balsamandash | I'm often loud in places where I should be quiet; I'm often quiet in places where I should be loud

:) prompt(s) plz?

I didn't realize Bandcamp was a place for poetry as well as music! AWESOME.

I have NO IDEA how much poetry is actually on bandcamp, but I found the guy on youtube and went searching for words (because I love the rhythms and cadence of slam poetry, but occasionally it's hard to follow it without words in front of me?) and found his bandcamp and went YES YES YES EXCELLENT, so... yeah. XD I think one of the groups that do showcases had a bandcamp too but I can't remember what the name is.

Prompts! Feel free to use as many/as few as you want, combine them, do whatever you want with them basically, I have hundred built up from years and years of collection and I LOVE sharing them.

I promise, that I will love you as if it’s the only thing that I’ve ever done correctly.

When you are born
during an argument,
you spend the rest of your life
feeling like an interruption.

She walks into my room like a question that neither one of us has the courage to ask.

Sorry I came out hard and sharp and full of claws. Ruined your body. Only learned the wrong things.

I love you, simple.
I like that we will never be we.

It is very easy to forgive others their mistakes; it takes more grit to forgive them for having witnessed your own.

the sea’s behaving abominably,
seems never satisfied,
what it throws away it dashes down
then wants back, yanks back.

Our love came
unannounced in the middle of the night.
Our love came when we’d given up
on asking love to come. I think
that has to be part
of its miracle.

You think you know me, that's your trouble
Never fall in love with a body double

There’s blood in my hands
for fight and blood in my legs
for flight and nowhere
a sign.

So you are a city that walks on top of another city, a city of people dreaming, you put your foot down on dreams when you cross the street, your children play, on dreams.

Thank you! Ponder ponder...

No problem. I really love prompting people and I always feel weird slamming them with prompts even when they ask for them, so it's nice to have an excuse to just go for it. XD Hopefully at least one of them works for you.

Obviously Iam going to jump on you giving prompts. :D I kind of miss promptspam.

Put up a new openpost and I will give you prompts regularly. >> I will make it part of my weekends.

Dear brain - You’re such a good listener, but you give terrible relationship advice.
Dear heart - I trust you. Don’t fuck this up.
Dear legs - Walking is easy. Now pick a destination.

Dear voice - You have their attention, so say something worth remembering. I’m counting on you.

I wish my sentences came with receipts so I could take back my words.

Forget the shallow stuff, I want the deepest kind of love. That ‘I want to stay up late and tell you all my secrets’ kind of love. That 'every time I see you, I walk on pieces' kind of love. I want that ‘stand next to me’ kind of love. That ‘it’s by destiny’ kind of love. That ‘no matter what happens to me, you’ll always get the best of me’ kind of love. That ‘you get my heart and my mind, this world gets the rest of me’ kind of love. That ‘invest in me’ kind of love, because ‘you already know that I’m invested in you’ kind of love.

Pull me close to you, tell me that you love me, then scratch your future into my back, so I can be everything that you live for.

I promise, that I will love you as if it’s the only thing that I’ve ever done correctly.

if you were here, right now, I would massage your back until your skin would sing songs that your lips don’t even know the words to, until your heart beat sounds like my last name

I’m still learning to love the parts of me that no one claps for.

I hope my hands feel like all the places you’ve called home. Secretly, every hotel would much rather be a house.

I’m an awful mechanic,
but somehow I’m still better
at fixing cars
than relationships.

When you are born
during an argument,
you spend the rest of your life
feeling like an interruption.

I love you, simple.
I like that we will never be we.

I think I finally stopped
wanting you.

You are more than I could
ever put into a poem.

You know how this ends. There’s nothing you can do to change it, so make peace with it now.

Stand upright. You promised.

I’m sorry I told our secrets. Sorry I put them in a book. Sorry I didn’t tell you about it.

I’m sorry your life looks like this in photo albums.

I want ice cream and long letters. I want to read long love letters but I don’t think he loves me.

After making love, we hear footsteps

Courage is ripping your heart from your chest and saying “Here, hold on to this for me”.

Truth is everything you tell yourself when you realize you are the only one still paying attention.

Self is whoever you become when the door is locked.

Success is a thank you letter from a kid who lives in a city that you’ve never even been to. It’s breaking up a fight between a person and everything that’s telling them they will never be more than what they are.

I bet there are angels in Heaven with black eyes and broken halos
who claimed they fell down the stairs.

Sooner or later you will realize that you are praying to your own shadow,
that you are standing in front of mirrors and are worshipping your own reflection.

There is nothing rational about love. Love stutters when it gets nervous, love trips over its own shoelaces. Love is clumsy, and my heart refuses wear a helmet.

She is my musician
And me, I guess you could say, that I’m her favorite song

Loving you was the last thing I felt really good at.

I was born feet first and I've been backwards ever since

My hobbies include editing my life story, hiding behind metaphors
And trying to convince my shadow that I'm someone worth following

She's fucked up so much, twisted so many hearts around her fingertips, shattered them, left them.

She's taken sweet men, left them to rot and walked away without a thought.

She's fucked up relationships she could have had. People she could have called friends.

But she doesn't fuck this up. She doesn't twist him around, doesn't break him down. She doesn't risk seeing what happens when she walks all over him in high heels and she doesn't dare think about bullets and blood when she's near him.

He centers her, puts his hands on her shoulders and tells her it's going to be all right. He shows her what it means to be a person, how to grow and transform.

He gives her the motivation she needs to wear her skin as her own and not as someone else's.

She promises, in the late nights when he's lost, when the world is still falling down in his head and he can't be sure if he's in control, that she still loves him.

And yes, she has fucked up. she's destroyed people who could have loved her, but this was better. This is worth it.

They'll see each other through the night, pull one another down the paths into the goodness they deserve, even if neither of them think they actually do.

She'll remind him and he'll remind her and they compliment each other that way, just as they always do.

They are meant to be this, meant to be the people at each other's sides.

And maybe one day it will change, they will falter or shift or simply grow out of each other. Maybe.

But the day is not today, the night is not this one. They will hold each other, promise each other, be there when the other needs and that is what being a partner is, that is what belonging means.

And just. Eeeeeeeeeeee, eeeee, yes, I love both of these so much, I am so pleased. *rolls around in your words and gllees*

<3333 And you ahve a third. I'm just...going to be doing this on and off all day because I think it's going ot be what manages to keep me going.

I am so glad you put up with me throwing random words at you.

Please feel free to do the thing, do as much and as many of the thing as you'd like. And. If I can do anything for you please tell me, but yes. DO THE THING, I welcome it with open arms.

<333333 I think I am okay. I'm going to be trying to fuck around with other stories at some pint but for now this is what I am doing..

I'm also tempted to go back to watching slam poetry and give you prompts but that's neither here nor there.

I would not say no? :D

>> I will possibly do the thing. Do you want me to gear it towards the spies (and if so, in canon? or verse free-for-all?) or would you just like promptspam?

general promptspam is okay be me :

Sometimes it gets hard to look in the mirror. It's hard to see the woman that stands in the reflection an claim her.

But every time she wakes up, she does. Every morning, evening or whenever she opens her eyes, she stands in front of the mirror and claims her reflection. All of it. Every part of her.

Because Natasha carved herself out of blood and sweat. She put her bones together like a puzzle and made herself anew.

She cared herself from what had been done to her, put herself together with stitching and shaking hands. She may not be proud of who she is but she is so, so much happier than with what who she had been.

She looks in the mirror, touches the glass, and smiles.

She is far better than any version of herself anyone else could have mad.e She is beautiful and she is fierce and she is proud.

And as she walks away from the mirror, her confidence unwavering, she knows she is almost happy with who she is today.

When they fight, which sin't often, she tries not to talk. She tries to let him yell and be frustrated and do what he wants but she tries so, so hard to be quiet.

Because she knows when she speaks, her words slice through him. She knows she can wield syllables like weapons and cut to the quick.

She knows that every part of her can be used to hurt someone, even her words.

SO she lets Clint be annoyed and angry and peeved. She lets hi rant and rave at her if he needs to but she stays quiet.

Until she can't.

Until she's had enough and she's spitting words like bullets at him, hitting her mark every time. She's precise and damn good at what she does and in the moment, she has no regrets.

But after, when things have settled and she's watching him lick his wounds, she feels bad. Not even guilty, just...a little annoyed with herself.

She doesn't want to hurt him, doesn't want to spit words like venom on an open wound. It's just....if they get to the point of fighting, actually fighting and not bickering like children, she's going to go for the jugular, it's in her nature.

But she tries, she tries so hard to be good, to not attack and let him get out his anger instead and mos of ht time she's successful. It's just every now and then she falters.

Every now and then, someone has to bleed.

She moves her hands against his skin like a skilled musician playing an instrument. Her fingers scratch words into his skin but they aren't meant for him to commit to. They are fundamental words, things he can fall back on and remember.

She presses a kiss against his skin, her lips soft and gentle. He's half asleep and mumbles something, pulling her close, and she laughs.\

She loves him like this and he loves her just as much. They are lazy and comfortable and nothing requires them to move. Sure, the world will come calling soon enough but not yet and that is okay.

They have things that need to be dealt with, issues that have risen up but there is nothing between them. Their relationship is solid, it is long-standing and it will survive the test of time.

Because int he end they are each other's partner. They belong to one another more than anything else and maybe she will fight him or he will walk away an do something dumb but they will return to each other in the end.

It's just what they do.

The door shuts behind her and Natasha relaxes immediately. Her shoulders slump and she rests against the door, taking a deep breath.

Clint watches her and she knows he's worried but she doesn't say anything yet. She's tired and she can't entirely be bothered to comfort him just yet.

He walks over to her, putting his hands against her sides and tilting his head. "You okay?"

She just nods, offering a slight smile. "Yeah, I'm good."

He nods, pressing a kiss to her temple. "Okay."

Moving forward, she wraps her arms around him, pulling him close to her. "It's been a hell fo a day," she says quietly.

"Yeah," he agrees, putting hims arms around her. "Yeah it really has."

She sighs, relaxing a little more. "At least it's done."

"Yeah."

They don't say anything after that, just hold each other in the stillness of the farm, keeping each other close and offering silent comfort that the other clearly needs.

She worships who she is now, not in a conceded way, not in a selfish way but in in the way that a creature who had not been given freedom worships the open sky.

She looks in the mirror and smiles. She touches herself, gets to know her body, reminds herself that yes, this is her own to do with what she will.

She loves herself and she loves herself fiercely with everything she has.

Because she is never sure if something is waiting for her, if someone won't come calling and dragging her back. She is never sure what waits for her and who what's to steal her away again.

She is damn sure though, that if someone does come, she's not going without a fight. She will kick and scream and use every ounce of self knowledge she has to fight her way out.

Because no one gets to own her again. No one claims her unless he wants them to and there is no one she is willing to bow to anymore.

You're not my dream girl.
You're not my reality girl.
You're my dreams come true girl.

A wishlist of sorrows. Grief, not guilt.

Do not hesitate. No time for polite or coy. Take.

She is a tornado.
He is a man. He is solid and humble.
She tells the story three times, convinced
he does not understand.

When you dress for your first date in two years, don’t call it date. Call it friend.
Do not let him pay. Share a bottle of your favorite wine, you deserve this.

Sorry I came out hard and sharp and full of claws.

I know the woman in the window who wears good leather and keeps her closet filled with broken men.

her apologies are disguised as gifts.

When I've spent this long working to keep someone safe from harm, I can tell when she's asleep near me. Whether it's dark or not.

Dear hands - I know you love poetry, but you can’t bring a metaphor to a fist fight.
Dear fists - When words fail, sometimes I let you handle my problems.

It is very easy to forgive others their mistakes; it takes more grit to forgive them for having witnessed your own.

She walks into my room like a question that neither one of us has the courage to ask.

Thank you for the poem, for
every single scar.

because tonight, this world is broken
and we’re the only thing
that’s going to keep it together.

Laughter sounds the same in every language.

I want to be the kind of story you have to tell everyone you know.

Yesterday, I saw my reflection. It wouldn’t look me in the eye because he’s too ashamed of all the things he will never be.

I often introduce myself like I’m the only thing standing between you and something better.

I love you in a language that I don’t fully understand.

I’m still learning how to whisper.
I’m often loud in places where I should be quiet,
I’m often quiet in places where I should be loud.

We do not all have access to the most helpful words

To be quite honest, I would have settled for kissing her wrists

I thank God for everyone you kissed before me.

It is Saturday morning and I am trying to sleep through
all the light in my room when you say,
How do you make scrambled eggs?

There may be more later.

Mm. Can I have prompts, too?

Of course! :) Standard disclaimer: Feel free to combine as many of these as you want, and discard any that don't work for you. I hope at least one works for you.

I’m an awful mechanic,
but somehow I’m still better
at fixing cars
than relationships.

I was born feet first and I've been backwards ever since

Truth is everything you tell yourself when you realize you are the only one still paying attention.

Dear hands - I know you love poetry, but you can’t bring a metaphor to a fist fight.
Dear fists - When words fail, sometimes I let you handle my problems.

I’ll never stop looking over
my shoulder,
boots laced, ready to run.

Sorry I felt sorry.

The words are coming back, Dad. The way they fit and jump in the mouth.

Don't you know, son of earth, that I am not one of yours?

If we've come a long way, I suspect it's sideways
Further from our origin, no closer to our destination

In my solitude I wrote three commandments:
You will be fierce, you will be fragile, you will be free.

When I've spent this long working to keep someone safe from harm, I can tell when she's asleep near me. Whether it's dark or not.

We don't apologize for what we share between us
And every day we seem to fall in love again

I am not asking for mercy. I am asking for more.

I have a growing queue of things I know
will make you laugh and I don’t know where to put them.

In my solitude I wrote three commandments:
You will be fierce, you will be fragile, you will be free.

(On the birth of Ancalagon)

You will be unlike anything the world has seen. You will know my name.
You will be a new thing, born to fly, born to fire. You will be a shadow such as the skies have never seen. The pale starlight will shatter on your back, and in your eyes and the hollow of your throat, fire will kindle and live, wild and constrained as the fire beneath the earth. You may unloose it where you wish, my child, for the heat will send you spinning higher into the sky, and you will find the embers and the sound of flame beautiful.

You will be a soaring nightmare, and that will give you certain limitations: your bones blown-glass, your scales flakes of obsidian. You will fly on the breath of volcanoes and ride upon the back of the morning thermal, but you will be unable to rise on your own.
Your legs, alas, must be short; you will struggle, upon the ground, but my child, you will be a terror of the skies.

Some day I will leave this place, and I will forge you of stone and air and fire, all the tools of those who imprisoned me. They will never bind you.

I will never bind you.

You will be unlike anything the world has seen.

You will know my name.

Oh, I am a sucker for a story with rhythm, and I love the rhythm in this so much.

\o/

I've given you many prompts in the past, now I think it's fair to receive.

Please imagine me rubbing my hands together and grinning evilly, for that's a pretty accurate interpretation of my reaction here.

I promise, that I will love you as if it’s the only thing that I’ve ever done correctly.

A wishlist of sorrows. Grief, not guilt.

because tonight, this world is broken
and we’re the only thing
that’s going to keep it together.

I love you in a language that I don’t fully understand.

We do not all have access to the most helpful words

It’s okay to break. In every pile of rubble, there is something worth salvaging.

I hope my hands feel like all the places you’ve called home. Secretly, every hotel would much rather be a house.

The bruises fell off
eventually.

There’s so much decay in these bones.

I don’t want the house, I want its ruins,
cracked panes, grandfather clock, paper-like door.

I am heart and breath and skin and bleed.
Sometimes tornado, sometimes lullaby.

This is no metaphor. I know her.

Think about the thing (or person) that is most important to you. Now get through the day without it.

We are all fools whether we dance or not. We may as well dance.

Standard disclaimer: Feel free to combine as many of these as you want, and discard any that don't work for you. I hope at least one works for you.

He it is, a little later than I was hoping to give it to you. Let me know what you think.
----

He listens to the same things, new iterations of the same game. "I promise that I will love you as if it’s the only thing that I’ve ever done correctly."

"I love you in a language that I don’t fully understand, because tonight, this world is broken and we’re the only thing that’s going to keep it together."

Things don't change. People come here, not to change, but to talk. A wishlist of sorrows. Grief, not guilt. So he listens.

She wonders why he doesn't do more. He just stands behind the bar, pouring the drinks and listening. She does things to push people in the right direction, and then she melts away, the invisible waitress. She stops at a table, delivering glasses of water and gives her advice.

"The bruises fall off eventually."

And then she leaves, barely hearing the other person at the table.

"Gina, is there something you're not telling me?"

We do not all have access to the most helpful words, she says to herself as she moves on to the next person. But she knows in her heart that it's better to do something. Because she doesn't want it to happen to anyone else. Think about the thing (or person) that is most important to you. Now get through the day without it. She knows that feeling too well. There’s so much decay in these bones.

He knows how much she hurts. He knows that she's going to keep trying until she breaks. It’s okay to break. In every pile of rubble, there is something worth salvaging.

She knows how much he's been hurt. She knows he thinks she's foolish. But as the music comes on in the lull of the conversations, she knows she's going to keep dancing this dance. We are all fools whether we dance or not. We may as well dance.

This story sounds fantastical, but I see it every night, watching to see whether she wins or he does. This is no metaphor. I know her. And though I can't help her, I always hope she wins. Because I have to believe that trying is better than just listening. And because I know, at the end of the night, the two of them will walk out, hand in hand, and whatever differences they had inside, she'll try to make them better, and he'll listen. And slowly, between them, the World will become a better place.

And my response ended up being later still because I thought I HAD respondd to this, I'm sorry, I just found I hadn't clearing out my DW inbox. ANYWAY, I really like it, though. :) There's something very sweet and understated there, and I like the mood of the piece.

I'll take a prompt if you're still giving them?

Certainly! :)

I just hope yesterday has forgiven me for all the things I haven’t done.

I'm often loud in places where I should be quiet; I'm often quiet in places where I should be loud

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NANANANANANANANA PROMPTSPAM!

Don't mind if I spam this prompt post with Clint/Tasha. It's what I am workign on today, so yes.

Do you think I would ever mind either you spam or Clint/Tasha?

Okay, true

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here's your chance, do your dance, with the PROMPTSPAM

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