You sadly
have the
raw look
of a
fossil,
dried up
and used
Every woman
deserves
better
than to
deal with
the likes
of you
The loud
delusions
in your
messy head
created
your feelings
of existential
dread
But yet
your photo
makes you
look like
a hapless
creature
already long
dead.
Note: This poem is about an incel on Tumblr who decided to harass me. Also, do mind your manners when speaking to me. Otherwise you might become the subject of a poem, and not in a way that's pleasant.
Here is a memento from the other day
Who knows wherever the moon will go?
I just know that I’m here to stay
*While reading this poem, please imagine a sunset with a full moon shining brightly overhead. It's intended to be read from the perspective of someone in this specific setting who is thinking fondly of their long distance internet friends (that they don't always talk to). This was originally posted on Tumblr on June 5th, 2026, but it took a bit for me to cross post it here.
A bird sings early in the morning
sounds of a betrayed love echoes
What could have made you so loud so soon
And I realised it's the sounds of a destroyed country
In a far away land I wonder why love is not for me
Then I realized nature has it's space
A space for everyone
A lucky dice flip
Mine just had the wrong numbers
so sad and so alone
My mind pulled sideways
No one has ever seen me although I tried
Skies blue on my tumblr page
It's the aesthetic of my childhood
The one I fell in love with
Roses are red, vodka pours clear,
I need words bled, and high proof can steer.
Shot after shot becomes tumbler til Tumblr
As I wanted, unless I fumble words and become a bumbler.
Violets are blue, but whiskey is brown
For my words to be true, I need a little to drown
Because a sober mind hides and finds it easy to smile.
Because sober me confides in me whose been drunk for awhile.
Sunflowers shine yellow, as does drink of agave roasted
And for me does mellow, until I am toasted.
But it drinks like water, and can make my pen stroke.
Smooth to me, though others it does choke.
So roses are red, and vodkteqwine too is red,
Maybe I should slow down with what I’m being fed.
Call spades spades, stardust will still be infused
With liquor until the pen and the page are amused.
*WritersCreed (part of the Tumblr writing Community) posted a weekly challenge for Lauren aka lzlabseesu who has been an incredibly huge part of that community for as long as I can remember. Sadly she recently succumbed to a hard fought battle with Cancer. This is my jot for the prompt: Another Sun Rises. For Lauren. May you rest in Peace*
I’m in the driveway, once again.
Staring up into an eternal canvas.
Affixed to the asphalt; letting coarse shapes
embed themselves into my bare back-
Braille for the nightmares to read when I finally uproot
myself and show the night my back.
Trying to soak the moonlight into polluted pores.
Letting the creeping and crawling things
knock around my aching silhouette.
My tongue dances for rain.
Sending prayers across leaves and into
the wild, where I belong.
I was never supposed to be here.
Where the stars are corrupted by street lights.
Where the stones don’t sing when the sky rips itself open.
I was born with blue eyes so that I could be a tidepool.
So that my vision could endure the squall and turn it all into
pastel clouds- cast them back unto another rising Sun.
-James Kelley 2019
(PROMP:[3:29am] angel!jeongin lies next to you and hugs you as you cry, telling you to stop missing him “it’s okay, I’m here” PROMPT CREDIT TO -imagineskz.tumblr.com POEM BY- Tegan Elliott)
It was tears,
Broken dreams,
Broken hearts,
And a broken body,
Towed away,
He was young,
Seventeen,
He was young,
Soon to be eighteen,
He was young,
The clock shattered,
Windscreen broken,
Crumple zone in,
In on me,
Under covers,
Hidden in beds,
My minds crumple zone in.
Tears whipped,
Crumple zone out,
The bed dipped,
It’s all folding out,
Cover moved,
cuddles ,
Wrapped around waists,
Metal wrapped around young waists,
Gone,
New tears,
Never gone,
Praying for him back,
Wanting not to miss,
But him gone now,
forever ,
Towed away,
Too young.
Angel kisses,
Pressed against cheeks,
A simple halo,
Wrapped around bodys,
Hands playing,
With mine,
Kisses against cheeks,
Only cold breezes,
A freezing drift,
But windows locked shut,
Love wrapped,
In every touch,
Praying to stop missing him,
He’s too young,
Crumple zone in,
Angels kisses,
Crumple zone out,
“it’s okay, I’m here” ,
Silent words,
Crumple zone in.
We're just some teens
trying to look aesthetic
Posting photos on tumblr
that are pretty poetic
We wear 90s clothes
We listen to the Smiths
We rebel against humanity
So no one here is cis
We live in our idle towns,
our small town glory
Behind every post
is a different story
googool tumblr.com under adanthemanworld(dan's world).
Facebook twitter tumblr
reddit soundcloud snapchat
4chan imgur instagram
youtube vimeo vine
I tip toe from one to another
on a hypertension link
a thousand different ways
to relay what you think
interspliced into instances
amidst angry avatars
creatures craving comments
sticky slithering sonnets
if that's all you ever find
no matter where you go
it's because in this digital wasteland
you reap what you sow
I’d rather live with terrorists or break everything in my skeleton than put up with the residents I currently share this terrace with
I think I’d find it more appetising, to spend Friday night comparing house prices with a member of ISIS
The things said by these creatures that I share a lease with produce in me a cabin fever, that could only be beaten if I was held captive by Al-Qaeda
Except the ransom is paid to a landlord once a month for 60% of my income, it’s increasing, I signed and agreed to it - and I’m never released, either
So I’ve made my peace, it now seems considerable to just abandon all and sleep rough on the floor: it stands to reason, it would likely be cleaner
I’ve never been attached to any semi-detached, and now I’m happy to discard housing completely
Who needs a house that protects from the elements, when the house needs protection from the tenants, routinely
Home is where the heart is, be it near or afar, but this house belongs alongside your faeces
http://www.samnicholasharrison.tumblr.com/
I heard all the anecdotes on antidotes
but I wanted my therapy done chemically
so much that, in an approximation of intoxication
my judgments blurred uncertainties with a whispered ‘allegedly’
spectacular vernacular, jailed - minus crime or credibility
capital cliches of an amateur poet, inevitably
a teenagers growing phases annotated in the vaguest of chosen but stolen phrases
regurgitated words and statements
the morbidity of authenticity that is lexicon-artistry
http://samnicholasharrison.tumblr.com/
The things that fortune-tellers know are quite unfortunate, I’m told:
They’re reportedly perceiving all the thoughts and fears and hopes
Of we, the the ordinary folk, as such amongst them they’re achieving
Unprecedented rates of suicide - but great palm-reading
http://samnicholasharrison.tumblr.com/
That halo looks dangerous, Said the priest to the prophet
The prophet protested his claim:
Whereas danger is that of which leads to your coffin,
on this halo lives a tale that remains
You see halos are gifted to saints and not scholars
We honour what a person has arranged
For it’s deeds we consider, over talking and conference
Who knows what a person might claim?
The danger, my friend, lies in what a person might promise
Even broken promises, much the same
As people will try to adjust and bend logic
If they think they have a chance to attain
A piece and a parcel of something that’s honest
In an irony no-one can name
We all lie to gain truths, and we only will stop it
When we lie six-foot deep in our graves.
http://samnicholasharrison.tumblr.com/
I played insane games with my brainwaves, leaving psycho-spiritual stains in the astral plane, collapsed synapses, bruises, scratches, this ain’t magic, it’s incompetence
Unconscious but alive, same as everyone else in the supply chain on the physical plain: is it wrong that I’m still here, I’m in a contract of astonishment
My epiphanes are crystalline, they’re bought and sold like nicotine - indecisive? Lived your life by your choices? Spoilt for choice? That’s not a punishment
These mental ball games, throttled thoughts of pearly tall gates, hadn’t you ought to stop painting a portrait of yourself as a sore saint? It’s getting monotonous.
Train timetables, tortured habits
Surfing rings far from the planet
Ailing adversaries, damaged
goods is how we’ve always managed
http://samnicholasharrison.tumblr.com/
There’s a curve in my perception that’s in dire need of straightening
To deter the insurrection I’ve called ‘my spiritual awakening’
My ego is faced with the fact that it’s on a need to know basis and it’s on the attack
Which consists of my being pissed off, with bad habits shouting 'viva la resistance!’
Means tested, faults considered
You’re the standing evil that’s delivered
Everything I’ve ever wanted
Whilst your sleight of hand goes for my watch
Stealing, rinsing we’re both haunted
Now forsaken comes the final cotch
Something bigger the both of us turns pages that are frayed and withered
I can’t believe it’s been this long yet still so badly botched
Standing
Delivered
Stood
Remisson
http://samnicholasharrison.tumblr.com/
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