Open Letter To Those Who Signed Petition To Secede...
dangatorium: By Bill Dixon Dear Crybabies, Recently, your guy lost a presidential election. I know, I know— total bummer. So, being the American patriot that you are, you have signed a petition compelling your state to secede from the United States. So let me understand, your boyfriend wasn’t picked to be captain of the high school football team so now you’re going to quit the cheerleading...
theredsun: It’s so heartbreaking when you think about devastation. In Breezy Point, a fire ripped through 100 homes, and as I watched old women and young children and even a newlywed couple sob into the camera lens, I listened to the echo of my ear drums. Sometimes, we are so preoccupied with our own problems that we forget millions of people per day are suffering from rape, displacement, fire...
"inertia" by s.jones
revsjones: Set me free Or love me Hold on to me Or let me go Clinging Grasping Reaching out To the ghost of you Lingering So close Yet so far away I soothe you But I feel painfully free You move me Yet you stay religiously. -s.jones
paradigmpoet: I dreamed you were Counting my ribs through The layers of my clothes, As if the Fragile longitudes Surrounding my heart were Not strong enough, As if you knew It took so many Breakings For me to be Here, Stilled, Just for This moment. There are So many bruised Midnights In the course of A lifetime, So many lonely streets, Rain slicked, Outside my door, So...
Are you Hispanic or Latino? What is your race?
inatoms: The first job application I ever filled out was for Zabar’s on 80th and Broadway. I felt confident that I had it. The manager, a stout middle-aged man with boyish curls and bitten fingernails, had complimented me on my skirt and so I was given a clipboard and asked to take a seat to the right, not the left. I jotted down all of my information - name, age, address, martial status -...
Where Have All the Editors Gone?
jayarrarr: Okay — Tyler Knott’s last post has over 1,000 notes. If this doesn’t get more than that, we know what’s wrong with this so-called Tumblr Writing Community. Wake the fuck up and make your voice known. We’re here. If you actually care about this, make it known. This is a numbers game — not for me, for you. jayarrarr: I pay attention to things, I do. And I actually don’t care how you...
shesanargonaut: I don’t know how to write down all the beautiful things in my head anymore. It’s like I exhaled them all and have suddenly forgotten how to breathe in.
girlvswhale: If you dig up a tree to see how deep it grows, you sever the backbone from which Spring and Fall explode. If you remove the heart to see how fast it beats you fracture the connection between my love and yours.
happymonk: I envy the wind that embraces the flower and makes it shake but does not cling to it.
crleverette: Poisoned words are a cancer, spreading further and further, eating away at humanity. A ruined name, a vacant heart… Rumors of war. Wars of rumor. (The tongue kills)
Quit Fooling Yourself, You're Still a Child
autumndragonfly: You still sit alone at the base of the only willow tree in the city, immersed in the world you’ve never quite learned how to deplete while everyone else hurries by, minds in briefcases and hearts in heels. Only you hold your soul in your hands, eyes shining with delight at the thought that it has remained in tacked over all these years. When your autumn chilled fingers...
pajamaswag: Memories, memories, play on the lids, A smile, three words, and kisses forbid, Happiness based upon nothing but lies, Memories, nightmares that play in the eyes. Waking and sleeping the pain never fades, Rememberance always, no hope for escape, A heart that was true fell for one that was not, And the heart that was true, it never forgot. For the one that was true the memories play,...
jambu2525: And I told her, my cigarette burning my lips to get the words out, “you’ll never have another chance to run away with someone who’s as wrong for you as I am.”
desdaily: It’s safe to say I’m awfully tired of these rollercoaster rides of ups and downs, sudden rage, and relentless glass tides Chloroform lullabies are heard in lazy afternoons along with compelling breaths to dance alone in my adynamic room
books are for dreamers
virginiasinthelighthouse: Greater wonders have been seen Than words caught in bounded books. A thousand golden gleams In a single hidden look. And calls of undead lovers In the chasm of a heart; To capture just these wonders Would tear page and spine apart.
fitzarr: True love requires more than being in love. It’s true, I’m afraid. Being in love is infatuation. It is a brightly coloured cacophony of flowers, whose fragrant feelings blind and confound. It is a melding of desire into physical form. It is two saplings who glimpse each other and stretch their blossom laden-branches towards one another in a desperate need to know connection. True love...
unbearablysharp: You – the hole in my life raft the un-opening parachute the incomplete first aid kit the blocked emergency exit the silent smoke alarm (batteries stolen to use in remotes, torches, sex toys) You – the blatant disregard for safety the accidental overdose the death of me.
shermeanuhh: the hearts you break collectively hum like a choir of sirens behind you warning you that if you don’t change the boy you are the man you’ll become won’t know love the way he’ll know regret
I turn 22 tomorrow.
unknownconstellation: What a stupid, worthless age. At least at 21 I could buy beer, but I’d already been doing that for three years anyway (the benefits of being 6’ 1” and having a beard since age 17). What do you do with 22? Nothing, legally speaking. It’s the first time since 11 that my age is a palindrome, so I guess that’s something. This would have been the age when I graduated from...
wakingmoments: Sometimes when my neighbor showers I think it is raining outside that is when I miss you the most. Because I can remember a girl who looked her best during a storm but now you’re gone to a land where the sun’s always shining and somehow I think you may be dulled out there. Come back to us where the sky gets moody and often gray. Come back where you are that sometimes light on...
myinkstainedheart: O the moon, in the stars’ absence does it weep? And in the darkest hour does it ever seek a rope, a wooden stool, say does it ponder, a bullet in its skull? But no and neither, with onto does it latch, never favor a grimmer finale of the match- and I, where do I seek as such solace, I carve in the dead light, the outline of his face.
Beauty of the Tumult
virulent-tuber: The beauty of the tumult Paved liberally before me Mapped paths rerouted And potentialities unrealized Dim though they were So my stoic tread passed Allied with arrogance Nurtured by indignation Into idealism Rare in form in me This exotic emotive entropy This turbulent facade Most convenient to assume Could not outwit my consciousness The banality of the calm Purged listlessly...
cameronadelia: She was an expert in every species of hopelessness like little towns along a Nebraska highway she learned their nomenclatures and nuances back alleys backstories bacteria. Once she had the distinctions down she boxed each neatly in her head made them navigable for future visits and like any good double agent learned to change her accent seamlessly.
shermeanuhh: we tell each other everything muffled moans into pillows are different kinds of confessions his lips not only kiss and smear and love and bite not only do heated breaths of passion burn past them, hesitated sighs of lust leak through them, not only do they love and save and...
thegirlwithoutapearlearring: Take me back to the days of being a puppy in a laundry basket, an Indian princess, a fairy on the bridge in your neighborhood, we’d create little rafts out of sticks and grass for flowers to ride under the creek. Back then I knew I was beautiful, but now I’m not so sure. Back then I would laugh so hard that I’d roll on the ground, All my crooked little teeth...
spilling-your-ink: Lots of opinions on love going round tonight on Tumblr, huh? I recommend reading our last four posts. Also, as I’m sure many have noticed, Spilled Ink is once again active. Can’t promise how long that will remain true because of life and whatnot. But since I’m currently in the mood to discover new writers to follow on my own blog I decided why not revive Spilled Ink and...
forfellowdaydreamers: I love the desert. It calls out to me in ways that no other place does, maybe because I was born there. I would rather live there than two miles away from the ocean, and every time I go to visit I feel a calm kind of excitement. Endless beauty that tries so hard to live, and while some may see it as barren all I can do is see the perfection. Landscapes are more than...
moderateclimates: If you’re in a relationship with a writer and they don’t write about you, it doesn’t mean that they do not love you. Sometimes you can love somebody so much that they cannot possibly be described by language and by words. They can only be described by your tongue against their neck, and fingers on their hips. If you’re in a relationship with a writer and they don’t write about...
If you're in a relationship with a writer,
erudess: You know they are in love with you if they’ve written pieces about you. If they don’t write about you, in any expressive shape or form, poetry or short story, sonata or monologue, they don’t love you. They just simply don’t.
lxxepicxxl: Girl vs. Whale: Tumblr Romance Debunked. arbitraryoutlet: There’s something that has always stumped me about the TWC. The amount of crushes, romances, and for lack of better words incestuality. You can shake your head all you want, but we’ve all been guilty of falling a little too hard for someone a little too far away or a little bit too much of a stranger. It’s always shocked...
Tumblr Romance Debunked.
arbitraryoutlet: There’s something that has always stumped me about the TWC. The amount of crushes, romances, and for lack of better words incestuality. You can shake your head all you want, but we’ve all been guilty of falling a little too hard for someone a little too far away or a little bit too much of a stranger. It’s always shocked me how total strangers can fall for eachother, but It...
Microscopic Pilots in Planes of Dream
thenatureofdaylight: There was a crystal water pouring, dreaming of rose starlight and oxygen, galloping in dream’s track to fields built in a bleak day reverie. There was a paint blush heart crushing in forty degrees, and it sounded like Fire Island’s shore — hose bursting; spear fantasy; a drum that tapped under my ribs. There was a god, a beautiful quiet god, and she didn’t want to be...
notamish: I hate your fucking flower talk. The false lilt in your voice you use to pretend you’re smiling. I hate how you stumble when you put your shoes on. How you bring me wrapped tea cups and shirts with sequins clinging on the shoulders, as if I’ll never get too old for your pretending, I “don’t let you know me”? I took my time to realize It’s not wrong to hate “who made you”; It’s just...
theopneustictragedy: Upon a canvas of skin He paints passionate sin Commanding her to remain still Into flesh his teeth sink For her blood is the ink And his fingertips the quill.
unconsciouscontradictions: we are all so clumsy with each other with ourselves we all trip and spill on the cold concrete leave when we most need to stay
allenated: I read you not only because of the ways that you and I are similar, but because of the ways that we are different. You may be seeing the world through the monocle of a misanthropist, the vision of a cynic, the canvas of a nihilist, or the pen of the doomsayer. I read you not because I agree but because you bustle and pulse and resonate, and you remind me that life does not only contain...
kennedytwscott: You are the broken wind that fills my sails… and leaves me stranded. I sailed and I am lost- and maybe tidal forces will beach me, save me; maybe they will rip my hull and dash me on the rocks. But the wind’s the one who put me there. You’re the one who put me there and can now pull me out again- with or without the tide.
devivas: Karma is laughing at me now… Still fresh from a cutting rejection of the most personal of my affections I now have a heart tentatively placed before my feet one that I know I cannot keep Looking into his eyes I see everything I thought I wanted generously laid out in thoughtful sincere measure But I cannot eat from this table… Nor can I rise up for I’ll be damned if I cause anyone that...
Indistinguishable from one another
ponderingcomplications: We might have been a poem, once. The thing about poetry is that you can break ru-l-es. Laws of nature do not apply, and I can avoid time and gravity and rearrange the alphabet to put “U” and “I” together. We might have been a poem, once. Somewhere between lines of faded ink and grey-hued memories. Somewhere in the echo of my heartbeat and fragmented letters. Somewhere,...
trixclibrarian: i didn’t mean to tell you i was wondering what your skin smells like i wasn’t planning to admit what i saw in the way you move your lips or your softest eyes cast out the window or the tilt of your neck and the voice in your throat thrown out of it because i was most interested in seeing what you really think and believe in being and everything sensual on this earth is...
In case of a water landing, there is a life vest...
girlvswhale: Love yourself more than anyone else. Do not think it is conceited to hold yourself up, to think you are worthy of such great things like respect, love, affection, sincerity, honesty, attention. We are so very often taught that you need to love everyone more. We are taught that only bitches and assholes take care of themselves first. But I always remember the flight attendants...
wordsbecomeswords: one two three four five like the length of numbers they swell and shrink the curve of the planet hidden in my bones and I’m counting ribs to see how long I have lived the words inscribed on them barely legible through skin but we will see the poems when I flay myself alive six seven eight nine ten the rise and fall of my chest is not only from breathing but bones creaking...
inatoms: My grandmother didn’t own too many books, but she taught me the most important thing about words. “Careful not to swallow a seed or leaves will grow out of your ears and nose.” I believed it. So when I accidentally swallowed a seed from my watermelon, I panicked. I remember running to the bathroom, locking the door behind me and stripping off all of my clothes before the mirror....
How to Travel Light
the-false-azure: “Where did you learn,” she asks, “to travel so light?” as I slide the small slim suitcase into the overhead compartment. And I think, for a minute, of how to explain a life lived in loops between Dulles and Heathrow. I can still remember (although it seems so long ago) that first transatlantic flight, when I was eight years old and dragged half my life along. And...
somewhere in the middle of: i thought of kissing...
am-clark: i think we’re the same person just raveled in different skin and you’re full of this inconsistency like when you look to the floor after kissing me, but it mimics my stance after you grab my legs and pull me towards you. i’ve been making the speech in my head for four goddamn days now: i will push you away to get under your skin until you love me and love me and love me- until you...
polaroidletters: Remember the two hands rising up to touch the clouds? I think of that sometimes, as if it is us, as if the two towers are us and we both fell down. Separately, but together.
secretedsins: Live intensely! Love unwisely! For you, and I, and Each of us— we Swirls of dampened dust Caught on a breeze— We shall settle far too soon; This, our common destiny.
Andy Sandford’s Guide To Dating
dangatorium: By Andy Sandford The dating game is a full contact sport, and if you don’t know the X’s and O’s, you will never leave the bench. The singles scene is like a curling match: cold and confusing with an indecipherable scoring system…and there’s a lot of yelling. All the clever sports analogies in the world could not throw a hail Mary pass long enough to convert a first down on the...
not-eventherainhassuchsmallhands: Streetlight cat fights, nameless warriors pouring their screeching anguish into the restless streets while I lay tangled in my thoughts and my sheets. The way every creature has eyes, for though they are the most beautiful feature to feast upon, they are unlying portals, delicately devastating reminders that we carry our souls from our wrists like plastic bags. ...
how to pay for college
notamish: “Pay for my beginnings or I’ll ruin your end,” spread wide across a cardboard sign straddling a “lemonade stand” on the roadside. (We’ll give you plastic shots of white wine.) My friends and I, we’re placing our futures on the white line. I wouldn’t call it desperate to beg dimes from the old timers. I’d call it poor government. (If we were to advertise it.) Maybe better. Hopefully,...