JustAnotherFlower
In The Garden
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📚 The Pretty Words and Poetry Dump 📚
- Thread starter JustAnotherFlower
- Start date
JustAnotherFlower
In The Garden
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PrettyLilPussy19
🦇 Morticia 🦇
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JustAnotherFlower
In The Garden
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JustAnotherFlower
In The Garden
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i am monogamous to chaos.
the way destruction flirts
with rebirth.
the way heartbreak
moans itself into poetry.
the way death itself winks,
reminding me every climax
is also a funeral.
i am married to the madness.
my vows are carved into my scars.
the kind of devotion that doesn’t fit
inside hallmark cards.
the way everything falls apart
just enough to turn me on
again.
i am religious about the way
this world fucks me open.
i believe in making out with grief
until joy interrupts and climbs on top.
i believe in orgasms of awe
when the body remembers
it’s temporary.
i am a devoted disciple
of the unhinged,
the untamable.
every morning i wake up
to kiss the mouth of uncertainty,
tasting the sharp sweetness of maybe
as she comes harder than any dream ever could
with her hand on my chest reminding me
that survival is the kinkiest love story
we’ll ever live.
and if that makes me crazy,
so be it.
at least i’ll die
having made out with god
in the backseat of my own damn heart.
By Christopher Sexton
(And yes, that's how he typed it out.)
the way destruction flirts
with rebirth.
the way heartbreak
moans itself into poetry.
the way death itself winks,
reminding me every climax
is also a funeral.
i am married to the madness.
my vows are carved into my scars.
the kind of devotion that doesn’t fit
inside hallmark cards.
the way everything falls apart
just enough to turn me on
again.
i am religious about the way
this world fucks me open.
i believe in making out with grief
until joy interrupts and climbs on top.
i believe in orgasms of awe
when the body remembers
it’s temporary.
i am a devoted disciple
of the unhinged,
the untamable.
every morning i wake up
to kiss the mouth of uncertainty,
tasting the sharp sweetness of maybe
as she comes harder than any dream ever could
with her hand on my chest reminding me
that survival is the kinkiest love story
we’ll ever live.
and if that makes me crazy,
so be it.
at least i’ll die
having made out with god
in the backseat of my own damn heart.
By Christopher Sexton
(And yes, that's how he typed it out.)
Awaywego
Fun times
- Joined
- Nov 5, 2017
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- 4,917
Been a minute, Just! I love this and soo needed it today. Hope you are well overall in your world, I resolving mine. I a positive way, it feels now.
PrettyLilPussy19
🦇 Morticia 🦇
- Joined
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JustAnotherFlower
In The Garden
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- Mar 25, 2019
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JustAnotherFlower
In The Garden
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I want you to be happy
because you deserve to be happy.
I want you to be happy
because it makes me
happy to see you,
the way you were .
always meant to be.
--Mark Anthony
because you deserve to be happy.
I want you to be happy
because it makes me
happy to see you,
the way you were .
always meant to be.
--Mark Anthony
JustAnotherFlower
In The Garden
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- Mar 25, 2019
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there’s no such thing as writer’s block.
just cowards who won’t take the condom off
their creativity.
poetry is better naked.
you think you need inspiration,
but you really need intimacy.
tell me: when’s the last time
you let your imagination climax
instead of curating it
for likes?
you want to know why your words feel flat?
because you keep wiping them down
with clorox before you serve them.
art is a mess babe.
let it drip.
stop pretending creation is clean.
it’s sex with god’s shadow.
it’s death biting its lip .
it’s birth that bleeds.
it smells like sweat,
not stock photos.
true creativity is regenerative.
not recycled. not rehearsing.
but fucking life so raw
the world around you grows wild again.
anything less is just repackaged plastic.
feral is the flavor of truth.
art without audacity tastes like stale bread.
By Christopher Sexton
just cowards who won’t take the condom off
their creativity.
poetry is better naked.
you think you need inspiration,
but you really need intimacy.
tell me: when’s the last time
you let your imagination climax
instead of curating it
for likes?
you want to know why your words feel flat?
because you keep wiping them down
with clorox before you serve them.
art is a mess babe.
let it drip.
stop pretending creation is clean.
it’s sex with god’s shadow.
it’s death biting its lip .
it’s birth that bleeds.
it smells like sweat,
not stock photos.
true creativity is regenerative.
not recycled. not rehearsing.
but fucking life so raw
the world around you grows wild again.
anything less is just repackaged plastic.
feral is the flavor of truth.
art without audacity tastes like stale bread.
By Christopher Sexton
JustAnotherFlower
In The Garden
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- Mar 25, 2019
- Posts
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PrettyLilPussy19
🦇 Morticia 🦇
- Joined
- Aug 13, 2018
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JustAnotherFlower
In The Garden
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JustAnotherFlower
In The Garden
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- Posts
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Did you see Christopher Sexton is doing a poem raffle? It's... tempting..
PrettyLilPussy19
🦇 Morticia 🦇
- Joined
- Aug 13, 2018
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No! That's a cool idea!Did you see Christopher Sexton is doing a poem raffle? It's... tempting..
JustAnotherFlower
In The Garden
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- Mar 25, 2019
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PrettyLilPussy19
🦇 Morticia 🦇
- Joined
- Aug 13, 2018
- Posts
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Well goddamn... if it's hotter than just the offer I'm not sure I could stand it...Look it.
JustAnotherFlower
In The Garden
- Joined
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It's tempting... so tempting...Well goddamn... if it's hotter than just the offer I'm not sure I could stand it...
PrettyLilPussy19
🦇 Morticia 🦇
- Joined
- Aug 13, 2018
- Posts
- 30,650
If you win..... let me peek??
JustAnotherFlower
In The Garden
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- Posts
- 15,777
JustAnotherFlower
In The Garden
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PrettyLilPussy19
🦇 Morticia 🦇
- Joined
- Aug 13, 2018
- Posts
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Ill be gentle and keep it safe.At my poem?! How scandalous...
I love it.
JustAnotherFlower
In The Garden
- Joined
- Mar 25, 2019
- Posts
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JustAnotherFlower
In The Garden
- Joined
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what if shadow work is just the love story
we’ve been too afraid to tell,
the one where we kiss the monster
instead of slaying it?
where we find the dragon in the cave
and realize it was never guarding gold,
but the part of ourselves
we left behind.
if god made us from dust,
maybe that’s why we fall apart
so beautifully.
maybe every breakdown
is just our soul remembering
how to be soil
so we can finally grow
into the kind of freedom
that doesn’t fear being held.
maybe growth is realizing the demon
has always been your reflection.
and the flex is fucking it raw
until you both climax
into heaven.
sometimes i wonder if mythology is just
physiology before microscopes.
hera as the endocrine system,
jealous and hormonal.
zeus as testosterone
with a thunderbolt.
persephone as the
vagus nerve
descending.
maybe the greeks
just listened to their guts better than we do.
who decided that psyche and soma
were ever separate?
the myth of mind above matter
was the worst fairytale we swallowed.
truth is, your cells are listening
to your shame
like it’s bedtime music.
truth is, your jaw remembers betrayal
better than your journal does.
jung said “until you make
the unconscious conscious
it will direct your life
and you will call it fate.”
i think fate is just the shadow’s
marketing department.
branding every unprocessed memory
with a logo i mistake
for destiny.
what if i said hell is just
someone’s childhood written in flames?
or if heaven is just their mother
finally saying “i’m sorry”?
what if myth is just trauma
that lived long enough
to hire a publicist?
maybe the gods are just men
who refuse to shut up about their shadows.
what if every relationship is just two people
arguing over which myth they’re starring in?
i thought we were romeo and juliet.
she thought we were persephone and hades.
turns out we were just two orphans
fighting over who gets to be
abandoned first.
-Christopher Sexton
we’ve been too afraid to tell,
the one where we kiss the monster
instead of slaying it?
where we find the dragon in the cave
and realize it was never guarding gold,
but the part of ourselves
we left behind.
if god made us from dust,
maybe that’s why we fall apart
so beautifully.
maybe every breakdown
is just our soul remembering
how to be soil
so we can finally grow
into the kind of freedom
that doesn’t fear being held.
maybe growth is realizing the demon
has always been your reflection.
and the flex is fucking it raw
until you both climax
into heaven.
sometimes i wonder if mythology is just
physiology before microscopes.
hera as the endocrine system,
jealous and hormonal.
zeus as testosterone
with a thunderbolt.
persephone as the
vagus nerve
descending.
maybe the greeks
just listened to their guts better than we do.
who decided that psyche and soma
were ever separate?
the myth of mind above matter
was the worst fairytale we swallowed.
truth is, your cells are listening
to your shame
like it’s bedtime music.
truth is, your jaw remembers betrayal
better than your journal does.
jung said “until you make
the unconscious conscious
it will direct your life
and you will call it fate.”
i think fate is just the shadow’s
marketing department.
branding every unprocessed memory
with a logo i mistake
for destiny.
what if i said hell is just
someone’s childhood written in flames?
or if heaven is just their mother
finally saying “i’m sorry”?
what if myth is just trauma
that lived long enough
to hire a publicist?
maybe the gods are just men
who refuse to shut up about their shadows.
what if every relationship is just two people
arguing over which myth they’re starring in?
i thought we were romeo and juliet.
she thought we were persephone and hades.
turns out we were just two orphans
fighting over who gets to be
abandoned first.
-Christopher Sexton
Susurration
Whispering softly
- Joined
- Dec 18, 2007
- Posts
- 24,323
What if I had said yes
Yes, the word that seems to easy to say
Yet, it is often the word so farthest away
A single syllable, one merest of utterances
To be bold though is a story never told
To decline is safety, wrapped up in the warm
The cosy, the comforting, the thought of doing the right thing
Loyal to fault, eases the path to harmony
Yet those paths of least resistance leave a feeling of loss
A lingering that the mind will toss like a coin destined to be neither head nor tail
The missed chances, the closed doors, the vicarious visualisations of what might have been
The maybes, the if only, the what if I had never let you go
Still, it is all long gone now, passing into the vanishing point of distant crepuscular evenings
The boulevard of broken dreams, the cherry blossom petals falling like confetti to the floor
All for what if, the what if I had said yes
(This is my own writing cobbled together at 1:43am UK time, so please be kind if you do critique it).
Yes, the word that seems to easy to say
Yet, it is often the word so farthest away
A single syllable, one merest of utterances
To be bold though is a story never told
To decline is safety, wrapped up in the warm
The cosy, the comforting, the thought of doing the right thing
Loyal to fault, eases the path to harmony
Yet those paths of least resistance leave a feeling of loss
A lingering that the mind will toss like a coin destined to be neither head nor tail
The missed chances, the closed doors, the vicarious visualisations of what might have been
The maybes, the if only, the what if I had never let you go
Still, it is all long gone now, passing into the vanishing point of distant crepuscular evenings
The boulevard of broken dreams, the cherry blossom petals falling like confetti to the floor
All for what if, the what if I had said yes
(This is my own writing cobbled together at 1:43am UK time, so please be kind if you do critique it).
