A soul can leak a long time: Long enough to believe the coldness is just the weather. Long enough to confuse endurance for healing. Long enough to call numbness peace. Long enough to crave silence instead of safety. Long enough to forget what warmth felt like. #poetry

#foxprose #poetry She is built of mystery and myth, mortared with unanswered questions, crowned in weather that never fully clears. Stories cling to her like old incense half remembered, half invented whispered wrong on purpose. She walks as if legend learned how to breathe,…

The broken record. I let the past bleed out a record that skips, stuck in places that were never meant to be the whole song. My life— a melody that lost meaning. Some wounds don’t want to be forgotten. They itch like unfinished sentences. A scratch that interrupts the flow. #poetry

I’m a little fucked up It’s my magic you see, I created something from nothing regalia from refuse. I learned early how to make beauty hold still long enough to survive in it. So I became a salvage artist. 1/2

Where do all the broken people go? All the broken people go quiet. They learn the language of fine. They hold the world together with the parts no one wants to see and disappear the moment they start to crack.

#Odd #Syncopated #Revelation It didn’t arrive with logic or certainty. It came forth crooked. Truth with a limp, dragging one note behind hesitation. #inkmine

Grit It’s what’s left after the language of “resilience” is stripped away, after optimism is evicted, after hope stops answering its phone. It isn’t chosen. It isn’t aspirational. 1/2

Where do all the broken people go? All the broken people go quiet. They learn the language of fine. They hold the world together with the parts no one wants to see and disappear the moment they start to crack.

Fucking Bitch #poetry I too am a fucking bitch— that’s what you call a woman when anger needs a body to land in. Unchecked anger always needs to be justified by a woman’s tone, timing, or refusal to disappear quietly but don’t worry there’s a bullet for that. #poets

#inkmine #poetry #writing #poem THE ORACLE To tell is the way bruises learn to harden— by pressure, by repetition, by listening when the room goes quiet after something unspeakable is named. An oracle is not a mouthpiece. An oracle is a body that feels silent language…

Sketchbook doodle for today. Picture of a magpie with a crown. Ink drawing on paper.

#bornbattleready #desperation #poem No one knows #desperation like an addict how it sharpens life into a single need, how every clock becomes a throat you try to pry open for air. Desperation teaches fluency in bargains….

#BSPP49 #BlueskyPoetry #poetry Snow is a #shroud clean, practiced. It knows how to cover without caring what it buries. I wish I was snow. It presses the world flat, tucks in death, pretends stillness is mercy. This #boreal silence…

The Shatter It reverberates, echoing everything inside so I might see what a mess things have become. The broom and dustpan sweep away the shards, but nothing changes. Nothing ever changes. #poetry

A cracked mirror doesn’t fracture it practices democracy, none agreeing on what “you” should be. And still, you stare, not at yourself, but at the absence of yourself, and the mirrors politely concede that you were never truly here at all. #poetry

Winters Icy Hand #OurPoetryX #poetry Winter exhales at my throat, a sound without language, and waits. It knows patience. It knows the body will comply if given enough quiet. Breath becomes something to negotiate a privilege, a temporary allowance…

Treasure hunt. You search my words like a thief looking for treasure turning verbs into lockpicks, hoping for a glint of leverage, a foothold of understanding you can claim as conquest. But my language is a decoy. #poetry

Thank you artists poets and writers of Bluesky this is for you— Prue. May 2026 be kinder and May you keep creating. They will call it soft. They will call it indulgent. They will say now is not the time as if time has ever been gentle enough to wait. #poetry #writers #artists #poets

It is truly amazing how many people even with the ability to read miss the point entirely.

#dream #vss365 #poetry ’Tis nothing but a dream we all get our hour upon the stage. Shakespeare knew this: the lights are borrowed, the script unfinished, the exits never announced. What matters is not the brevity but our audacity

It has been decided that the only reason to stay up for new years is to make absolutely, positively sure that 2025 is well and truly gone. I don’t make the rules- tell the others.

#foxprose #poetry She is built of mystery and myth, mortared with unanswered questions, crowned in weather that never fully clears. Stories cling to her like old incense half remembered, half invented whispered wrong on purpose. She walks as if legend learned how to breathe,…

#Travel #vss365 #poetry Sleep is relief not escape, but a boarding pass to somewhere else Somewhere not here. Reality doesn’t vanish, it just loosens its grip, unbuttons its collar, lets the bones rest from holding meaning upright.

When I kiss my lips become poetry not the kind that begs to be read, but the kind felt, and memorized by accident. #poetry

There are no rules that say your New Year’s resolutions can’t be for evil. Growth is growth. Intent is just branding. The calendar won’t object. Time is famously neutral. It will hand you days whether you build a shelter or sharpen your aim. #poetry #newyears

#2WordPrompt #poetry #writingcommunity It’s sad how one can turn something that was beautiful into something not worth fixing or so we tell ourselves when repair would ask too much of our pride.

Words are canceled due to unforeseen circumstances (we apologize for the inconvenience). Sometimes I make terrible beauty that refuses the light yet gorges itself on darkness. A cruel little beast of letters and punctuation that rules my pages. #poetry

Words are canceled due to unforeseen circumstances (we apologize for the inconvenience). Sometimes I make terrible beauty that refuses the light yet gorges itself on darkness. A cruel little beast of letters and punctuation that rules my pages. #poetry

How I’m walking out of 2025: giphy.com/gifs/middle-...

#Blueskyrelay #assimilate #poetry She tried to #assimilate, which required a ladder, three spoonfuls of patience, and a diagram no one could explain. To bend to fit she practiced folding elbows learning new alphabets, spine negotiating politely with corners.

Things I make (in progress): A 1:24 scale Victorian style dollhouse.

Strange. It’s a strange place inside here furnished entirely with doubt and one crooked chair labeled “Probably My Fault”. Feelings have been dismembered politely, cut into neat little portions, toothpicked and arranged as appetizers before the entrée of Regret à la Mode. #vss365 #poetry

The pit of depression is not dramatic. But holes worn deep by repetition. A gravity that forgets to let go. You fall without falling sink while standing still. Morning arrives already exhausted, dragging its light like an apology it doesn’t believe in. #poetry #depression

#vss365 #struggle #poetry Struggle teaches in a cruel dialect. It doesn’t offer answers, only repetitions. It asks the same question every morning: What will you carry today?…

#2wordprompt #dusty #rebel #poetry The Dusty Cape The cape was dusty, disintegrating politely in the corner along with time that pretends it isn’t complicit. Being good had turned into a risk assessment, a brightly colored warning label crafted by people who never planned to bleed…

#vss365 #struggle #poetry Struggle teaches in a cruel dialect. It doesn’t offer answers, only repetitions. It asks the same question every morning: What will you carry today?…

Presence. It’s not the gift not the ribbon or the proof of effort, not the object that will gather dust or find a drawer. It’s that somewhere in the ordinary of your day I appeared. #poetry

So it’s Christmas… #poetry When I was small, magic lived in the air snow cascading like diamonds, each flake a promise that the world was kinder than it looked. Laughter clung to every smile, warm as breath on glass…

#Vss365 #shoot #poetry You think truth is an accusation fired a skirmish of distinction and class, precision dressed up as righteousness. But it’s not a weapon…

#writingcommunity #poetry I am the story I have reclaimed not the one told about me in careful voices or filed under acceptable damage. I gathered myself from fragments a name mispronounced, a silence mistaken for consent, a body taught to disappear politely.

#vss365 #jump #poetry Jump. Sometimes I stand at a precipice, teetering close—too close—yet not quite enough to taste ruin that familiar almost comforting morsel of existence. The ground behind me has already stopped arguing. The air ahead is persuasive…

Not Far From Here #poetry There’s a place not far from here but miles away from where you are measured not in distance but in what we don’t say. You can reach it standing still, letting your mind slip its leash and wander into softer weather. Time behaves differently there.

The Solstice Curse On the longest day (or the shortest the sign flips when no one’s looking), the gate appears between the clock and the mirror. #poetry #solstice

#2wordprompt #dusty #rebel #poetry The Dusty Cape The cape was dusty, disintegrating politely in the corner along with time that pretends it isn’t complicit. Being good had turned into a risk assessment, a brightly colored warning label crafted by people who never planned to bleed…

The Mollusk of Life While the world (they say) is your oyster. Mine is raw, overpriced, And somewhere inside this mess there may be a pearl. Rare of course mostly a product of neglect, an irritation that went unaddressed long enough to be rebranded as value. #poetry

Why don’t they #fight? comes the echo, ricocheting through my skull. He’s hurting you make him stop. #vss365 #fight #poetry

Not Far From Here #poetry There’s a place not far from here but miles away from where you are measured not in distance but in what we don’t say. You can reach it standing still, letting your mind slip its leash and wander into softer weather. Time behaves differently there.

No one wears #humble anymore. It’s out of fashion mistaken for weakness instead of grace. It doesn’t shine under bright lights, doesn’t clammer for attention. #poetry #vss365

#prompt159 #sensewrds Above her, the moon agreed not absent, just reduced, hesitating in its own light, a sliver insisting this was always the intended shape…