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I have the embers of a burning building in my heart,
breathed in as I breathed beside you, burning hot.
Each night, fingers ran through flame to touch you
and each day I fingered blisters, marks, breaks,
for nothing. No rewards, just emptiness and an ache
for starlight. I ache to rejoin the sea, and let the moon kiss me,
kiss me where you laid fangs, my love. I did love you, I did,
and you burnt me alive for it. I have the embers,
the struggling breath to prove it. My hands,
my hands you once called beautiful,
now scarred as my best friends hands and legs and thighs
because you held me to my post while she boiled for some sins -
sins men committed. Sins you commit in the way you hate. You’re
nothing but burning. I have the embers to prove it. Your flames
your heat, your heart. Now, I think, I am not as innocent as a river.
now I am a rapid, a storm at sea. Now I burn alongside you. 
This anger is everything that I fear. I play with the threads of it,
and feel memories of you. Fingers twitching where a grip lies no more.
My blood runs too hot. I have the embers, and I am burning down.

power play.


the boy, 
he roars.
he bends and i see feathers stuck to his back,
sunken into pores and spine.
he’s on display, but immovable;
roots have wound around his thighs,
binding him to the earth.
he thinks he is strong.
he thinks
muscle matters.
but these small hands
can pull hairs one by one,
pull feathers,
pores and spine.
he caged himself in clenched fists
thinking masculinity would keep him safe.
well, boy,
i have claws too.
i have wet blood where you have bone,
and i’m not beyond drowning anybody.
i’ll bend while you bind,
and anchor myself to nothing.

this girl,
she runs.
water woven through her skin.
her whisper is an arrow,
your shout a blunt axe.
which will win, i wonder…?



i get whiplash watching the pairs progress,
folding like picnic chairs,
into arms, into battle, into cuddles.

i have a headache, so stop trying to hug me.
i don’t want to be touched.



I’m really disappointed to see my posts on this blog are being reposted. i hardly get any notes on here, so i am really confused, i don’t know why you wouldn’t just reblog it from me.

Please do not lie to your followers and pretend you wrote these things. It’s hard enough to motivate myself to write, but if you steal, I will not share anymore.

hey friends, this post is from my on the side writing blog^. i’m a bit upset bc some content was reposted?

it’s just a lame little blog, but it’s my only motivation for writing half the time and I just wanted to say please please please do not repost. ever! 


Birth Chart.


When I read my birth chart,
it told me I was in for a life of trouble.
A tenacious woman,
who adapts, even to the worst of worlds.
Precise in sight,
aware of faults.

Can’t be right, can’t be me.
I didn’t want to believe that my life could be so easily defined
by mathematics,
and the positioning of stars,
but I found the idea wrapping around me.
I found my moods matched the moon.
I started to love fitting with something in this world,
even if it wasn’t with the people around me.

I never felt normal until I found out,
that my Mars was in Virgo,
and my Neptune was in Capricorn.
Until I knew where I was aligned,
and who I had the potential to be.

I’m fitting in with fate,
even if I doubt myself every second day.
When I am added to others,
sometimes we create a harmony,
sometimes chaos
and I like that it can be predicted,
in the way stardust
is scattered between us.

I don’t mind being made of chemicals,
when I know they can combine,
and dance
in the right hands.
I don’t mind being wrong,
when I feel like I’ve been made just right.



he notices
tendrils, ropes,
marks and suction cups
tying her in place
says sorry, but
helps to tighten the knots.

"The act of annihilation is passionate. What keeps us from killing each other may be mere apathy."
— Unknown 

me trying to write a script: he moves in for a kiss and then diAMONDS ERRUPT FROM HER FACE



You don’t have to worry about a thing.
I’ve got you with me now.
Why do you have to go jumping away?
Little wild fish, you are. Thinking you’re bigger than your bowl.
I’m helping you back in alright?
I’ve got you.
Why do you have to keep slipping away?
A little too wild for me, you are. You’re going to go?
Listen. I just wanted to help.
You’re worrying now?
I’m alright. Why can’t you stay?

I’ve got you now.

( guys idk i have a writing blog and i post things there that i did
so look if you like that thing :0 )

I want you to suffer in the right ways.


I don’t want you to wake up,
and find blood amongst your teeth.

I don’t want you to choke
on your warm milk tea.

I don’t want you to be split open,
guts pouring down the stairs.

I imagine it when I run,
but I don’t want this. 

I am much worse.

I want you to feel your own thick hands wrapped around your throat,
and for you realise a little to late,

that every time you call someone else selfish,
your own hands squeeze a little tighter. 

a hymn for mess


your shoes are beside the door
laces nicely untied
lying loosely like spaghetti.

i liked spaghetti
for the noises it made when it slid between your tongue
much like the noises of gentler things
like you and i

we were lying nicely like laces
tangled together
untied, but almost tied,
like we could be closer if we wanted.

please pick up your mess, but leave the shoes
so I know that at least if we end
you have to come back for something.

"Love says: I’ve seen the ugly parts of you, and I’m staying."
— Matt Chandler (via jeou)

I feel like if you go to a party and you’re not aware of the quietest person in the room, you’re not paying enough attention. 

notes on the rainforest.


There are little moss mounds heaped inside you. I think it’s good to note this.

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Writing always, always, always makes me feel a little better inside. Like I’m a little cleaner. A little more organised, and ready to try again.