Collecting Dust

He sat in the middle

with his feet propped

hands resting on his knees

and minuscule strings

glinting with every flick 

of his wrist

his gift

was breaking tiny dancers

puppet master running through marionettes like

little boys breaking toys and joy

when he unwrapped, unraveled 

gift paper

ribbon strings

and fling

after fling

after fling

marionettes kept on their feet

and knees

and backs

on shelves collecting dust

in an old forgotten room

in a toy shop where lust

had been the herky jerky dance

of every doll with moving parts

and they danced

and danced

and danced for him

their hearts 

only sewn in

by the puppet master

and his pins

his pens

the caps chewed

nail bitten

scuffed shoes

and eyes that knew

every groove

and every knick

every invisible little tick

of the tiny dancers

that jiggled their knees beneath their desks

every curve of their necks

and every unsure breath

they self consciously let

and with carving knives for eyes

he caressed

and caressed

until their backs were straight

and they leaped

and the danced

until their strings

snapped

and they were added;

just more broken puppets

in the back.

1 note

Date someone who is interested in you. I don’t mean someone who thinks you’re cute or funny. I mean someone who wants to know every insignificant detail about you. Someone who wants to read every word you write. Someone who wants to hear every note of your favourite song, and watch every scene of your favourite movie. Someone who wants to find every scar upon your body, and learn where each one came from. Someone who wants to know your favourite brand of toothpaste, and which quotes resonate deep inside your bones when you hear them. There is a difference between attraction and interest. Find the person who wants to learn every aspect of who you are, and hold onto them.

134,926 notes

queerart-civildisobedience:

necessary for life and not being poisoned with acrylics

queerart-civildisobedience:

necessary for life and not being poisoned with acrylics

(Source: princusbeau)

61,144 notes

People do not seem to realise that their opinion of the world is also a confession of their character.
Ralph Waldo Emerson (via quotes-shape-us)

845 notes

Listen, I know there were days you wanted to die

when the sky was so clear
you’d stand obnoxious underneath it
begging for stars to shoot you
just so you could feel at home.

I know about the ways you misplaced all the right words,
stockpiled every important social cue you ever missed
from the first time you learned you were wrong,
waited to make it right
once everyone stopped watching.

I know you let them beat up your beauty in bed
because redemption was still alive in you, howling relentless, gathering strength.
Felt like ecstasy when they pounded it out of you in the hard dark.
Those days of dead weather
got all strung together
and they spoke for you,
wore you down to telling everyone here it was a good life
so you could run back into the wails of your windfight.

I know the parts of your past that haunt you the most
are the days you weren’t being yourself,
and I know that’s why most of your past haunts you.
There were so many who found you out,
and they were right.
You were good.

So
un-
numb.

Buddy Wakefield, “Healing Hermann Hesse” (via cloudyskiesandcatharsis)

2,437 notes

I’ve been lonely for a long time now, hoping anyone who I perceive as better than me will scoop me up on a night kite rescue mission and love me so hard that I can finally forget about this feeling left over from all the years my blood was boiling. Dear Gravel, it doesn’t work like that. If anyone ever loves you that hard, hard as you’ve been dreaming, chances are you will not believe them
until you accept yourself.
Buddy Wakefield, Start (via andreagoldston)

2,280 notes

Silent Writers Challenge: Spoken Word Collaboration #3

silentwriters:

From the group that brought you “Who Am I?" and "Scars"…

Silent Writers is proud to announce our next Spoken Word Collaboration.

What originally started off as a single poem read by 15 Tumblr artists (“Who Am I?”), eventually lead to a massive collaboration of 42 Tumblr artists on our following project (“Scars”).

We believe it’s time for another casting call… (No head shots required.)

For this project, we are looking for artists who are willing to do a 10 word, spoken word, poem about “Beauty”. What does beauty mean to you? What are signs of beauty? What does beauty entail? Does this dress make me look fat?

For those interested… Please send Silent Writers an ask, so we can add you to our sign-up list. Sign-ups will end on August 16th and audio submissions must be submitted by August 23rd.

We can’t thank the Tumblr Community for being so supportive and active with our past Spoken Word Collaborations. We look forward to making this one another great success.

Good luck!


PS - After you have officially signed up, you can begin working on your 10 word poem. Once you are happy with your piece (a rarity for Tumblr artists), record yourself reading it and submit the audio file to thesilentwriters@gmail.com; so that we may add it to the collaboration.

[Please Note: If your submission is irrelevant in terms of the overall project or doesn’t meet the standards on the collaboration, you will be politely asked to alter it. The same goes for audio files that are either unusable or heavily corrupted. If your piece is not corrected within the given time frame, it will be unfortunately left out.]

79 notes

Creativity is intelligence having fun.
Albert Einstein (via perfectionisodd)

37 notes

She stood on a pine tree
with her hair telling stories of lust
and her eyes begging a star explosion
to mirror her life.

He watched the pixies playing tricks,
a stain on his jeans
and the quarter in his pocket
burning a star trail
to the moon.

Nothing happened of course.
She danced. He spoke to the voices
of doubt and longing.

Walking home they laughed
and sank to the stones.
Knees bleeding and hearts mending
they watched the sky
and continued to live.

Michel LazzaroA Night Like No Other (via elzaro)

43 notes

320*

straynotions:

     *

straining to breathe the clotted air
like having a loved one
smother you with a pillow

carrying on amidst the creaking commotion
the gas an affluent extravagance
against the abundance of tears

hands upraised in smirking outcry
less a token of genteel protest
carrying the weight of glass ceilings

     * 

68 notes

wetheurban:

DESIGN: The Future of Makeup Has Arrived

Using incredibly precise light projectors, Nobumichi Asai has demonstrated how a person’s face can be digitally altered in real-time.

Read More

11,211 notes

perfectionisodd:

I think formality escaped her;

A tight squeeze into jeans, salad or cosmetics wouldn’t do.

She’d rather loose jeans and powder-less beauty.

She’d rather never say her name after one night of fun;

Keep a virgin heart and never change her ways.

She’d rather be alone than mal-accompanied;

                Live to live

                And never die

                                 When age turns ugly.

21 notes

Trapped in a wooden box
with a lighter and match
I pour fluid on the floor
and mix the ink dripping
from my t-shirt
with the receipts for secret dinners
I found hidden in coat pockets.
Somewhere in the hall
a man is yelling at the receptionist
as I scrape my skin with charcoal
and wait for the rough words
to sink in.
My shirts are white washed
pictures of a sunset.
I refuse to be sad.
I am happy alone.
Michel LazzaroSoon The World Will Burn (via elzaro)

22 notes

Dear Marlin (Finding Amanda)

poeticalnonsense:

My job is to write the ghosts
Behind my mask-
And try not to become one.

So many die in pursuit of
Life, the brave and worthy-
Mistakes are made, the young unwary. But I won’t let them unmake me.
These ghosts speak the most sense
Let them tell you their earnest message.

Open your ears when the dead
Tell tales, don’t just wait to speak.

17 notes