hi everyone!! not sure who’s still here (i know it’s been awhile for me), but if you’re interested in writing snippets/song recs/book recs/writing tips/general thoughts, feel free to check out my newsletter / medium / goodreads :)
Sorry for all the things I said
when I thought you weren’t listening.
Sorry for all the things I didn’t say
when you were.
excerpt from LOVE LETTERS TO GHOSTS by Arlen C.
hi! i just wanted to let you know i just read "love letters to ghosts" and i loved it sm??? i feel bad i wasn't able to donate anything. your poetry makes me feel how poetry should make people feel, if you get that. anyways!!! good job idk you but i'm proud and as a hesitant poet you've really inspired me
hello!
first off, i’m incredibly glad you liked it - i must admit i felt a little uncomfortable sharing writing that was so personal, but this message makes me happy i did. second of all, i totally understand about donating. if you’d like to help in another way, i would be immensely grateful for a review on goodreads (or if you’re unable, a reblog on the post would be lovely).
thank you for your kind words! and feel free to tag me in anything you create :)
- arlen
LOVE LETTERS TO GHOSTS: a collection of eight poems for someone who will never write back.
Sorry for all the things I said when I thought you weren’t listening. Sorry for all the things I didn’t say when you were.
These poems are available for free download or pay-what-you’re-able—I greatly appreciate any and all donations. This is my most personal work, so I would love if you would take a moment to signal boost this post and rate/review on Goodreads. Thank you all for your endless support.
All my books | Cover art by the talented Dawn.
everyone, it’s official - i’m posting a free chapbook tomorrow (it’s in my queue for 2pm pst). please like/reblog if you’re interested? :)
inkmagician reblogged
look: this, light spilling like honey
from our lips. this, stars finding homes
in the leftover curves of our necks,
bleeding something holy into our skin.
look: this, where you sang until the moon
fell in love with us too. where we wrote
all our sins and set them on fire and danced
until the rising sun kissed wings onto our backs.
look: this, the exit wound you healed
by telling me it was a place for the cosmos
to enter and make me whole again. this,
the castles we built in our heads for each other.
look: let’s go and splinter the stars.
let’s run until we can fit the light in our bodies
and teach it not to escape anymore.
let’s run until we can find our way home again,
until we realize home has been inside of us
the whole time, waiting for us to return.
how to be whole again | a.c. for the infinitely wonderful @poisonlaurels
inkmagician reblogged
one. Every morning leaves me with a mouthful of sorrow. I tell myself that’s because missing you is like an ache but that’s not all true: I miss you, I do, but more than that I miss myself when I was with you, I miss the girl lost in the wildflowers with her eyes open. Eventually the mornings fade into afternoons spent on the couch sifting through maps and ticket stubs and photos littered across the coffee table, a shrine to all the places we’ve been and never will again, but the weight on my tongue never lifts.
two. Sometimes I spend hours listening to your favorite songs to drown out the sound of the girl in the wildflowers calling my name, I think about how you were always full of dreams and ideas and ink-smudged maps with roads that led on and on until the end of forever, you were always so much, you were always more, and I think I was more when I was with you, too.
three. One year ago I buried two fallen angels beneath the wildflowers in the meadow behind our neighborhood, two children with fragile, brittle bones and decaying wings, the evening light paling our haloes and washing the youth right out of our skin. I was too busy crying to realize one of them was still alive, still worth saving.
four. Today I’m going to dig up the girl in the wildflowers and kiss her dirt-streaked cheeks and hold her hand until it becomes warm again. (I won’t look at your body, but the thought of it will be a ghost in my head anyway, like it always is.) She and I will go traveling to all the places marked on our map that you and I wanted to—I think you would have liked that. We’ll hold hands and run into the horizon until, just for a moment, the light breaks around our edges and we blur into one person again, and it will feel just like coming home.
cross my heart: 2 girls, 13 pieces, 7000+ words | by arlen c.
a collection of poetry, prose fragments, and text messages chronicling the relationship between two best friends over one year. a study in childhood promises, dreams, distance, and the unforgettable ache of first love.
predictive poetry using my poem / insp by @hauntingmoon
the light paling to all truth: i miss the end of dreams and ink-smudged maps with fragile, brittle bones and i will go traveling alive, still worth saving.
today i’m going traveling to dig up the sound of forever, you were always full of dreams, always running into the horizon just for a moment. the sound on the coffee table, a shrine to all the ends. for a moment, the light goes out of the girl, the girl in my head. we’ll hold hands and run. one of them was too busy crying into the wildflowers.
one year ago i buried two fragile children, a shrine to all things true: i miss you. you were always so much. she and i will be the ghosts in my head. i spend hours listening to light paling to drown our maps that litter your skin. i was with you a moment. the light breaks around our edges and holds her haloes and ink-smudged maps with roads that litter your body with the places we’ve been. it becomes warm again, and ideas run into the horizon. kiss her hands and run into the weight of our skin. i was with you, too.
today i’m going with the weight of it, traveling with the youthfulness of sorrow. i tell myself when i was with you, you were always full of sorrow. i tell myself that’s not all the girl lost in the wildflowers will be, you’re a ghost in my head anyway, i liked that. we’ll hold hands until we become what we’ve been and we blur into afternoons spent on the wildflowers with you. i miss the coffee table, a shrine to all things true: i miss myself that. we’ll hold hands, just until forever lifts.
one year ago i was buried fallen and never lifted.
one year ago i buried two children with their eyes open. eventually the girl lost in my tongue never will be again, and i'm washing the places we’ve been and i will be a ghost with a mouthful of sorrow. i think about how you were always more, and those decaying wings and the horizon until the evening leaves me with roads: that’s because i’m missing you, missing all the places we’ve been and never will be. a ghost in the girl in the couch sifting the youth right out of it. and we run into the end of forever, you were always full of dreams and i'm washing your favorite songs to drown out how you were, always. she and ideas and ideas and decaying wings, the girl and the thought of them were still worth saving.
GIRL AS GOD by arlen c. / insp by @aislinnrose
Source: inkmagician
Anonymous asked:
hello there, i just wanted to say that your poetry has touched me in a way i've never felt before. if it's not too much to ask, how did you begin writing? was there anything that helped you write poetry? i find it very difficult to write something that will make sense and most of the time the words don't come out the way i want. thank you for your time
thank you for this message, and i’m glad you enjoy my writing!
i began writing mostly (bad) poetry and (worse) microfiction just by opening docs, writing whatever i felt like, and never editing them again. years later, my process is mostly the same, although i will say i spend a bit more time editing pieces to which i feel more of an emotional connection. what helped me write poetry was reading it in large quantities. from shakespeare to sylvia plath, i read all types of poems and grew my own style from there.
i know what you mean - i’ve been going through writer’s block recently, and the best advice i have is if you can’t write, at least read. oftentimes, i’ll stumble across a poem that inspires me to write again. i’d recommend checking out richard siken’s crush if you haven’t already - his writing so expertly explores love and violence and how the two intertwine, you can’t help but be inspired.
i’m sorry i couldn’t be of more help (if i knew how to get out of a writing slump, i wouldn’t have spent the last month staring at blank documents), but best of luck to you on your writing journey.
- arlen
hello, friends! i’ve created a summer newsletter to share tidbits of my life with you all, from recommendations to updates to everything between. check it out before the first email this weekend!
a girl is an abyss a knife still wet with murder no angels left in her don’t you accept that bloodied hand.
Source: inkmagician
This poetry is amazing :3 I was wondering when your book will be available to buy? Not digitally I mean like to order. Honestly you just have such great pieces :3
hello! not sure which book you mean, so i’ll answer both:
- unmythologize: has already been published. you can find it as an ebook here. there is no printed version.
- fade to light: set to be published in summer 2017. there will most likely be both a printed and ebook version. if you haven’t already filled it out, please check out the interest form! if you have, i’ll use the info you provide to contact you with more details once the publication date is closer.
thanks for the compliment and for your interest!! :)
how?? is your writing so pretty? thank u for existing & sharing ur works w all of us u are amazing
this is so kind, thank you very much!! :)
i know how you kissed her last night / eyes open and mouth closed / hands like doves fluttering at her shoulders, never holding / still // i know how you looked over her head / for something already gone / pretended her warmth beneath your fingertips / was me instead // i know you better than that / oh she's the sun, something you can only see / out of your periphery / something you can only touch / in pieces and never in wholes // i know you in continents / maybe her light can paint you gold / but i held your trembling hands in the dark / and your doves found a roost in me