credit
Boldly
Sid's personal blog. Not spoiler free and not safe for work
♥ Free!, SNK, DMMd, Dragon Age, Mass Effect, Dishonored, Adekan, Haikyuu!!, Oofuri

another reminder.

the world is heavy
but your bones
(just a cubic inch)
can hold 19,000 lbs

ounce for ounce
they are stronger than steel

atom for atom
you are more precious than diamond

and stars have died
so that you may live

you need to remember these things
when you say that you are weak
and worthless

Posted on Apr 13— 2 days ago
filed under→ ·writing
I was never insane except upon occasions when my heart was touched. —Edgar Allen Poe (via k-ela-ino)
Posted on Apr 10— 5 days ago
filed under→ ·writing
Being…a woman is an awful tragedy. Yes, my consuming desire to mingle with road crews, sailors and soldiers, bar room regulars—to be a part of a scene, anonymous, listening, recording—all is spoiled by the fact that I am a girl, a female always in danger of assault and battery. My consuming interest in men and their lives is often misconstrued as a desire to seduce them, or as an invitation to intimacy. Yet, God, I want to talk to everybody I can as deeply as I can. I want to be able to sleep in an open field, to travel west, to walk freely at night. —Sylvia Plath (via cowardofconscience)
Posted on Apr 04— 1 week ago
filed under→ ·writing
You are meant to fight. When you are sick, your body fights for its right to function. When you hold your breath, your body fights for its right to breathe. There are billions of tiny events—from the surface of your skin, down to the very cells of your body—that have to happen in order for you to be simply sitting here today. If your most minuscule parts haven’t given up yet,

Why should you? —n.t. (via astrasperas)
Posted on Apr 04— 1 week ago
filed under→ ·writing
There is in every one of us, even those who seem to be most moderate, a type of desire that is terrible, wild, and lawless. —Plato, The Republic (via renaissancemadonna)
Posted on Apr 04— 1 week ago
filed under→ ·writing

My lecture is called “What Makes a Poem a Poem?” I’m going to set my timer.

It’s not rhyming words at the end of a line. It’s not form. It’s not structure. It’s not loneliness. It’s not location. It’s not the sky. It’s not love. It’s not the color. It’s not the feeling. It’s not the meter. It’s not the place. It’s not the intention. It’s not the desire. It’s not the weather. It’s not the hope. It’s not the subject matter. It’s not the death. It’s not the birth. It’s not the trees. It’s not the words. It’s not the things between the words. It’s not the meter-…

(timer beeps)

It’s the timing.

—Charles Bernstein, Professor of English, University of Pennsylvania, “What Makes a Poem a Poem?” (via punch-in-the-face-poetry)
Posted on Apr 03— 1 week ago
filed under→ ·writing

aseaofquotes:

— Rumi

Posted on Mar 30— 2 weeks ago
filed under→ ·writing
have you considered that maybe i am not pleasant?

maybe i wear lipstick so that
you will see my pretty pink mouth
wrapping around a coffee cup lid
and be distracted enough not to notice
that i am intelligent and powerful;
a threat.

maybe i draw my brows into high arches
so you will look at my unimpressed skepticism
and overlook my spiteful glare
as a trick of my silly, girlish routine.

maybe i wear my heels so high and thin
so that i grasp your attention with the sway of my hips
as i listen to the click-clack-click against the floor
and know that if you should try to overpower me
i walk on sharpened knives.

maybe when i laugh at your worthless jokes
i am really baring my fangs
waiting patiently for the day
that i sink them into your neck.

i am not made of porcelain pleasantries;
you will find that these things are my armor
to keep you at a distance
so you do not step on me and shatter
my fragile control.

i am not a husk — i am not wilting.
i am turning my head
so that the fire blazing through my eyes
does not catch on the accelerant of your sweaty palms
and burn your bones to dust.

i am not your pretty girl;
i am a fury, a faerie, a phoenix —
a forest of werewolves and wendigos
that will carve out your chest
so that the next time i paint my pretty pink lips
i will taste the copper tang of your dying breaths. —R.K., I Am The Wolf Only Barely Contained (via bluecheeseandchilipeppers)
Posted on Mar 29— 2 weeks ago
filed under→ ·writing
Posted on Mar 26— 2 weeks ago
filed under→ ·writing

AU ideas!

authorkurikuri:

➸ gets into a cab only to find someone else already inside AU
out walking their dog who starts chasing after the other person’s dog AU
cat/dog runs away and other person finds it AU
mistaken identity AU
pen pals AU
sit next to each other in orchestra AU
partners in (literal) crime AU (theft? fraud? hacking? murder?)
partners in dance class AU
trapped on a deserted island together AU
wizard AU where one accidentally apparates into the wrong house
protester and police officer AU
lab partners AU
new neighbors AU
one’s blind and falls in love with the other’s voice AU
hair stylist/make up artist and actor/model AU
bffs when they were little but one moved away and they run into each other again AU
mailman(/woman) and person who receives a lot of mail AU
private detective and client AU
➸ archaeologist AU
paramedic AU
runaway royalty and confused commoner AU
android and human AU
ghosts in love AU
go to the same support group AU
just keep running into each other everywhere AU
orchestra player/pianist and concertgoer AU
younger siblings are best friends AU
photographer and model AU
writer and editor AU
immortal and non-immortal AU
➸ screenwriter and director AU
greek god and roman counterpart AU
ALL OF THE AUS

Posted on Mar 22— 3 weeks ago
filed under→ ·reference ·writing
Forget stardust—you are iron. Your blood is nothing but ferrous liquid. When you bleed, you reek of rust. It is iron that fills your heart and sits in your veins. And what is iron, really, unless it’s forged?

You are iron. And you are strong. —n.t. (via gnothyself)
Posted on Feb 27— 1 month ago
filed under→ ·writing
I want to be
craved
by you.
I want you
to think about kissing
me
as much as I
think about
kissing
you. —Alena M. (via h-o-r-n-g-r-y)
Posted on Feb 17— 1 month ago
filed under→ ·writing
I’m in love with you. Yeah, it’s that bad. You’re so beautiful to me. Shut up, let me tell you, let me. Every time I look at your face, or even remember it, it wrecks me. And the way you are with me, and you’re just fun and you shit all over me and you make fun of me and you’re real. I don’t have enough time in any day, to think about you enough. I feel like I’m gonna live a thousand years cause that’s how long it’s gonna take me to have one thought about you, which is that I’m crazy about you. I don’t wanna be with anybody else. I don’t. I really don’t. I don’t think about women anymore. I think about you. I had a dream the other night that you and I were on a train. We were on this train and you were holding my hand. That’s the whole dream, you were holding my hand and I felt you holding my hand. I woke up and I couldn’t believe it wasn’t real. —Louis C. K.  (via michellewilliamss)
Posted on Feb 16— 1 month ago
filed under→ ·writing
No, I’m not ok. But I haven’t been ok since I was 11, maybe 12. I am still here though.
I’m still breathing. For me, sometimes, that will have to be enough —Clementine Von Radics   (via artistsuffer)
Posted on Feb 14— 2 months ago
filed under→ ·writing

What To Do When Your Boyfriend’s Asshole Best Friend Says, “Hey, Never Trust Anything That Bleeds For Seven Days And Doesn’t Die,
Right?”
OR The Only Poem I’ll Ever Write About Periods.

Don’t excuse him because he’s had
at least three lite beers
and is sweating through his black button down
that his mom or exgirlfriend
probably bought him.
Don’t excuse him because he’s been turned down
by the last six girls he went on dates with
after meeting them on tindr
with a picture that’s seven years old
Don’t excuse him because
he’s usually such a nice guy
because you don’t want to be a bitch
because you don’t want to cause a scene
because when you were seventeen
your sister told you
no one likes an angry feminist

Tell him,
Hey, Asshole:
Let me explain something to you.
Every goddamn motherfucking month since I was eleven,
a part of me
tore itself to shreds
ripped itself apart inside me
and then remade itself.

So yes, I bleed for seven days
and I don’t die
You know what else can do that?
Gods.
Immortal beings.
Things of legend.
Fuck, I can even
create life.

So I say, never trust anything that can’t
bleed for seven days and not die.
You know what that makes it?
Weak
Fallible
Mortal.
So let’s see, hon,
What you’re made of.
If you can bleed for seven days
and not die.

Rip out his jugular with your teeth.
And when he bleeds for seven seconds
and dies,
spit on his corpse and say,
I thought not.

—Katherine Tucker (via alchemy)
Posted on Feb 06— 2 months ago
filed under→ ·writing