no one mourns the stump.
on grief is a chapbook written by charle l. containing 20 poems exploring the faces of grief - and recovery.
get it HERE for free (!) or pay what you want // tell me what you think HERE !
DEAR READER
Not today Justin

⁂

JVL
trying on a metaphor
Sade Olutola
will byers stan first human second
Xuebing Du
Stranger Things
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
wallacepolsom
occasionally subtle

Janaina Medeiros
Misplaced Lens Cap

if i look back, i am lost
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
noise dept.

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@streetsiding
no one mourns the stump.
on grief is a chapbook written by charle l. containing 20 poems exploring the faces of grief - and recovery.
get it HERE for free (!) or pay what you want // tell me what you think HERE !

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.
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Do you think they covered up Ryland being forced into space until later when nations are inevitably at war and Stratt is on trial and things come up? Do you think there are audio recordings of Grace begging for his life and his need to stay with the kids that resurface later on? Do you think those kids, now teens or adults, hear those and realize he was just as scared as they were?
grief is a new thing and she is painting the bathroom tiles yellow while i wash today down the drain. grief is a new thing and she is settling into the lightbulbs above the mirror like she has always worn me as a second skin.
i am waiting and wishing; denial comes in the form of 16 i hope you’re okay texts even though i know they reach no ears, calling your name because i know you won’t hear it. composing love letters to you with a shaking voice in the shower stall, asking you far too late- don’t go.
i wanted to say more to you. but then, i want a lot of things. you called me a dreamer; you were right.
i want you to be okay. i want you to wake up tomorrow. i want you to watch the same sunrise i do, because we live in the same time zone. we lived in the same time zone.
tonight i am yelling at my sister because my anger has nothing to burn but my veins. i am watching the empty streets while the sun goes down, the same way it always does. i am kneeling in the shower, crying until my tears run out. until the water runs cold. it is almost midnight. grief pins me to the porcelain with her golden glow and she says stay.
i beg of you, stay.
but i have to wake up tomorrow. so i turn the faucet off.
a goodbye that i can’t bring myself to say // charle l.
I want to eat your sparrow, come here. I want to lick your sparrow claws come here. I want to cut your sorrows out you’re hollowed out. Come here. I want to suck your fingers off. Come here. I want to give you your history back. Your fingers back. I want to tell you yes. Come back. I want to show you my pressure, my heavy, my opened and clothes, my under and o’s. Come here. I want to finger your bones back. I want to sew your bones back I want to re-blood your history. I want to undo you like a mystery novel. Is this the kitchen? The table-saw? Is this your memory? Your tree-dream? You’re declawed. I want to give you your teeth back. Your teeth marks. I want to spit back your teeth-pull. I want to unhinge your heart-jaws. Come here. I want to sit you down on the bed and give you back my years. Here. I breathed your name into the leaves. Here. I breathed you back into the trees. Here. This is your tree-dream this is your tree-house, this is a bedroom, this is a silver broom this is a shallow dream. This is my tree-dirt, my bee shirt. This is my honey-stalk and these are your climbing shoes. Harmonica me to sleep again. Put your sparrow on my back skin. -Kallie Falandays, "I Want To Tell You Yes"
bathroom sink meditations, r.a.

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i'm doing better than i ever have! and maybe i'm not doing well but
last year i wrote a poem about august and teeth, how the pavement
looked better from the roof of my house.
and i almost wrote the rest of this poem but instead i did my laundry and
sat at the table staring out into the sun-drenched backyard, peeled myself an orange.
along the way i guess i learned that i don't have to die to be reborn, learned how to tie a tourniquet.
sometimes a chrysalis is enough.
i think about butterflies instead of graveyards today, and my hands smell like oranges when i hang my favourite shirt out to dry.
who was i last year // charle l.
i write poems about hope until the words remember my name, until the dusk-bright of my scars peel. take me down to my cracked stone ruins, to the vow in which i wake unshattered.
ARROWED is a chapbook of 13 poems about the sun, honesty, and fear. Download it for free here.
june finds me sitting by the riverside, teary-eyed & trying to count rocks, each smoothed over by cold water. & she doesn't ask me what's wrong but she runs a hand down my back, her yellow heat bleeding into dusk. the skin on my shoulders was peeling just a week ago. i wonder what i look like from the bridge: one body curled up in the reeds, hair soaking up the sun- i wonder if to the fish i'm wearing a halo of summer light. there's no holiness for me here,
baptizing myself in the water alone.
if you’re interested, i’m now hosting a podcast called oceanic hubris where i’m a disaster on main while telling you about my antics & how my writing journey is going. i’ll also be talking about how i improved as a writer & poet. so, the link is right there. i want to warn you though that i recorded this when i was suffering from post-nasal drip so i sound like gamecube frogger to overly nasal nancy and fluctuate between the two.

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.
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Callista Buchen, “Taking Care”
i guess there is light. somewhere, someone is holding light like it's a song and he is saying come here. come home. it's okay. and in some worlds i believe him and i take his hand and in some worlds i say i'm here. i'm home. i'm okay. and in some worlds he believes me and in other worlds i believe myself.
i thought there was a darkness in me that i could never let go of. i thought that i could never forgive myself. but there is a light and he tells me there is good in you. he takes me by the hand and he says there is good in you. there is good in me.
i'm okay. i'm okay. in some worlds i forgive myself and this may as well be one of them.
think salvation. think forgiveness. think aren't they the same? you don't remember the taste of either. you were always a hungry child.
you and your handfuls of sorrow. you and your handfuls of shadow. no one ever taught you how to love in a way that doesn't hurt. burn yourself to ashes and absolve your heart of everyone that has held you. leave them all behind and call it mercy. you're trailing darkness. you're turning from the light. can you forgive yourself? can you forgive yourself?
can you ever forgive yourself?
We are pleased to announce that submissions are now OPEN until December 31st, 11:59pm for Issue #6 of Anatolios Magazine! We accept submissions of prose, poetry, and visual art, including photography. Read our guidelines, then send us your best work. Please remember that this is a themed issue. Your submissions should, in some way, relate to our prompt — winter. Reblog this post to spread the word & encourage your friends to submit!
The submission deadline has been EXTENDED to January 31st, 2020! Spread the word and send in your work!

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
no one mourns the stump.
on grief is a chapbook written by charle l. containing 20 poems exploring the faces of grief - and recovery.
get it HERE for free (!) or pay what you want // tell me what you think HERE !
First of all only two poems in and it is extrememly sexy thank you ily
thank you!!