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ardentlies

United States

+ also tøp and p!atd trash

+ loves way too many tv shows and prefers dogs over humans

+ severely allergic to sexists, racists, homophobes & xenophobes

+ chance the rapper attitude + kanye feelings

Message from Writer

hello. if you've read my stories/poems and you liked them, thanks fam.

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ardentlies (United States) published:

a willing apocalypse

FREE WRITING

a willing apocalypse
when the bullet rang, i prepared to race
when the heavens fell, the angels lost grace
when the bell broke the silence, the diver fell
when the world ended, the devil raised hell
i watched oceans flood with their liquid palms  
i watched fires consume life, guided by the bombs
i watched the world end and let it take me
i watched the world die and enjoyed the quiet

30 minutes ago

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ardentlies (United States) published:

a girl of color in a pale world

FREE WRITING


my daughter asks me why her skin is brown
  • like sweet milk swirled into bitter coffee
and why her eyes aren’t blue or green
  • “why are they so dark, mama? i want blue eyes like ashley novak”
she asks me why her thighs touch
  • “these jeans don’t fit, mama”
she asks me why her jeans don’t fit her properly
and why her adolescent chest is forced into a bra
and why she can’t eat meat on certain days and weeks...
Seeking Peer Reviews

2 days ago

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ardentlies (United States) published:

the queen

FREE WRITING

                                                                THE GOLDEN DAYS / OF A QUEEN                                 
in a world where dirty money filled paved streets, people swam in champagne and sins became the only thing on drunken lips,     a woman realizes the golden days weren’t there to stay

“Your name, ma’am?” The man’s eyes don’t stray to the woman in front of him, too busy checking off the guest list.

“Maia Konstantin,” she says with steady confidence, commanding attention. She’s an anomaly in an amethyst-draped svelte dress among...
Seeking Peer Reviews

2 days ago

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ardentlies (United States) published:

when will the golden days return?

FREE WRITING

a pile of polaroids sits in his nicotine-stained hands
where memories, bitter and sweet, are captured
they beam with smiling faces smiling, laughing faces,
living ghosts and pungent grief dance in his mind as well:
aimlessly aimlessly aimlessly
carelessly carelessly carelessly
delicately delicately delicately
ballads of jovial melodies ring through his veins and saccharine symphonies continue to bleed from his fingertips even with the night’s conquer of sunlight; a hurricane of thoughts tumble through his mind with nostalgia clouding his...

2 days ago

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Published Work

a willing apocalypse

a willing apocalypse
when the bullet rang, i prepared to race
when the heavens fell, the angels lost grace
when the bell broke the silence, the diver fell
when the world ended, the devil raised hell
i watched oceans flood with their liquid palms  
i watched fires consume life, guided by the bombs
i watched the world end and let it take me
i watched the world die and enjoyed the quiet

a girl of color in a pale world


my daughter asks me why her skin is brown
  • like sweet milk swirled into bitter coffee
and why her eyes aren’t blue or green
  • “why are they so dark, mama? i want blue eyes like ashley novak”
she asks me why her thighs touch
  • “these jeans don’t fit, mama”
she asks me why her jeans don’t fit her properly
and why her adolescent chest is forced into a bra
and why she can’t eat meat on certain days and weeks and months
she asks me why i wear a bindi on my forehead
everyday, and why i light a diya everyday
one day she shows me a painting she made,
and she’s the center of it-
beautifully colorful among a canvas of blond and brunette,
of ivory and white skin; and she wrote:
                                                                “a girl of color in a pale world”                    
a question didn’t pass her

the queen

                                                                THE GOLDEN DAYS / OF A QUEEN                                 
in a world where dirty money filled paved streets, people swam in champagne and sins became the only thing on drunken lips,     a woman realizes the golden days weren’t there to stay

“Your name, ma’am?” The man’s eyes don’t stray to the woman in front of him, too busy checking off the guest list.

“Maia Konstantin,” she says with steady confidence, commanding attention. She’s an anomaly in an amethyst-draped svelte dress among the sea of glitter and gold.

His eyebrows shoot up and an apology slips pasts his lips. “Right this way, Miss Konstantin.”

Her gold-dusted Ferragamo heels click against Italian marble and her dress follows her like an afterthought. She’s led into a room, fit for a queen- with chandeliers dripping from ceilings, opulent furniture and cigar smoke, laughter, jazz ringing through the air.

Only the most opulent crowd of New York City were allowed into her special lounge. Here, those...

when will the golden days return?

a pile of polaroids sits in his nicotine-stained hands
where memories, bitter and sweet, are captured
they beam with smiling faces smiling, laughing faces,
living ghosts and pungent grief dance in his mind as well:
aimlessly aimlessly aimlessly
carelessly carelessly carelessly
delicately delicately delicately
ballads of jovial melodies ring through his veins and saccharine symphonies continue to bleed from his fingertips even with the night’s conquer of sunlight; a hurricane of thoughts tumble through his mind with nostalgia clouding his thoughts; a casual affair of tragedy and bliss colored those pictures, and he wishes he was a devotee of a city that made his soul bleed with art; his lips sing of dripping sunsets and apocalyptic nights, of choking on divinity and sighing with the stars, of speaking the language of a damaged universe, of being stitched into a sky of constellations and stars that back away from human touch; the nicotine begins to blanket over his lungs and never...

a girl of color in a pale world

my daughter asks me why her skin is brown

  • like sweet milk swirled into bitter coffee
and why her eyes aren’t blue or green
  • “why are they so dark, mama? i want blue eyes like ashley novak”
she asks me why her thighs touch
  • “these jeans don’t fit, mama”
she asks me why her adolescent chest is forced into a bra
and why she can’t eat meat on certain days and weeks and months
she asks me why i wear a bindi on my forehead
everyday, and why i light a diya everyday
one day she shows me a painting she made,
and she’s the muse of it-
beautifully colorful among a canvas of blond and brunette,
of ivory and white skin; and she wrote:
                                                                            “a girl of color in a pale world”                                                                        
a question didn’t pass her lips ever again

Poetry and Spoken Word Competition

preserve me beneath salt and ice

“ATTENTION! Evolution is disintegrating and humanity is going to go down it! And there is nothing science or the gods can do to save us!”

that was the last thing i'd heard before the apocalypse began / bones of deserted cars began to melt beneath a thousand suns / skeletons of hollow homes swayed with seething winds / vibrant forests morphed into colorless masses, disintegrating with the rest of the world / i wait for time to finally stop, for the clock to stop ringing through my blood / the gods withered away, into dust, their thrones a mere ruin of sin / i’ll be here watching the world fall apart, crumbling beneath human hands / drowning in the oceans that once protected me, bordered my home like guards / canvases of my blood fade into oblivion / pictures tear into shreds like murdered memories / books melt, but the words live on forever / i won’t be here forever though...

The Dutiful Daughter

i.   a girl is silenced
                                                                              New York City, 1903       
                                 

Ma twists my hair, pulling on my scalp painfully with each tug. I’m forced to look into our smudged mirror, which reflects images of a girl and a mother. Our lineage shines in our abysmally freckled skin, the same glass-cut cheeks and dimpled smiles. But my mother has clear skies trapped in her eyes, and earth-colored hair that tumbles down her back in wild spirals.  
She is a literal force of nature. And I just managed to get echoes of her- in my smile and lucid skin.

“Why do I have to do this, Ma?” I ask, looking down at the toes of my boots, avoiding her eyes. The harsh...

The Dutiful Daughter

i.   a girl is silenced
                                                                              New York City, 1903       
                                 

Ma twists my hair, pulling on my scalp painfully with each tug. I’m forced to look into our smudged mirror, which reflects images of a girl and a mother. Our lineage shines in our abysmally freckled skin, the same glass-cut cheeks and dimpled smiles. But my mother has clear skies trapped in her eyes, and earth-colored hair that tumbles down her back in wild spirals.  
She is a literal force of nature. And I just managed to get echoes of her- in my smile and lucid skin.

“Why do I have to do this, Ma?” I ask, looking down at the toes of my boots, avoiding her eyes. The harsh...

Becoming Human

the dead revival

i. the end of all things 
"dead lips don't sink ships, darling"
and he sinks into the ground -
a body meets dust and shadows

ii. only the stars can save him
a heart lays futile beneath desperate hands
desperate breaths kiss perished lips 
"please be alive, don't die on me"
but he's gone, fading into oblivion
only the gods can save him - 
because he suffocated on 
sanctity in an age of logic  

iii. a revival
smile through despaired breaths
breathe with withered lungs
kill when you're at the height of innocence 
die when you're vibrant and alive
live when you feel death singing through your veins
this is the dead revival




 

The Dutiful Daughter

i.   a girl is silenced
                                                                              New York City, 1903       
                                 

Ma twists my hair, pulling on my scalp painfully with each tug. I’m forced to look into our smudged mirror, which reflects images of a girl and a mother. Our lineage shines in our abysmally freckled skin, the same glass-cut cheeks and dimpled smiles. But my mother has clear skies trapped in her eyes, and earth-colored hair that tumbles down her back in wild spirals.  
She is a literal force of nature. And I just managed to get echoes of her- in my smile and lucid skin.

“Why do I have to do this, Ma?” I ask, looking down at the toes of my boots, avoiding her eyes. The harsh...

when will the golden days return?

a pile of polaroids sits in his nicotine-stained hands
where memories, bitter and sweet, are captured
they beam with smiling faces smiling, laughing faces,
living ghosts and pungent grief dance in his mind as well:
aimlessly aimlessly aimlessly
carelessly carelessly carelessly
delicately delicately delicately
ballads of jovial melodies ring through his veins and saccharine symphonies continue to bleed from his fingertips even with the night’s conquer of sunlight; a hurricane of thoughts tumble through his mind with nostalgia clouding his thoughts; a casual affair of tragedy and bliss colored those pictures, and he wishes he was a devotee of a city that made his soul bleed with art; his lips sing of dripping sunsets and apocalyptic nights, of choking on divinity and sighing with the stars, of speaking the language of a damaged universe, of being stitched into a sky of constellations and stars that back away from human touch; the nicotine begins to blanket over his lungs and never...

Poetry and Spoken Word Competition

preserve me beneath salt and ice

“ATTENTION! Evolution is disintegrating and humanity is going to go down it! And there is nothing science or the gods can do to save us!”

that was the last thing i'd heard when the apocalypse began / i waited for time to finally stop, for the clock to stop ringing through my blood / the gods withered away, into dust their thrones a mere ruin of sin / i’ll be here watching the world fall apart, crumbling beneath human hands / drowning in the oceans that once protected me, bordered my home like guards / canvases of my blood fade into oblivion / pictures tear into shreds like murdered memories / books melting, but the words live on forever / i won’t be here forever though / love can’t save lives / neither can time

This I Believe

she is a storm

    For as long as mankind has been pillaging and conquering this planet, women have been forced to walk behind men as they took the world for themselves. Purpose wasn’t something attached to a woman’s name- it only rang true for bearing children and shaping her sons to follow their father’s footsteps and daughters to follow hers. But still, they endured the pain of childbirth. When man decided to ignore consent and disable the voice of women altogether, women endured it.
Women have survived millennia of rape, misogyny, and agony; of malleable consent, of unwanted touches and violations. And yet, we are stronger than ever.

    Our voices have slowly revived over the last two centuries, winning voting rights and the support of their fellow women to become a force to be reckoned with. We are seen as more than a symbol for sex and submission, we are seen as more than a vessel for children because of our ownempowerment. But...

ardentlies's 4 Likes

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the dead revival

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