Poetry On Tumblr - Tumblr Posts

Sinking, slipping Why do I always plop right down into what sucks me up and absorbs any remnant of joy? My bed is a monster, it eats me up every day It pulls me down like a magnet, I can’t resist it like iron can’t resist metal I’m sick of it, hate it, wish I could burn it Never need it again But why do I choose it over everything every time? When I’m driving I’m flying But the whole time I’m looking forward to the sweet, sweet relief of my bed I don’t need to try anymore, there’s nothing I need to give It’s a problem, a compulsion, an addiction I riddle my mind with tasks so the dependency is less important Who cares if you’re creating, if you’re producing? But I know it’s not normal to be horizontal more often than straight I need to toughen up, strengthen up, get a stronger back, thicker skin But I cozy up in my bed with the promise of another day Another time I try But it’s haunted, my bed My thoughts are never worse than when I’m in its sheets Coaxed into my personal hell I’m sick of it, sick of it forever It needs to be burned, exorcised From every nightmare, every ghost That plagues my thoughts and jeers at my passions I just want a reset. A point where I don’t have to feel. A place where I don’t have to exist. But it turns out not existing is painful and exhausting. I must keep existing, keep doing, all day, every day. I must keep moving. Faster and faster. I have to stay ahead.

It's how you still pursue me even after having me already. I find peace in you. You've made me understand that distance means nothing when two hearts are willing to make it work. You changed my perception of love. Your voice takes bad energy away. I love how you assure me of how much you love me and want to be with me when you know that I'm an overthinker. Even on a busy day you'll call me & text me too. You do your best to make sure I'm good. As they say, "the ocean never runs dry" so is our love. You're what I need in my life and I ain't letting you go. I love every single bit of you, I'll love you at your best & worst moments too. My love for you has no principles. Te Amor ❤️

-essence.of.a.poetic.lordette

https://www.instagram.com/iamcoffeeandaesthetics

Are you real?

I want to ask him if he's real

To pinch the rough skin that resides upon a mirrored body

A clump of flesh and bones and hands

That I ache to hold for eternity

To see if he fades away as I open well-rested eyes

And awake from this illustrious dream that's painted my bleak streets a vibrant shade of golden hues

'Are you a figment of my imagination?'

Crafted by meticulous hands belonging to my villanous mind

Enchanted by stolen hope and fueled by petty tears

But your lips grace the thin skin of my neck and I feel your smile radiate through muscle and pulsing viens

And those worries melt and fade away with plotting thoughts

As I grow soft for your touch

I simply hope this lasts forever

As I fear I may crave you presence at every moment

Waking and deep in slumber

As you've cursed me to be in love with a slimmer of Earth's perfection

05.04.24

-lauren a.p

Poor girl

What do you see when you look at me?

A broken girl with a need to bleed herself of foolish thoughts and meaningless impurities?

A thief running away with the others' hopes and dreams that she wish were her own?

The credit's applause and validation her drug of choice

A woman who took a step over the line too soon

But not quick enough to keep him there, with her, with them

Someone longing on the irreversible past, hoping and wishing for what cannot be

time, peace, forgiveness

It was never hers to manipulate between her parted lips

Parted thighs

Poor girl.

-lauren a.p

to love a playwright is a dangerous act

He had deemed her a tortured soul amongst his pretentious monologues.

His character had been etched upon decrepit papers from the late nineteenth century: seductive and yet laced with a stolen innocence, she roamed villages in a vengeance for what she would never be able to have. She was overcome by a lawless loneliness and sold into a life that required her to become a stranger, an enigma. Pieces of a woman that lay desecrated upon a porcelain floor, stained by the blood of suitors who failed to ease her pieces back into a whole.

Until. Until. Until.

Of course, he was only acting. The words that fell from meaningful lips were poised for an audience every evening, and she wasn't the woman formulated by a playwright in the 1800s.

She was, however, incredibly narcissistic.

But, on certain matinees, or over the late-night dinners, or half-asleep in the dim hours of the morning in which he'd practice, she couldn't help but be moved by the ways in which he enunciated poetic literature into a chaotic silence. The ways he would always find her eyes under the scrutiny of a darkened auditorium, the move of his brow in certain phrases, or the hum in his tone in fragile descriptions of gore and romantics almost brought tears to her eyes as it resonated far into the abyss that lay at the bottom of her stomach.

It also reminded her of how much she hated theatre.

-lauren a.p

a captive's runaway thoughts

It was an exhilarating feeling that had erupted the minute he had laid his hand on her own in the crowded room. Abstract and iniquitous was the feeling of naked flesh against her innocent skin. Graceful and holy were the veins that traced violet blue hues up and under the sleeve of his coat sleeve.

The colors reminded her of those enchanting skies her mother had whispered of after the lights had dimmed and a silence had chased down pale hallways. Etched vibrant pastel by an artist’s tired hands and accompanied by the gold rush of murmuring stars: stories that were mesmerizing and other-worldly and sinful to dream of, ever casting her sight upon more than the fabricated words that had fallen from a wicked tongue. Thoughts of such striking beauty were reserved for no more than his illustrious prophecies.

Yet, she still believed the unholiness that had emerged from the warmth of his fingertips entangled with her own felt more divine than any sermon that had ever been expressed from the blessed lips of a saint. No pious hymn or gentile lullaby could bless her ears as well as the whisper of her name as it fell from his pink lips; forbearing and silken and so sincere that she could feel each syllable pierce every inch of her heart as he gazed into her eyes as though she was there. As though she was another human being with a mind, a body and a soul that craved the delicacy and dignity that she had never experienced, that she had never earned.

Her paradise was found within captivity.

-lauren a.p

Those who ache to be desired indefinitely roam a dissatisfied Earth followed only by a wicked stench. 

I looked into his eyes and found everything...

War and peace.

Everything I had lost amongst the tumultuous waves, exiled amongst the roaring seas of isolation and heavenly desperation

He had held secreted in dark orbs of an inevitable wonder

Iris' of a vagabond heart that told me the stories I had coveted for so long

Elegance and ferocity.

Born upon me were the truths I had crawled upon the surface on hands and knees for

Flesh upon concrete, my skin tore at its seams, bruises and scars painting a canvas of deep purples and crimson reds

As I pleaded with the roaring rivers for what I could not comprehend

While my gown gracefully pulled me back within its painful falsities of mauve blush and lying eyes

Pulling at my shoulders, leaving me bare to fresh, gloomy skies

And his soothing touch of delicate words and chaotic legends

Rubbed the sins of reality deep into my aching pores

Unraveling the heavy strands of silk from my burning being

He tied golden strings across my ring finger

And declared me his against the backdrop of a crumbling town wrapped in barbed wire

And we danced within the purply-pink skies as the nights turned into days

and we gracefully shunned the great ages of worry

-lauren a.p

Is there beauty in the pain, or pain in the beauty?

It frightens me to think of how all of the pain I feel is my own

Isolated and harbored by a body at war with my conscience

Obsessed for control with a bloodthirsty grip

A Roman legacy on the brink of its collapse

Unaware of how its fear of otherworldly matters, shadowed and godly, has turned its Midas touch into a clouded curse emitted from marble fingertips

I desire to be at home within my own beauty

I plead to not stray from this womanhood, this malediction of fractured femininity that I was forced to swear an oath to upon bruised knees

Involuntarily, and with sobs scratching at my throat, unable to escape from my sewn lips

Oh, to find solace in the skin I have worn since leaving my deliverer bloodied and torn

We as children have caused such pain from before our first breath, an incomprehensible agony possessed only by our mothers

Especially for a daughter's mirrored image that brought forth suffering to their creator, worsening the hell induced from swollen hips

As if to damn their maker for their future, a future of drowning within a belligerent girlhood for eternity

Is this why my own mother shared such unkind words, such envy for my youth?

Given I stole hers and morphed it into my own, a borrowed charm?

I am a constant stain upon her timeline, a ceaseless reminder of that horrific beauty only innocence can offer

I desire the wrinkles that kiss the corner's of her eyes and the death of my blooming

As maturity washes away the great expectations of reddened cheeks, that adolescent glow

I wish for that simplicity depicted in pastel oil paintings:

Of curved nymphs, frolicking lonesome through greenery, rid of materialistic belongings and unashamed by their own enchantment, their own allure

Did they too have this collective affliction, so similar yet remaining unspoken?

A roaring conflict shared between a mother and daughter, the figures of a fleeting past and the damning future?

I am ashamed of my longing for pain only nursed by beauty, to be an object of lust, of an aching hunger

And yet to also be seen, truly actualized as more than a body; a tool for mankind and their preconceived notions of rough, tortuous love

If I am doomed to bring another daughter into this life

I pray that through the pain she brings she also bestows a certain peace within my own being

A piece of solace, for that with her arrival, my own salvation shall be born

A freedom from that vicious cycle: loathing your own womanly framework and appreciating the wonder and existence it can prosper

A new life devoid of presumptions, of needless worries for what other's may think

An actual life: A devotion to breathing in spring's fresh evening air, to a guiltless independence fostered from confident hands, to being more than someone's wife, mother, daughter

To being just another person sitting upon a front porch and watching that little girl frolic through the grass, the greenery

Flowers in her hair and mud upon her knees

Carefree and hungry for learning more than what may be expected, what has been etched in the margins of an outdated manuscript

We will happily share that stolen beauty, and I will wear my gracing age as an honor

For I shall revere her for carrying on the parts of me that are far more important than illustrious ornaments

As she may break that curse, those afflictions, and see that there might be a blessing in the pain

For it has brought forth a life of endless possibilities

-lauren a.p

Did I write you into existence?

Was it a destined happenstance?

Falling faster than a blinded fury plagued by a red-hot rage, I crumbled upon asphalt as gladiolus' bloomed from the wreckage

My heart has not stilled and my feet carry me across lands and waters of time, of memories, to uncover that warmth you had awoken within me

With only a glance, I was enthralled with your figure, your firm demeanor and guiding hands

And you have taught me what's it is like to endure a fear of death, of darkened alleyways and forsaken endings, for I now know what it is truly like to live

I peer from the gardens and admire your beauty, a tantalizing capture of a prophetic essence

And I wish to take you to the underbelly of my mind, ridden by hollow caves of withering knowledge and dim candlelight

Steal you away from your perch, as though you were Persephone, and I, a lonesome ruler of my own demise desperate for your simple, golden-etched touch

Could you silence the roaring tides that perturb my thoughts? Could you sprout flowers from my blood, dress me in silk and make me immortal?

Can you rid me of the shadows that haunt me behind closed eyes, bring forth pastels and bountiful harvests and kiss a smile upon my chapped lips?

Maybe it was a fated encounter, designed by godly hands and set forth by winged angels

Or, simply a coincidence that I met your gaze through crowded places, tumultuous happenings, and war-torn terrain

Whether it was crafted by a divine being or a serendipity, I crave the life that is in full-bloom, as I have plucked the iniquitous weeds and fed the buds within our flower-bed

I wish for the fresh baked bread, hot meals and scents of domesticity as I plead to come home to a house full of you: your words, your clothes, your aura of solace

For, does it matter if I wrote you into existence, or paired by a celestial being, or purloined you from a Greek myth?

You've shown me a love that makes it so hard to cry without a smile, or laugh without tears, or perceive all that the Earth has to offer

I express my gratitude to the grass between my toes, the skies that paint my world blue, the oceans that soothes my ears

You have breathed a new life into my being, resurrected a decrepit bystander into something with a purpose far beyond what I could have expected

Every morning, I now smile as I open our front door, excitedly awaiting what a fresh day has to offer

-lauren a.p

Thank you so much for the nice comments, as well as a lovely add-on to the poem. It was truly beautiful! I am honored to see a piece of my writing resonate with an audience, let alone stir any source of inspiration for further creativity. Platonic love is something that should be so cherished, and you depicted that wonderfully. :)

Did I write you into existence?

Was it a destined happenstance?

Falling faster than a blinded fury plagued by a red-hot rage, I crumbled upon asphalt as gladiolus' bloomed from the wreckage

My heart has not stilled and my feet carry me across lands and waters of time, of memories, to uncover that warmth you had awoken within me

With only a glance, I was enthralled with your figure, your firm demeanor and guiding hands

And you have taught me what's it is like to endure a fear of death, of darkened alleyways and forsaken endings, for I now know what it is truly like to live

I peer from the gardens and admire your beauty, a tantalizing capture of a prophetic essence

And I wish to take you to the underbelly of my mind, ridden by hollow caves of withering knowledge and dim candlelight

Steal you away from your perch, as though you were Persephone, and I, a lonesome ruler of my own demise desperate for your simple, golden-etched touch

Could you silence the roaring tides that perturb my thoughts? Could you sprout flowers from my blood, dress me in silk and make me immortal?

Can you rid me of the shadows that haunt me behind closed eyes, bring forth pastels and bountiful harvests and kiss a smile upon my chapped lips?

Maybe it was a fated encounter, designed by godly hands and set forth by winged angels

Or, simply a coincidence that I met your gaze through crowded places, tumultuous happenings, and war-torn terrain

Whether it was crafted by a divine being or a serendipity, I crave the life that is in full-bloom, as I have plucked the iniquitous weeds and fed the buds within our flower-bed

I wish for the fresh baked bread, hot meals and scents of domesticity as I plead to come home to a house full of you: your words, your clothes, your aura of solace

For, does it matter if I wrote you into existence, or paired by a celestial being, or purloined you from a Greek myth?

You've shown me a love that makes it so hard to cry without a smile, or laugh without tears, or perceive all that the Earth has to offer

I express my gratitude to the grass between my toes, the skies that paint my world blue, the oceans that soothes my ears

You have breathed a new life into my being, resurrected a decrepit bystander into something with a purpose far beyond what I could have expected

Every morning, I now smile as I open our front door, excitedly awaiting what a fresh day has to offer

-lauren a.p

I am very appreciative for the shout out! Thank you so much for your kind words, and the feelings are very mutual. This is a wonderful list of writers with beautiful work, and I am honored to be recommended beside them. :)

Do you have any poets whos stuff you think i should give a read?

ABSOLUTELY!

First and foremost, everything that @randomshowerpoems has written himself. And @literaryvein has AMAZING poems as well. @most-ment too. And @accordingtolauren .

Then. Robert Frost, Harry Baker, Gregory Orr.

Would you like some individual poems as well?

Do you know what it is like to be lost within your own body?

These words fall from pallid lips as I stare in a mirror

depicting nothing but my adversary with a reddened gaze and a blaming finger

for what is it to find a solace within the skin stretched upon your bone?

I cannot find a comfortable dwelling amongst my flesh

its crooked scars and antagonizing persistence

as it reminds me of its presence with every stolen breath from my lungs

for it carries far too many bumps and scratches, brooding and dark in its reminders

Memories of a young girl, who craved an unexplainable longing

in the form of shrinking numbers, shrinking thighs, shrinking patience

She was hungry only for an acceptance from a disgraceful higher power

I now spit at his feet, set fire to his memory

curse his name within the midnight hours

For my intestines have become twisted, like the winding roots of an elder tree

where I once balanced upon thin branches, listening to the creaks as I took each step

pondering how many pieces I may shatter into if I took the fall

How much longer shall my bones ache, and my thoughts wonder?

Wonder how much of a past-life I wasted damning my figure

the sanctuary that raised me, protected me

despite its porcelain armor

I now lather it in lotions and perfumes, and only allow forgiving embraces

a kinder touch

For I hope to rewrite the damage of this predisposed body

Create a fresher model, merciful and strong

For this is my home, and I shall protect it

From strangers and myself alike

-lauren a.p

"I shall make a home within this body"

learning to listen (or an alt. version of my poem "decomposer")

I am a vessel for a ghost with an unknown purpose

as the humanistic outreach feels strange upon my senses

perturbed by a constant state of dysphoria

as the sun shines upon my skin,

sweet aromas waft around the kitchen,

and the cool water bathes my overheated flesh

Do you know what it's like to drown within your own body?

As I lay amongst the grass, I press my ear upon the Earth and observe whatever may roam below the surface

the insects, a hidden universe, your beckoning call

I should learn to listen more, I will tell myself every morning as I overfill my coffee cup

for perhaps there is a larger meaning to every action that evolves around me

a greater purpose for every reaction those efforts create

-lauren a.p

control and compliance

I'm sorry I could not morph you into what I wanted

Some illuminescent being with a soft touch

I ask forgiveness from both myself and you

for I was bested by a control with omnipotent fingertips

All I have ever craved was some makeshift authority

a fanatical over-compensation in place of what I lack

an autonomy to not fall upon bruised knees for any pleading voice

of a deeper degree

for I attempted to dominate my body

the growth of my girlhood into some cursed depiction of a blooming woman

my waist, my thighs, my shoe size

and even that revolted from my rule, escaped from my chokehold in the midnight hours

for now who do I see that looks back at me?

my captor, I am in a locked cage and am groveling for mercy

I tried to hold death in my hands

steadfast and determined

I kissed wrath's palms, wet with crocodile tears

as I burnt my lips on sorrow's flesh

and lust tainted my veins

the moon has now coaxed you to the precipe's edge

steep is the fall, jagged and beckoning

as their departed faces lay upon bare feet

whimpers still echoing throughout the blowing wind

a red ink stain upon the blossoming greenery

they were once our kin, a child's heart

still beating in the chests

sounds of love radiating within ribcages

pink cheeks and sun-kissed faces

far too similar to our own

lost from our being, stolen from our lungs

by some higher-power who found themselves entitled to take what we had created

within our own machinery

come back to my embrace, I shall entice you with a delicate song

of a sweeter touch, an embrace so warm it will melt your armored layers

I will not send you to an early demise, like the others before you

youthful and ignorant, past lives still apparent upon my skin

for I am unaware of how many I may have left

I shall not take you for granted, I am submitting control

to a happenstance that has haunted me since I could comprehend

the fear in the unknown

and the agony in chaos

Perhaps there is peace somewhere lost in the middle of this uncharted territory

-lauren a.p

a manufactured mishap

Oh, to be free from the weight of my mind

And the price of my thoughts

Released from the needs of my heaving lungs

And the expectations of my heart

Crying reddened tears deep within my chest

For perhaps you may lay your ear upon my flesh

And hear only the murmur of a stoic contentment

Features that will adorn my face shall be those of elation, of pleasure

And not of the fear for my stilling heart

As I strangle and choke on my spit

As the breath that flows within my being stalls

Faulty is my machinery

Please proceed with caution for I am bound to explode

And wreak a havoc so deadly

Your angelic hands will have no purpose in touching something so sinful, so vile

May you mend me into something new?

With your golden fingertips, mold me into a makeshift good-deed

For my cure may be somewhere lost within the blood in your veins

As the grace of your hold healed the fading violet hues upon my skin

Leftover colors from the last figure who had attempted to translate this broken code

To no avail

-lauren a.p

Sustainable chaos

Is what I desire

As I stare out into the greenery

My vision tainted by an August gaze

Perturbed by a golden hue

As perfection is found within the vibrant normalcy

Of this rotting hometown

As ghosts dance amongst darkened roads

Illuminated by flickering street lights

Do I see your face, baby blues staring back at my empty iris’?

Pleading with me not to move, to still those racing thoughts and put down my arms

To sit within the stillness of the quiet night

And wallow in complacency

With our fingers intertwined

But, I cannot stay, my path is unwilling

For I crave to obtain this hungry disorder

And master mayhem

No longer may your silken words coerce me to silence

-lauren a.p

What if you never understand me?

A thought that plagues my trepid thoughts, it haunts my mind and petrifies my conscious into a willful stillness

As I attempt once more to make sense of the fingertips that have crept around my waist, holding me steadfast

they are stained by a light blue, I note the fading tincture

as your grip hungrily marks its territory upon my flesh

discarded watercolors

that had ornamented your most recent artistic venture

self-exploration into the deepest layer of an egotistical finding

I never even corrected you when you called me the wrong name

one, two, three times under a single starry night

for I wore that stranger greeting like a name tag

A declaration of the simple fact that you noticed me:

(perceived, observed, looked right back into my hopeless eyes)

a badge of honor in the highest degree

of uncertainty that I may be worth more than to be understood

for if you don't, who will in this wild world?

agrestal and swelling amongst a dying field

born from a scorching flame that had discarded me into a wicked maturity

an Earth that beckons me back to the warm soil from which I arose

a peaceful residence in burrowed hideaways with the soft dirt and the solemn dwellers

I have fallen upon concrete one too many times

skinned my knees, painted my skin fading hues of plum and reddened ivory

the past had faded into scars upon supple tissue, a stark reminder desperate to be remembered, to be felt with a passing gaze

that I am forever a mortal being

with bones to snap and tears to cry and a heart to break

-lauren a.p

control and compliance

I'm sorry I could not morph you into what I wanted

Some illuminescent being with a soft touch

I ask forgiveness from both myself and you

for I was bested by a control with omnipotent fingertips

All I have ever craved was some makeshift authority

a fanatical over-compensation in place of what I lack

an autonomy to not fall upon bruised knees for any pleading voice

of a deeper degree

for I attempted to dominate my body

the growth of my girlhood into some cursed depiction of a blooming woman

my waist, my thighs, my shoe size

and even that revolted from my rule, escaped from my chokehold in the midnight hours

for now who do I see that looks back at me?

my captor, I am in a locked cage and am groveling for mercy

I tried to hold death in my hands

steadfast and determined

I kissed wrath's palms, wet with crocodile tears

as I burnt my lips on sorrow's flesh

and lust tainted my veins

the moon has now coaxed you to the precipe's edge

steep is the fall, jagged and beckoning

as their departed faces lay upon bare feet

whimpers still echoing throughout the blowing wind

a red ink stain upon the blossoming greenery

they were once our kin, a child's heart

still beating in the chests

sounds of love radiating within ribcages

pink cheeks and sun-kissed faces

far too similar to our own

lost from our being, stolen from our lungs

by some higher-power who found themselves entitled to take what we had created

within our own machinery

come back to my embrace, I shall entice you with a delicate song

of a sweeter touch, an embrace so warm it will melt your armored layers

I will not send you to an early demise, like the others before you

youthful and ignorant, past lives still apparent upon my skin

for I am unaware of how many I may have left

I shall not take you for granted, I am submitting control

to a happenstance that has haunted me since I could comprehend

the fear in the unknown

and the agony in chaos

Perhaps there is peace somewhere lost in the middle of this uncharted territory

-lauren a.p

A Haunting Impersonator

There are still moments

That I can’t listen to certain artists

Monologues haunted by deviant memories

To a strangely familiar tune

The soundtrack to your traumatizing touch

Painting my innocent frame

Hazy purple and fragile, broken and blue

I hate you sometimes

When the forgiving lenses placed upon my all-knowing iris’

Begin to crack, dampened by age and tears of a past-life

And my chest constricts as I struggle to catch my breath in clammy grasping fists

I lose my footing, spiral down a rabbit hole as I curse your life

An existence far from my own in some other state

Harboring a fugitive, a great impersonation of a man playing pretend

Bowing behind red curtains for your newest subject

Fresh and clean with youth to waste

Unaware that months from this day, or as the seasons bleed into years

And you trick and coerce with sickly-sweet promises of half-truths

With your fingers crossed behind your back

That she too shall wage a war upon your oppressing figure

As you stain and taint every surface you touch

I still will be here, too

Plotting your demise, manipulating the stories

I replay on repeat in the roving theatre hijacked within my mind

Or perhaps I will forget, and learn to breathe once more with the composure of knowing you may never touch me again

Safe and sound in a world I crafted and exiled you from

All but the memory of the gnashing scars you left

Buried deep beneath the bones of my body

Holding my soul captive with an eerie whisper

Of bittersweet lies

And mimics of a man

-lauren a.p

Lulu’s Secret Desires by Veronika (Nika) Jensen www.facebook.com/lulus.secret.desires