a compilation of my poetry and journals.
— raphaelite
RMH
KIROKAZE
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
cherry valley forever

JBB: An Artblog!

JVL

PR's Tumblrdome
Cosmic Funnies
art blog(derogatory)

blake kathryn
Jules of Nature
Monterey Bay Aquarium

izzy's playlists!
tumblr dot com
Show & Tell
YOU ARE THE REASON
Not today Justin

oozey mess
seen from Spain
seen from Portugal

seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from Japan

seen from Brazil

seen from Austria

seen from United Kingdom

seen from Netherlands
seen from T1

seen from Germany

seen from United States

seen from Türkiye
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from Japan

seen from Türkiye
seen from Malaysia

seen from Netherlands

seen from United States
@raphaeliteocean
a compilation of my poetry and journals.
— raphaelite

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Got impatient waiting for the bbno$ilco cosplay so I did it myself lol
Okja (2017) dir. Bong Joon-ho
i actually think im dying
this came out SO TRASH im not showing the full thing
i will make beauty for you, i will, i will, i will; god, can’t you hear me? my fucking promises bleed guilty with every stitch in this blanket, the gold dashes score down my back too, and the sky. i’m spinning this thread and encasing its thunderstorm ache with amber — finger; tongue; thread — it has become an exchange, the lick to unearth any value from my lungs vs my best attempt at disguise. when you look up at the stars, do you scream my name? can you promise me it was once in love and once in pain and nothing more? would you seal a promise with a lie or have i bet on the only nobel heart dancing the horizon?
i’d ache slowly into the backdrop of shame if it meant it would take me as its own and never bother me again. i could earn a place with embarrassment and the others, travel with the pack — always stay on the winning side — and knot the string keeping me to life.
i am an orphan of emotion.
you have emancipated me from my truth. my words will never know the weight, they will never know.

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
yesterday, i heard a line from one of my heartbreak vessels, it made me shudder and ache. i hurt all over, each cog that makes me love is coated in rust, why did i let doubt poison my reason? you know i’d wait, i have been, i have been. i was not ready to pour this maple into somebody else, i said i was, i just needed it. you know all my fantasies revolve around keeping you safe? i miss when you loved me and told me things. i got turned away from a dam - you drain all of the fear from me. why can’t i feel what i could give to you? did you lock your canary in a cage to check if my heart is a cole mine? did you really think that would save me from suffocating you with it?
when the clouds of overwhelm unpick my comfort, i sit and explain. i explain to my shower tiles, ivory and stark, i watch them morph into faces and scenes and understanding. i have never said enough, i have never been enough, never funny or entertaining enough. i’ve tried but you know how much mediocrity burns my reason, nobody praises a middle, nobody gives a middle a second chance. that’s what the water sings when it taps down my back, it feels comforting but then it stings days after.
what is the component within that rust tinted touch?
hold my hand and watch me sink — a romantic baptism; will you ever see me breathe again? do you want to?
this feels renaissance. these words, not you or anything i’ve seen. i suppose the paintings were just a dream; they gleam with moonbeams, i know you know what i mean.
oh to be a muse…to float in and out of art as if it is mine and everybody else’s all at the same time. to be studied not for what i could be, or what i am not, but for the curve of my jaw and the tilt of my smile. to be studied is to be loved. to be learnt is to be loved. who am i to value love in this way when a muse is just a title and a title is just word? who am i to put such weight to words? who am i to pray to them? oh to be a muse…like a fairy fluttering through golden lights, like one sitting upon a tall Sacramento spruce in December. oh to be a muse, a muse made of magic.
quit writing poetry raph, you know i don’t read them. what do you mean you’re not searching the passers of the thames for a coat that i would wear? what do you mean you’re not looking for a footprint that could be mine? what do you mean you aren’t digging up the buried threads in your graveyard hoping for a silver that matches me? why do you love like a person and not a human? how do i sit and live in fantasy when all you do is live in reality? is the heart you live in the one in my chest or my head? are you sure you’re not scraping through every word looking for an authentic piece of me? how could you love me with a single glance? how is that possible?

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
my yearning heart stretches to freedom, the dream of it. there is a boy with a tear-stained face, one with long dark curls and the deepest, galaxy drawn eyes any soul had ever felt. his heart skipped over some of the beats, a jazz piano organ, scatting guts, gruesome exploration. he stretches his arms out like an angel, he could show you the world, he is within very small parameters. like an ant in a matchbox, he only knows the world through corners and straight lines. i do wonder who i would be if i had the words to untangle myself as a child. all i know is explanation. it lingers and weaves and stains my capillaries, eventually travelling down to my stomach and forcing a tumble of letters to eject from a warm home to a cold room. i’m making up for lost time with a string of pearls caked with blood. do you wish to wear these ornaments? a compass, hourglass or noose. which are carved within your chest? do my aches cover or reveal you? will i ever know the clarity of existence?
i remember when i was fifteen, i sunk my hands into the tar of reflection and found that jet-black goo wanted to hold me for a century. up to my elbows coated for a lifetime, a thousand cut up minutes compiled into irredeemable insanity. i was sure, certain, the guts crawling in my skin could never ever be seen. and now i look down at my hands, and study the flicks of black peeling at my fingernails, and remember the kindness of time. the grandmother under the lemon tree, jug of water in hand, pouring ever so gently for a millennia.
forever and always, i will be found under the syrupy suffocation, forever and always.
forever and always, i will trust tattooed copper digits with my future, forever and always.
when i think of home, the one i can never go back to, i think of rich, deep tangerine sunsets as thick as honey. i feel the sun sticking to my form long into the night as if it could ever keep me; a desperate hug that kept me awake through august and now. i hear children laughing and kicking around a ball on shortbread coloured ground, i watched from the roof, over the hexagonal walls. do you hear me when i let them walk all over me? did this spirit pass down through generations to be crushed by a stinging laugh on a playground? am i the man to write myself into a corner kept alive by blood that keeps getting out of them?
henna, do you think of me when you pray? beads envelope over scarred, tattooed hands, and i sit in my bedroom making stories trying to stay stitched together.
Do you ever feel like theres a boy you could have been? Where does he live? Is it neverland? A place full of lost boys and happy endings unable to be reached by their youthful hands. My lover was in my arms when they told me our scars didn’t pull us here, they painted a canvas with two clean and free bodies stumbling over each other in the sunlight. Did you know that? Did anyone think to tell you? That it never needed to happen?
‘We mustn’t linger.’
Let the pain wash over your terracotta skin, pretend you weren’t a child meant to soak up the world with every moment.
Does my lost boy hold onto the sun with a lasso, as to never see the darkness, or does he look up to the sky like a sunflower and pray? Do you think he has felt that peace the darkness holds when there are no monsters lurking? Who would i be without the places that have hurt me?
Who will be the first stranger to love my words? Tell me there will be one, it’s all my vineyard heart is ripening for, all this merlot blood is fermenting for.
Did you see my guts as a drink when i first presented them to you, reader? Was the begging silver platter too much of a giveaway?
With every word, i creep nearer. Nearer to the cannibalistic punch of the forgotten boy residing in this flesh and coated in cotton. He is soft and hopeful, and he can’t find a home within these walls of humanity. Where the craving creature speaks, the boy with a freshly gifted daisy chain stands. Know he is there and waiting, he waits his turn but always wishes to talk. Just talk. About flowers and bees, he has long dark hair in ringlets at the bottom, he doesn’t care much about walls or cages yet.
it’s been a week since i have kneeled down to worship you. language, my lover. i have had too many thoughts of Decay and its siblings, they curl around the rusting copper core i named Doubt. she sings a wistful tune, filled to the brim with something thinner and far more shallow than sadness but drowning all the same. my mouth chokes on you, this nothing, this nothing sea.
since i was born, i started to decay.
why do i crumble down to a pulp around heads filled with duller and more elastic colours than mine? i don’t know how to ache without a series of untrained words meant for a party tumbling out of my mouth. the party they scream to attend is a ‘poem’ apparently.
nuance will never be my lover (or will she, or will she or will she?). this time is spiralling with every metallic coating that could reflect the sun. this weighted scale of emotion brings me down to a place i have erased from my soul’s vernacular. the past in my bones reeks with mould and i scramble to get its stain off me before i become one of Them once more; only the fearing know what i mean.
i kissed. i kissed and kissed and kissed. and i feel as if it was wonderful and imperfect. it was a delicate hunger, lust knows nothing of this delicacy, no, it was a being of beginnings. if i become familiar with your breath and your mouth and your hands and your voice, then i will claim this a love with a capital L. i have love in my heart and i have planted you all down the canal, but the flowers are what i wait for. not the first time i see them, but the subconscious feeling of Close when i reach the only yellow pansy on the strip — the slow warming burn of familiar, it will brush along the back of my neck like the Moroccan sun in October, it will be a sign of change but not a sign of end.
i sobbed. i sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. a stark white closing around my heart with a cold and disrespectful sting. how dare you cast this smokey somber cloud over me once more? how dare you allow its darkness to bleed ‘alone’ like paint in thunderstorms? the calluses on my feet from climbing that spiked and burning hot ladder, do they mean nothing to you? would you like to see them? all ugly and rough?
is it that these ulcers are not made for a restricted soul like yours or is it that every iris in this place has dulled like mine? tell me, so i can write you off; tell me, so this bubbling hot spring of injustice doesn’t stay in my stomach for eternity, tell me, so i can be free.

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
i haven’t checked in. i’ve arrived to an empty home. a house not a home. i’m waiting for an emotion to strike me dead, or alive, whichever i need more. i want to live. i want to dance. it’s all i’ve dreamt of for months. these people won’t see you. but i see them, their truth is stinging my sensitive skin every second. i’m going to walk away and make a new way. a week filled with false starts. where do i find the solace and recognition? if not in humanity? i should write a book. cram it with every emotion there is and make people weep with blood and sorrow from marks on paper. i know this world is becoming refined. i know queerness is awaiting my arrival, i need to put on my big black boots and run. i know i decide my fate, and make a life for myself out of the nearest cardboard and tape, but i fear that wonky castle with a cereal box draw bridge. i fear what i’ve created for it feels like anti-yearning, and who am i with out my aching chest?
will people follow their eyes along my lines and become more than a body? will i ever touch the inside of someone with more than my fingers? if my blood stream could merge with yours and our cells could learn from each other, my spine would be carved more beautiful than your eyes in the middle of the night. i am so afraid of change i bottle permanence into cartons and sell it to the clouds. who am i to deny fantasy to the ‘passing’? who’s to say they won’t be there tomorrow?
.mirror.
fairytale advisor’s lake,
unfold your Pre-Raphaelite ache,
hear my call through the wake,
unearth your soul to my plague,
this disease residing in my bones,
it begs to claim desire as its own,
when will Echo break his throne?
my ribs are where arrogance carved its home,
who am i when i peer into you?
holding a secret too heavy to prove,
your eyes stutter between truths,
this iris is too treacherous to lose,
whenever i reach, i become further away,
perhaps this forgery is as clean as day,
what is a lover but a reflection astray?
my muse are these digits as i clone this clay.