miserabel

feelings typed out

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phoenix politics by miserabel, literature

give us another poem by miserabel, literature

maybe the best love story is the boring one by miserabel, literature

werewolves were in our heads all along by miserabel, literature

Literature

werewolves were in our heads all along

there's nothing wrong with me, outwardly, it's just that I sat up this morning and cried. it's just that I shame myself for being human, feeling less human by the day. it's just that I am not kind to me at all, treating my heart like it has s p a c e only for those outside myself. it's just that I claw into my chest, it's just that I give myself these scars - lycantrophy? oh, no. I'm just depressed.

shame on us by miserabel, literature

my love picked me out of the trash by miserabel, literature

Literature

my love picked me out of the trash

you fill a room so easily, and I would purr, basking in your presence. trail your hand over my spine, you know where I love your touch. and you spoil me - some would say, too much. I blink at you slowly from across the room. I know your voice, and you know mine - sometimes, I'll even come when you ask. not always, sometimes I prefer continuing to snooze. but your lap is cozy, your attention a gift, and you feed me well - a stray could not ask for more.

words, dedicated to me, to you by miserabel, literature

two years worth of comfort by miserabel, literature

Literature

two years worth of comfort

I want to write you the best love letter the world has ever seen; I'll recount the times you smiled at me, unexpectedly, and the easy warmth between us at casual touches - hands, lips, a head on lap. I want to tell you that of course, you frustrate me sometimes, humans do have a talent for that, but even frustrated I never forget how precious you are. and I want to keep you safe from the world, want to make sure you're treated right - you're treated well - want to make sure I tell you that you're amazing until you no longer gently disagree. you deserve every love letter, even my mediocre ones. I'll practice sending them out, too.

I can do anything with you in my corner by miserabel, literature

Literature

I can do anything with you in my corner

I wore your ring for weeks before I noticed the small inscription - I'm not always observant, love. I don't always say the thing that is important to be said into the quiet. you've seen me angry, you know sometimes I choke on my words. I get gut feelings, sometimes, and don't know what they mean. and I worry - but you say that's okay. I want to promise to never, never take you for granted. I feel so lucky, knowing you're sticking up for & with me, simply because you decided you like having me in your corner, too.

my trust made you solid but it was always fragile by miserabel, literature

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phoenix politics by miserabel, literature

werewolves were in our heads all along by miserabel, literature

Literature

werewolves were in our heads all along

let me be plantae, I'm in pain by miserabel, literature

days when I'm a little alien (self doubt parade) by miserabel, literature

Literature

days when I'm a little alien (self doubt parade)

your love warms me from the inside out, and I can't help but wonder, on days like this one - when I'm lying to you about being alright, feeling like I'm fraying at the edges, coming apart so slowly and yet so helpless to stop it, when I'm feeling like a mess squared, nothing seems right, someone took my body apart and put it back together just slightly off, like moving all furniture just a few inches so you keep hitting all the corners, catching bruises on hips and shins. where do you find your love for me, when I'm like this? when I'm just pretending to be human, and my skin feels off, and I feel tears itching at my eyes? I wish you could teach me, how to love me when I'm like this.

at least my existential crises are modern and cool by miserabel, literature

Literature

at least my existential crises are modern and cool

we spend our days like this, clinging to pixels to distract from the mess in our heads, or the too-much feelings in our bodies. (sadness, I find in my throat, and anger, in my chest -) hunched over boxes, until our shoulders and our spines ache. hunting for meaning between lost spaces. sometimes it feels like the world is sighing at me, like I'm doing this life thing kind of wrong - I don't know what I'm doing, do you?

so sad, so glad by miserabel, literature

Literature

so sad, so glad

no better company than my sadness and a purring cat. indulging in it, pretend feeling blue is a macaron, a little crunchy but melting on the tongue. listen to the sadness winding itself through your veins like a river, knowing - unlike a river, sadness runs out. but like a river, sadness has to flow or it will spill all over your fields, destroying precious, uninsured crops.

I love to see you write by miserabel, literature

disaster-rich is how we will go down by miserabel, literature

whispers at night by miserabel, literature

Literature

whispers at night

I make an inventory of my aches to try and pinpoint where the pain is - and fail. the pain moves from my breath to my heart, then into my belly. the snake oil salesman offers me more venom. I confess, I get angry at myself; and it doesn't help, but maybe it is good. anger means that things might change; that I have energy to pour, even if it's currently into the wrong cup. deep breath. the world tells me I make myself too small, then it tells me I make myself too big. don't have an ego but have some confidence - there's a mould for me that I will never fully fit. it seems cruel to teach that it is our shapes that are the problem. I've learned, somewhere down the line that my voice is vanilla in the chocolate cake recipe - a sprinkle is okay. so I tread lightly, always afraid to wake a dragon. and I am starting to see, that maybe I should aim to wake some dragons up - after fire, there will be growth.

riot gear by miserabel, literature

Literature

riot gear

there's a tickle of fear rolling down my spine when seeing humans dressed up in enough body armor they look like robots (- uncanny valley, eat your heart out). someone says "they make me feel safe-" but I don't understand how, when all the posturing reminds me that my skull could be smashed in my lungs shot through and I would just be one of many dying this way or that at these heavily gloved hands. it seems only human to be scared of those walking around with the means to kill anyone on the spot. I feel it, even with the protection of my white alabaster skin.

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(9/30) right hook, broken teeth. by incalyscent, literature

Literature

(9/30) right hook, broken teeth.

THIS POEM’S FISTS ARE BLOODY. THIS POEM IS CALLED RIGHT HOOK, BROKEN TEETH. AT THE END OF THE NIGHT, THIS POEM SMOKES A CIGARETTE AND LEAVES YOU FOR DEAD. THERE IS NOT GOODNESS IN THIS. I TRY TO BE SOFT AND THIS SOFTNESS TURNS BROKEN MIRROR. EVENTUALLY I STOP BEING TIRED AND I JUST START BEING ANGRY. MY RAGE IS NOT PRETTY. MY RAGE DOES NOT FLOW TOGETHER. MY RAGE IS NOT INK ON PAPER, LESS A CALLIGRAPHY PEN AND MORE A KNIFE. I DON’T WANT TO BE A KNIFE BUT IT TAKES SO LONG TO DULL SOMETHING SO SHARP. SO HOW DO YOU WANT ME. BLADE SIDE OR BLUNT SIDE. EITHER WAY I’LL MAKE YOU BLEED. EITHER WAY IT’LL HURT.

Graves Into Gardens by mrcrozier, literature

earth is a carnivore by Tiger--eyes, literature

Literature

earth is a carnivore

the wheel is turning and when you speak me into words I do believe colors ripen gravel roads cough up their harvests and every unloved house becomes my home I am made of capricious breezes I am watching for autumn winds I live between the chinks of missing grout and cracking tile drinking up the mud of last year’s pond and I bleed out all my anger into marrow-hungry earth even as the evening shadows lengthen and draw me to my cell where I will swallow down my voice and wait for sun-long days to call again and bring my own blood back to me in velvet skins and sugar flesh so I for once will be my own feast

if i could invent words by twelvedaysofjune, literature

Literature

if i could invent words

i would like to create a word for what one feels when they realize: if we were birds, the only cage we would be in are the ones we create ourselves. how many times have our wings been clipped by our own hands alone. christ, i'm sorry. dear past self: i apologize for trying to define you; for definition is the metaphorical cage to change. the only limit the sky has is how far we can see.

coda by VulturCadens, literature

delicate little orchid by Tiger--eyes, literature

writer's trick by YouInventedMe, literature

Late by cerealnovels, literature

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About miserabel

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Artist // Hobbyist // Literature

Mar 5, 1993
Switzerland
Deviant for 16 years
They / Them

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My Bio

Rule no. 1: Give a llama - get a llama!

Because llamas are awesome.

my wonderful cheshire-icon was made by Herzlose

I appreciate all favs and comments, even though I do not always thank for them. So instead, have a collective thank you here:

Favourite TV Shows

Brooklyn 99, Elementary, Pose, Scrubs, Monthy Python.

Favourite Books

Kafka on the Shore, Die Stadt der träumenden Bücher.

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miserabel

Jun 4, 2020

White Privilege is the Worst

6 min read

by a white person, to my fellow white people. Maybe I shouldn't be surprised, this is only what people of color have been telling me for years, and yet. I am surprised that so many of my queer white friends are being silent on the matter of racial injustice while happily celebrating pride month with a throwaway message, when we wouldn't even have a pride if it wasn't for black people protesting. I am surprised that so many of my white friends are content liking my selfies and ignoring when I try to make space for voices of color. I am surprised at how angry I am. It's too easy not to listen. If I get up and yell about how of course we're all racist, we grew up in a racist society! We watch racist movies, we listen to racist voices, we grow up learning that some people are born bad and that we definitely don't want to associate with them. Being racist is normal! And that is why we have to change what is normal! How many of my white friends will stand there and say "hell yeah", and

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miserabel

Apr 30, 2023

GloPoWriMo 2023: 30 / 30

2 min read

This year was an insane GloPoWriMo / NaPoWriMo for me. Continuing my tradition of writing 30 poems in 30 days every two years - I completed this month in 2019, 2021, and now in 2023. I started on April 7, writing 3 poems: The next day, April 8, I wrote another three poems. And then one more on April 9. 7 poems in total at the end of that: Didn't write on April 10, but I wrote three more pieces on April 11, bringing us up to 10 poems - April 12, poem no. 11: April 15, pieces no. 12, 13, and 14 - still never having caught up at this point! April 16, finally caught up for the first time this year! Writing pieces 15 & 16: And as soon as I had caught up, I fell off. And fell off hard. I wrote some poetry on paper the next week, but the next time I got to type anything down was on April 29, when I published ten (!!!) pieces, numbers 17-26: "this is for the tired poets" was poem no. 20. and then, poem no. 22, I entered a soppy love poetry phase

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miserabel

Apr 30, 2021

GloPoWriMo 2021: 30 poems in 30 days

1 min read

It's time for the final round-up! I skipped the Global Poetry Writing Month last year (I had just started a new job, which I am now finishing up), and this year I struggled along a bit more than I liked, but I managed. It's April 30th. And I wrote 30 poems this month. It's... been a ride. Every single piece I drew out of my emotions, so, there's been a lot of emotions this April. Some sweet, some bittersweet, some sad, some angry, some afraid. 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30.