Featured

welcome!

here’s what your boy’s up to: 

  • making this blog primary operations base or whatever -> moving all  the lit i’ve written from various places on the internet and depositing them here.
  • in the same vein, establishing a proper poetry archive. so if you like my work, it’s all in one place.

things i plan to do / continue doing: make rec lists, give life updates, share writing, make masterlists of writing related things such as all the collaborative work i’ve put out, and all the lit mags / publications i have submitted my work to (so far, just one lit mag. but i’m working on getting my work out there.) 

you can help by telling me more about how wordpress works, and where the poetry community on here is, etc. who are your favourite wordpress writers?? who should i definitely be following? give me all the hacks & suggestions.

see you around!! here is the longer version of this post, if you’re bored & want something to read xxx

 

Advertisements

wasteland, baby

 

wasteland baby

this is named for & after Hozier’s most recent album, as you can probably guess. the whole feeling of it – the weight of it, the things it makes me think of & become, the whole experience of listening to it. i have a lot of love for that album – i’ve been listening to it when i write things and it’s making me feel alive in ways i haven’t felt alive before. like a new dimension of existence. it’s like a new level of atmosphere in itself.

i just have so much love for all of this, right now.

more than one way to be a gravedigger – divya

i wrote this poem & i am so incredibly grateful that this found a home in South Broadway Ghost Society. very excited to share it with the world ❤

South Broadway Ghost Society

gravedigger

i bet your hands taste like honey. put a finger in my mouth
….& let me dream it. i watch you roll cigarettes –
i know you memorized my number when we were in eighth grade
i know you think of me when you can’t sleep at night

the ghost of me lingers these corridors in your house,
counts your pennies, fucks with your linen. oh baby,
you listen to songs to kill time, you dance in empty houses
and i think of the last boy i loved
& how he set fire to everything

me too, i think. i’ll have that fag, thanks. i am a fag, thanks.
i blow smoke out like a fairy godmother. who am i
if not this broken glass bundle of queer? i have always been
pretty face, ugly existence. the fire alarm, the dynamo.
the girl of your dreams, the girl with…

View original post 120 more words

dictionary poem, or something

divya

(noun) a flower that loves to be an uprising, curves into the light and into the dark, sings herself to sleep, smells like nostalgia and sunshine on ripped denim clothing keeping skin warm. a poem that buzzes through your veins like a promise. falling asleep during chemistry class. a polychromatic rebellion. waking up to find tendrils weaving through your ribs, telling you you’ll stay safe. the same flower they give out during weddings & funerals. the flowers that greek goddesses wore in their hair. the flowers that the boy you liked gave his boyfriend. the flower that never wilts but is already half dead. the flower that grew on your girlfriend’s grave. a wildflower that means divine yet symbolizes change; sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worse. growth in a garden of solitude. the feeling you get when no-one picks up the phone. the dawning realization that maybe hades and persephone weren’t so different after all.

apology.

sorry, i said. but it isn’t really worth much
to a boy like you, to a boy like me, to a boy like
us. alright but if i could maybe give you the world anew
we could start it over and i promise
this time you’d smile at me over cordless telephone
and open the door when i come at three AM, i texted you
the simple words ‘i think therefore i AM’ and you, you
told me later you didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
i promised you  i wouldn’t cut any deeper but
you already felt last night when your fingers said hello to my ribs
you told me we’d make it, i told you that i loved you
once. you ask me why i break myself over these things,
why i hurt myself, give and take heartbreak and ache like it’s a drug.
i shrugged, wondering how to tell you
that i never deserved you
in a way that you will understand.

for torin.

the gun against my head never melted but
there is a hollow in my chest
where i had a heart, once.
then of course there was an ocean
and my heart couldn’t swim.
i watched it drown and i thought ‘maybe.’

xx

i think mindsets set minds backwards
like clocks falling out of time.
the concept of binaries is a new cyanide.
you are seagendered and i am skysexual
but the world will not understand.

xx

i would never worship anything but
the purity of aluminium stars
and silver plates and i make too many jokes
about schödinger’s cat. it’s not funny, it’s sad.

xx

forever reaching out to people who make me gasp
i try to tell them that they’re miracles and
they redefined my world, they made me blink
and relook and see a better word that was hidden behind
the curtains all this time. look at our reflections
on the glass. i promise i’ll fade first.

xx

you’re a beauty beyond gender.
i know i’m a stranger to you
but somedays i feel like
your words knew me in another life.
somedays i wonder
what knowing you would feel like.

xx

torin, when all’s said and done
i think you are a miracle.
you make me see god in the small things
a new religion that’s the edge of my fingertips
and the corners of your smile.
you see, my name means divine
but i only fully understood what that could mean
after you, your words, your imagery, your metaphors
after your world eclipsed mine.

torin, we’ve never spoken
and we are almost every definition of strangers

and how i wish i could change that.

xx

your poetry is a religion
and i’m converted. take me to your temple
to your church to your mosque to your gurudwara
to your synagogue to your shrine to your favourite place

take me home.

xx