User blog:Fayetheweirdogoblin/poety

"godliness" (tw: violence, bold text)

i'm not the god i once was

my chaos? organized

my rot? cleaned away

wings? plucked clean and stripped of meat

ears and tail? shaved for coats, leaving them to freeze off

the harsh, unforgiving landscape of snow and ice, stretching forever, searing my eyes

"rescued" by those awful hunters, violated and mutated into what i am now

a monstrosity.

a lonely mass of freezing cold air, wrapped in feathers and held together by dewdrops and spiderweb.

the way i watch my pain mold into the shape of my cracking skull.

the way the anger rises, rises, rises.

yet i have to stay here, trapped in this silence, deafened by its overwhelming buzzing

white, staticky, the opposite of my godly home, where warmth and darkness welcome all.

-Faye/Arsyn (they/it)

fallen (tw: fire, toxic friends, repeating phrases)

i can still feel it. i remember when the stars collided and it all went dark.

the way they scorched my wings, sending me crashing down, down, down.

i remember

i remember why

i remember why i fell

i remember why i fell down here

they took me away from those that were toxic

knew i was strong enough for it to heal, for me to stand tall.

i was strong enough, and still am.

-Penelop (she/god)

spinning (tw: repeating words, circus/clowns?)

the ball rolls under me

spinning, spinning, spinning...

my mind, full of giggles, bright colors, a veil to hide the sadness

spinning, spinning, spinning...

the way the ringmaster is silent as i roll across the stage

spinning, spinning, spinning...

the disappointment rattling around in his empty smile

spinning, spinning, spinning...

-Pal (honk/honks)

gender

a social construct that holds us back

our generation, taking the time to act.

working hard

to erase centuries-old scars.

the way we've had this pushed on us since birth

and the way conforming determines your self-worth.

they ask if you've sold your soul,

or try to bury you in a never-ending hole,

of pain and regret

as you sweat and sweat

with the labor of being free,

of being truly non-binary.

your gender grows, twists, and twines

living like the growing vine.

not on either extreme,

somewhere else, in the unseen,

the grey, the unsure

when you're asked questions, emotions stir.

"pronouns?" they ask, shaking their heads,

all the disappointment, left unsaid.

but hold your head high

look them in the eye,

and let those that're negative pass on by.

you don't need to conform

to societal norms,

nor let them tell you who to be,

live your life in your own version of ecstasy.

-almost all of the system pitched in here