Raven-reblogs - Tumblr Posts

I think I am dead inside

not like the sad kids say not metaphorically

you see I tried to find my heart today and found only empty space where it used to be there’s a gaping hole in my chest where it must have fallen out or someone stole it from me

I’ve searched everywhere I can think of under the bed under the sink in cupboards and dresser drawers even in the freezer

where did I see it last? in your room? in your bed? in your hands? is it still on your nightstand?

well I suppose it doesn’t matter where my heart is or isn’t found since apparently I’m dead inside

- 10/8/2020

We’re in this together. (Poem)

Put on that brave face again,

Nobody needs to know.

Another day is dawning,

Are you ready for the show?

Look in their eyes and tell them,

Let’s do this face to face.

Let them know you’re doing fine,

Fake a smile, just in case.

They never have to know,

As if they even care.

It’s easier to lie to them,

Pretend it isn’t there.

But it will all get too much,

You’ll want it all to end.

Just promise me that you’ll think twice.

I’ll be here if you need a friend.

Hello! I am Raven---writer, poet, and dancer. I like to dabble in a lot of things, but at the moment my main interests are writing, arts and crafts (especially textiles), and psychology.

Find my poetry at #raven-poetry

Find my reblogs at #raven-reblogs

Find poetry requests at #raven-requests

I will update this with more tags as I post more.

If you would like to have a specific poem written, ask away! I’m happy for any excuse to write poetry for others :)

candlelit corridors and other goodbyes wax on your fingers and wool over your eyes

candlelit corridors mercurial highs the distance stretches and so do your lies

candlelit corridors and orange skies bittersweet endings broken-voiced cries

-

cinnamon from @writeblrcafe's spice prompt bingo

--based on the turmeric prompt for @writeblrcafe

Who let these wings unfold, bits of beige and gray, only bound to fly in the darkest of places deluding myself that light will come for me?

Why couldn't I be one of them-- those who take in all the colors of the rainbow with a flap of wings, those who glimmer without the need to shout out their existence from a charred throat?

The pupa disintegrates on the branch; my moth metamorphosis shaking off the last remains of a putrid shell, sinking into the frost-tinged earth.

Nothing stops the winter from coming-- except if I fly towards the sun. A star which fades faster than I desired, falling down towards oblivion with its bloodied streaks and scarlet shadows.

So, unfurl these beige wings, if the world demands it.

I will still fly towards the flames, even if they consume me. --Elda Mengisto

for @writeblrcafe’s “cinnamon” prompt.

a candlelit corridor

with endless doors

on and on

and on it goes

keep walking, keep moving,

to an end I can’t see

just keep moving, keep moving

until I’m free

don’t think, don’t speak

just keep walking, keep walking

don’t breathe - don’t leave

block out the whispers, the talking

don’t touch the doors

don’t touch the locks

because if I opened those doors

what would come out?

a candlelit corridor

with endless doors

on and on

and on it goes

The Weaver

A whole universe awaits, with stars buried in the grass, and dewdrops clinging onto the sky waiting for a snag to tear apart.

Her hands frayed as she notes the fragile cloth she manipulates-- soft to the touch, yet frigid in how it burns her palms with the tundra's permafrost.

She tries to find a space in which she could embroider lilies which transcend their mortal forms in tangerine threads.

Where will this world take her, before the blood seeps out of her fingers, coloring a place where she wants to hide and never escape from? --elda Mengisto

The Wolf

why did i open the door to the monster that had already torn out my throat twice before? still have the scars but thought if i was capable of change, then so was he, forgetting my worth.

i swallowed his lies and drowned for months without being able to speak of the bites he stole from my soul and spat out in front of me, his blood-stained grin.

and as soon as I wasn’t her, he plunged the knife i gave him into my back, cut the rope and kicked me over the edge of the abyss.

but it’s okay.

I think this time I've finally learned my lesson.

Love, —

I’ve always wondered why people start their letters with “dear”. Were the first people to write letters friends? Lovers? Family? How close were they to spill their hearts upon a piece of paper, all starting with the word “dear”? 

I’m not going to start this with “dear”. You don’t deserve that. You never were my dear. Perhaps we could’ve, in another world, in another time. But not now. Not here. 

Is it possible to be heartbroken without any words being spoken? To crush hope without a noise? I always thought it’d be louder, bigger, greater, yet here I end with barely a whimper. 

I don’t know why I’m writing this. I should be over you. I thought I was over you. Yet each time I see you, there’s a pain in my heart, a twinge in my soul. You were the one who decided to stop talking to me, yet wherever you look at me, there’s something odd in your gaze. 

I don’t get it. Why? Every time I think it’s over, you talk to me—the barest conversation—and I do this all over again. You build me up then throw me down, all without realizing it. 

And I hate myself for it. I hate this feeling, this emotion that I can’t control. I hate that I know that it won’t work, yet I so desperately want it to work. I hate subconsciously looking for you everywhere I go. I hate remembering that your favorite color is blue, that you don’t like sweet foods. I hate thinking about your voice and what made you laugh. I hate knowing that you never looked at me the way I wanted you to. I hate knowing you loved someone else and she loved you too. I hate the relief I felt when you didn’t date her. I hate that I want you. I hate that I miss you. I hate that I love you. 

But I could never hate you. 

I wish I could. I wish I could scream and cry and yell at you. I wish I could tell you exactly how I feel. I wish I hated you instead of myself. 

But I don’t. 

So I’m sorry. 

I love you. 

kalopsia

the light plays across the covers. 

i chose white covers because i 

thought it would make me sleep 

better but i don’t sleep anyways 

but they are beautiful. they are 

beautiful because i am leaving. 

kalopsia caused by an 1800 mile 

move. they are beautiful because 

i am leaving because i have to 

leave because i know this logically 

but my sheets at home are green. and 

in massachusetts. and i am in bed in 

texas. which is quite a problem, i 

would think. 

and it always comes back

to your willingness

to destroy yourself

for the slightest chance

that someone might

care enough to stop you.

-mars

Was wishing there was a positivity post for original fiction writers since I see so many about how fanfic writers are doing so much for their communities even when they're not actively writing, and then I thought:

Be the change you want to see in the world.

So this is a positivity post for the writers out here who are working very hard on stories with no established community. Who can't talk about their blorbos and plot lines and brainstorming to anyone and expect them to know what any of it means. Who don't have much to share publicly, but are hoping they will one day.

You're doing a lot of hard work, and I recognize and appreciate what you're putting into the world, even when you're resting.

it's because the bear wouldn't kill me just for being a woman. the bear doesn't kill me for fun. the bear can be shouted at, and will leave me alone. the bear won't make a tiktok complaining about how i crossed to the other side of the path when i saw him coming. if a bear kills me, it's just being a bear: it cannot understand logic. it is not acting out of malice - just fear or hunger.

bell hooks once wrote about how porches might be the only outside space left for women - it is still the domain of the house while it is also outside-but-safe. when i am in the woods, i am in the bear's home, and he has a right to defend his property. outside spaces - anywhere at night, certain parks in the day - those are often implicitly "owned" by men. i cannot explain the feeling of knowing when you have entered a man's "territory." you walk into a place and just know you are in their space. you get a sick sense - you're in danger.

the other day a group of about 8 men were fooling around in the woods while i walked my dog. i had to go around, take the extra 3 miles just to avoid them. it's okay, i like walking. this wasn't even a #feminism moment. it was just a tuesday.

what a plain and easy question. only one of the situations is seen as a tragic accident. i would rather die and have a park bench erected in my honor rather than have my family questioned about why they let me, an adult, walk in the woods in the first place when i should really be at home in the kitchen.

i worked in retail and food service. i have had women say and do absolutely heinous and abusive things to me - not because i was a woman, but because i was there, and they were angry. the way men treated me when angry was different - it was because i was a woman. you can always feel the difference, how there's an undertone of i'd hurt you worse if i could get away with it. i keep seeing people try to cite stupid statistics. why is there always a strange rage whenever women agree on things? like men can argue their way out of our lived experiences? it isn't a buzzfeed quiz - which of these traumas are you? 10 super cute ways not to fear strange men.

i have actually (thrice!) seen a bear in the wild, by the way. i died each time, obviously, and am a ghost writing to you. (it was scary but completely and utterly fine). the second encounter was a black bear with her cub. she looked at me like - do we have to do this or are we good? my dog was busy sniffing a bush, completely nonreactive. i felt like i was in a sitcom: feminist poet reacts - does she actually mean she'd choose the bear? my only thought was - she's so beautiful. her paws are massive.

and there's a part of me that feels the rage spinning out in a corner. why do we have to come up with quippy little comments in order to teach men empathy. would you rather die in a car accident or due to a mugging? and would you rather your house burn down due to an electrical fire or due to arson? gee willikers - it's almost like we're human people, and want to risk the accident versus the intention.

i would rather my last thought be oh shit, a bear rather than i'm a person too. why doesn't that matter? why don't you care?

more "beautiful" words for your next poem

Afterwit - wisdom or perception that comes after it can be of use.

Antapology - a response to an apology.

Bovarism - a conception of oneself as other than one is to the extent that one's general behavior is conditioned or dominated by the conception.

Cogitabund - given to deep thought; having the appearance of being in deep meditation.

Dolorifuge - something that banishes or mitigates grief.

Doundrins - afternoon drinkings.

Epistemophilia - love of knowledge; specifically: excessive striving for or preoccupation with knowledge.

Estivate - to spend the summer usually at one place.

Eudaemonic - producing happiness.

Eye-servant - one that attends to duty only when watched.

Formication - an abnormal sensation resembling that made by insects creeping in or on the skin.

Hygeiolatry - worship of health; excessive devotion to hygiene.

Nidifugous - leaving the nest soon after hatching.

Obsibilate - to make a whistling noise, as trees stirred with winds.

Undusous - full of surges and waves.

If any of these words make their way into your next poem/story, please tag me, or leave a link in the replies. I would love to read them!

beautiful words list pt. 1 / pt. 2

i have a soft secret wish that conspires against me in the sleepy hours of late afternoon when my big dog sighs into my shoulder and nuzzles under my arm while we both procrastinate his walk a little longer just until we are done being on the couch together, curled up

i need to believe that if he could choose, he would stay looped indelicately, his legs a cascade in the air rolling his back on the only floor i can afford him instead of the romantic impossible wild

there are moments where his ears perk up at a rabbit and he watches their white tail tuck into a bush, like a wink. i don't know what dogs dream about but i hope to god

if he is dreaming about being a wolf he is not disappointed when he wakes up to blunted teeth

But, they say that Icarus laughed as he fell,

And Patroclus loved as he met his fate.

So I too, shall adore you,

Even as I choke on air unable to reach me

And bleed on the wire you left in my lungs

the other day we were talking about balance beams because you said that your family had one of those cool winch ones that wrap around trees to make a high wire. even though i was pretty good i had to quit gymnastics at 12 because we couldn't afford dance and gymnastics but. i had something-other.

and i got excited because i think it's a funny story. i didn't have a door for about 4 years. 13-17, or there about. i only got it back because i replaced it myself.

i think my dad took it off the hinges just because his very-macho friend david had said - i do this to punish my kids. and then about a week later it was down on the ground and then eventually rotting in a shed. i used to visit it on occasion and tilt it between two boxes so i could try to walk across the side of it. i have a scar on my foot from attempting the act of balance-beam fancy dancing. it's shaped like a crescent moon. a hinge sliced into my skin when the whole thing slipped out from underneath me.

and you looked at me and you said - what the fuck?

and i said, do you want to see? because i thought the thing you were replying to was the injury. i was already undoing my shoelaces.

you're supposed to have a door, you said slowly. you were a teenager. you - i've seen your house. you lived at the end of the hall.

i didn't understand the problem. so? i wriggled out of my shoe and then my sock.

so, you said it gently, which made me slow down. you said it in the way people tell me that i experienced something bad and i have no idea that it was supposed to be something-else instead. anyone coming down the stairs or in the hallway could see directly into your room. you were in a fishbowl for four years, am i understanding that correctly?

i stared at you, and then said the other things: well, it wasn't so bad. i just wore a towel and tucked myself into a corner to change. i could always just change in the bathroom. privacy didn't really exist for any of us. i wasn't allowed to decorate so it wasn't really my room anyway. i didn't have a lot of things growing up; so it's not like i minded having a semi-public space. my siblings left me alone if i needed them to. what's the big deal anyway.

this is accidentally what emotional vampires incorrectly label as a "trauma dump". this is accidentally how you learn that my house was actually unsafe. i don't even consider this a problem, because everything else was so much worse, in a way. i didn't know it was supposed to be different. at the time, i didn't know what privacy was. i just lied about most stuff and got good at hiding in public. i haven't ever lied about this because i didn't know it was supposed to be different. i am 31.

you looked pale and ready to throw up. you had a right to a door for your room. you were a kid. someone should have helped you.

i was busy examining the sole of my foot. the scar really does look like the moon.

it is a slow and dampening torture when no one will listen to you. hydraulic press on your tongue. a whistle that screams through your blood. when-and-if you explode, you are treated as if radioactive; others flinch in shame.

are you sick? are you sad? are you actually in pain? it is selfish to be attention-seeking, right. they will tell you that it is "brave" to ask for help, but when you ask for help, they'll suggest a hotline. the hotline will suggest you see a doctor before disconnecting. the doctor will suggest you drink more water and lose weight.

are you asking him to put in more effort? to plan dates? to actually-clean around the house? to be genuinely interested in your life? someone tells you that you should never beg to be loved, but if you leave him, they'll ask why you didn't try talking it over first. if you leave because he doesn't wash the dishes, you're being unfair. if he cheats, you should have treated him better. you're a nag and a witch and now you're ruined goods.

are you struggling? how's that rent check. well, keep hustling! it'll be okay slapped in a bumper sticker over your face. good luck, babe.

at a certain point you stop trying to shout. there's no point anyway.