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HaveTales-WillTell on DeviantArthttps://www.deviantart.com/havetales-willtell/art/Recipe-For-Disaster-70407885HaveTales-WillTell

HaveTales-WillTell on DeviantArthttps://www.deviantart.com/havetales-willtell/art/DisQuietude-127756867HaveTales-WillTell

Suggested Deviants

pansydiv

Literature

we're magnetic like that.

you think you’re an enigma and maybe you are maybe you aren’t. i think you laid out little road maps to decrypt yourself. gave us photos of your veins and waited for someone to bleed the colour of it in. from the snatches of your life you’ve written the person you were at seventeen the journals and the blogs and the fire that burnt out with its embers still whispering to you even if none of it seems coherent, none of it is the epiphany you were named for but you are waiting. you think you are an enigma and i love you for it, you need your “gotcha” moments, you spin out ballads of beauty and then end the poem wit

Literature

pride 2017

bleached tangerine hair and aggressive queer vibes, rainbow capes and ripped denim, flannels and boys in lipstick boys with mascara girls with suspenders and brown boots – we took the city in our hands and clutched tight; said “our palms cannot burn because this is what we’re made of – ” and there was noise and shouting and us, existing unapologetic & angry and authentic, it tastes

pansydiv on DeviantArthttp://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/https://www.deviantart.com/pansydiv/art/a-crhy-fr-hlp-797891996pansydiv

BlackBowfin

Literature

This is Our Place

This is Our Place something broke a hole in the barrier; then some event occurred and its memory, still racing toward us in the tunnel called out and sank below our line of sight, when all the bridges between us collapsed there’s nothing here for any of you, there never was never a safe place to dream the wrong thing about the wrong person; but this is our place where the present is built from an engineered gas that expands before you to let you pass through it and contracts, back into solid, behind you this is our place and i’m only here, because like you, i’ve always been here; preserving our intersection of wrong place and time all our possible paths lead here and fold and fill in solidly behind us

Literature

The Poison Time Capsule

there’s a strange shape tangled deep in the thorny embrace of depression’s thicket it slid down the wooded side of the lot where I tend to cast things I don’t know what to do with there’s a stream just past the gully’s decline, but i normally never make it past the tangle all the kids i grew up with that I’ve outlived, bump along there face down in the lazy flow of its shallows a slow trickle that still draws the salmon home; slipping upstream, between those bodies that were, perhaps, called back too memories float, earth erodes and the poison time capsule of boyhood cruelty dissolves slowly against the tongue there’s a strange sense of end tangled deep in its taste like a long spent summer day’s dark walk home

Literature

Now We Know

Now We Know we thought we’d wash up welcomed, like flotsam lost along a well-worn section of beach; but the whole past summer (and spring before it) had been heaped from equal measures of dirty needles, to sand, to feet- and nobody was there to take us home we didn’t expect autumn to fall any softer and it didn’t; its air teemed thick with ghosts of drawn and quartered hope so we fished in its fog in raincoats and respirators for our sanity; fished from piers that disappeared daily as the tide rolled in we’d tread rising waters while every building on the horizon ached into memory, let to sink, like a derelict wreck but, we wanted to be found; needed this, a million times more than we’d ever wanted to find anything, ourselves now we know we were never meant to settle here, but were just unsettling enough to claim here momentarily, and now winter barely even needs to whisper its weapons against us it murmurs that love doesn’t live here and spring doesn’t either, that only the

Suggested Collections

Poetry

Literature

A Robot Love Poem

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Literature

stormchaser

dear sarah, yesterday I tried to swallow the sun. it burned me up on the inside until even my skin was hot to the touch, and I thought of you. I hope you have found better ways than me to feel lighter. heaven knows there are days where I still trade my feet for concrete blocks and try to sprint to the finish line, but at least I have stopped straying towards the riverbanks. at least I get out of bed. most days, that’s enough. but if you tell me that most days life still feels like a choice you’re making every minute, I will tell you that I understand. I have spent years trying to outrun my sadness, sipping sunlight until my vision blurs and looking up only to realize I’ve been going in circles and calling it progress. every escape I ever made is a town I can never go back to and I’m not better for it. I carry so many graveyards around inside of me, and I’ve lost count of how many bridges I’ve burned because I confused loving with leaving. take my sadness away, I don’t

Literature

girls on a roof.

aphrodite passes the blunt to persephone, says you have to tell me how you did that, how you seduced hades and they sit there on the roof, the stars twinkling. persephone looks youthful in a way that’s untouched, as if she’s somehow eternally seventeen or made of sunshine. i didn’t have to do much, she says. and aphrodite who’s spent years reading gossip mags & articles about “ true love ” thinks about how she saw hades take off his leather jacket & wrap it around persephone’s shoulders, easy as breathing. kissed the side of her head. gave

Poetry

Literature

i like to think you think of me

you didn’t come to the airport. i didn’t send the postcard. these are small defeats. easy to swallow, easy to look back at, to pinpoint what we could have done differently, things that would have yielded a different outcome. vary the variables, reset the experiment— you didn’t get me flowers. i didn’t remember your birthday. paper cuts, not amputations. too insignificant to be remembered past the day they happened. blame is a tricky thing. hard to hold in your hands. the first time you take cough medicine that hasn’t been sweetened. a bone that breaks and heals crooked. a load heavy enough that holding i

RaineDrops18 on DeviantArthttps://www.deviantart.com/rainedrops18/art/String-Theory-COLLAB-183169631RaineDrops18

Literature

an open letter to my twelve year old self

one day you will cut all your hair off, and hang up a map of the world in your room and you will look at it on days you think your life is going nowhere. i hate to tell you this, but this isn’t your worst year. it also isn’t your best. one day you will cut all your hair off and realize that some poems need to be read out loud, to an audience, so you’ll take a hammer and some nails and build yourself one out of a girl whose veins look fragile but whose bones are strong, a boy who isn’t as tall as he thinks he is, but whose lifelines are the deepest you’ve ever seen, and a girl whose eyes remind you of the east

poetry

Literature

4-28-15

blue blue blue blue blue blue blue blue blue blue blue blue blue blue blue blue blue blue blue blue blue blue blue blue blue blue blue blue blue blue blue blue blue blue blue blue blue blue blue blue blue blue blue blue blue blue blue blue blue blue blue blue blue blue blue blue blue deep blue blue blue blue blue blue blue within blue blue blue blue blue blue blue a sea blue blue blue blue blue blue blue of blue blue blue blue blue blue blue blue, s t a r s k e e p t h e i

Literature

4-27-15

lights! camera! ¡acción! they dreamed of a film star; a brunette, spunky, romanticized marilyn monroe with feather boas wrapping around her neck, (not a whore, a national anthem), boys piling up at her feet offering tiffany's and cartier's; "no, no, no, no, no!" they dreamed of the rise of hollywood and los angeles, where exactly, are the angels? a place where the money piles high and the paparazzi won't stay low; but i am not a goddess, i cannot influence a nation with charisma and contorted lips. gargoyles stood at the gates of hell, mocking everyone who passed through with eyes open wide, like pizza pies, licking memorie

Literature

inhale.

hearts don't work without heads, so i smashed my own car radio just so i could sit in silence.

Raging Fellas

HaveTales-WillTell

Published: Feb 18, 2009

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Description

What working overtime this past week has done to what was left of my fragile sanity!

Kidding! This was a pic I took last summer, intending to submit it back then (probably for a £deviantWEAR contest or somesuch). So here it is now instead: freshly cropped and edited, and at least six months out of season.

Procrastination for the... uh, the win?