his eyes and dreams of life. Another new beginning. A mouth opens in his chest, cavernous urge to clarify because running cannot be the only option, safety is not a lost, lonely option. Because children find cowardice hilarious with eyes black and empty to clarify that some shut-eye on tree bark is certain fate. The goodness is coming. Don’t stop beginning. He cries wax tears and ignores father. Timber- wood falls in the forest and anyway "Timber!" will cover a sound, if there is one, (an option to end or keep living), a beginning, unkempt and he’s heavenly, hilarious. Scream and the echo crawls back, slow fate muddled touch. He’ll beg: "Answer me. Clarify." He joins Mama in the kitchen, early morning to clarify (wear a lie) he wasn’t out kissing boys last night, just timber like daddy, machine-cog turned eye-to-eye back to fate. “You’d say, Mama, if there was another option?” She laughs and he smiles but it’s not hilarious and there’s a new feeling like a disease beginning, huddled deep in his chest and it’s only just beginning to rain. When the water’s gone, fog-windows will clarify what it is to ache when a boy calls him hilarious with a smile in his eyes, sunlit dark timber or similar. To wonder if this is an option, for a boy to look like he’d swallow down fate, like he’d exhale it through a sigh and fate would see to it that he leapt, ending beginning. To test if he’d do it all over, given the option. Or if he’d be honest with one chance to clarify that forest-felled favor splinters into ax-hewn timber. And he’d laugh like this boy was someone hilarious. His voice fighting fate, two-to-two to clarify: this is his beginning. Silent fallen timber will scream an option. He’ll smile. Hilarious.
sestina 03
coastal town kids make it easy to fabricate a life, create something to inspire! last week a teenager jumped from the lifeguard tower. they didn’t fall when they landed, hard & flat, can’t die here, kid, it’s not your property and the paperwork would be a goddamn nightmare. god, kids these days, what a nightmare. step into the sea prepared to fabricate freedom of existence and abolished property. claw for instant gratification to inspire more sand dune runaways to pull up flat- pressed newsprint by the lighthouse tower. turn the latch, we’ve no room in this tower for open-mouthed children inhaling a nightmare– what else is there? they’re ground underfoot, crushed flat before they can find history, whisper and fabricate a life of their own. god, kids these days suffer to inspire, they aspire to something great, aurum’s property burned into skin and left on school property. trust seaside children to sit idle in their tower, reach out the window and grasp flowers, inspire a sleep, lyre hymn warm without nightmare, night there is cool. no care forgetting, fabricate content misery, storyline unforthcoming and flat. when feeding a frightened animal keep palms flat to re-treat regularity as new-possessed property. properly check, please, they’ll even fabricate how there was a lifeguard in the white wooden tower, no fugitive, good lord, just man christened nightmare. countryside kids will call liar, no kid can dare to inspire like a life washed up on shore, lacking air to inspire. lighthouse beam a white house dream in B-flat major liberation kids, god, talk to a teen nightmare, sixty-nine shot-down, kill all gays on the property it’s never been yours to desecrate anyway, flip tower gas canisters over the garden brick wall, fabricate ire and fail to inspire, Blue’s on the property to strike a kid down off the white wooden tower. god, what a nightmare this will be to fabricate.
being an older sibling is like. you've never known a life without me. mom yelled at me and it taught her she never wanted to yell at you. I painted my room purple and grey and then you did too. we live in the same house but I haven't spoken to you in months. I don't know your favorite color. I saw it was going to rain so I picked you up from school on my way home so your books wouldn't get wet. i was so worried when you woke up sick when you were three. you don't remember being sick. mom and dad made their worst mistakes with me and I'm glad they didn't make them with you. I'm doing everything for the first time so you won't be in the dark. I don't know any of your friend's names anymore. I used to know them all. if something happens to mom and dad you won't have to worry because everything will fall to me. you don't like to be home alone but even if you don't see me just knowing I'm there makes you feel better. at least that's what mom told me. you still give me jars to open for you because you can't quite get them. I only see you during dinner. i'd never even think about missing one of your concerts. I stand at the counter when I eat and now you do, too. when offered a selection of books you picked the same one I did when i was your age. I'm terrified you compare yourself to me. I love you. I don't know if you like me. I want you to. mom says dinner's ready
my heart and the earth share the same rule it starts with love and it ends with you
they stared at each other, wordless, because they may have loved each other so quietly and constantly that it didn’t need to be verbalized, but they wouldn’t be them — wouldn’t be kiyoomi and atsumu — if they weren’t each at least somewhat enamored with their own pride. there was a stupidity to it that made kiyoomi’s next words all the more damning: “where are you going?” i care about your whereabouts. i will follow you, if you stray too far. ; or: atsumu has a slight cooking mishap, kiyoomi's therapist needs a raise, and they're in love
NEW FIC! co-written by me and @bigriceenthusiast for her super cool food as a metaphor for love series!! check it out if you like haikyuu sakuatsu and/or silly people in love
hope you enjoy :)