myriadwhitedarkness

atterscop

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chores by myriadwhitedarkness, literature

Literature

chores

What hunts me is the dishes who have gathered in the sink they plan to overthrow me and the disordered way I think. And the laundry, well I must confess I just don't find it fun it's assembled in the basket yet remains mostly undone. The stories I haven't finished all are running off the page looking for a better writer who can give them center-stage. Let's not talk about the sweeping or the mopping I've neglected they frown at my utter failure to perform just as expected. I have seventy-two texts because I just avoid my phone I think before, in times of yore I considered talking 'home.' I pick at the necessities to appear mostly in line but I'm not sure that it's quite enough to externally embody 'fine.' And I'd tell you that I'm lonely but I'm afraid to let that out it hurt too much the last time so I cannot go that route. But despite that, I want to believe that it's going to be okay so in spite of my unfinished tasks I'm glad I got up today.

for this, my heart rejoices by myriadwhitedarkness, literature

Literature

for this, my heart rejoices

Šu-ka, še-gal-ĝu imḫul In the next life... ...I hope my heaviness is shed. Light enough that I meet you there, and get to hug you like I never did. I hope I am whole enough to thank you for everything you gave me because there is nothing I could do to repay it. I hope I am enough of joy to laugh with you about the things that made us both cry in those strange midnight hours. I hope I have become comprehensive enough for you to understand that there was no divergence of Fate great enough to keep me from knowing- -despite it all- that I stood taller because I was able to acknowledge that I was smaller than I thought I was. And I hope I am steady enough to stand before you and have both of us know that I became something better in spite of myself because of you.

'Inertia' by myriadwhitedarkness, literature

Literature

'Inertia'

I used to think that life was about waiting for a curtain call. Poetry itself doesn't yearn for some kind of stage youth-its vainglory-insisted that I might be on tenterhooks for something impossible or- -perhaps impossibly-something great. I wanted opportunity, but I was not an opportunist. You can become stagnant, overgrown and choked with weeds thinking the universe will give you some sort of handout because you can make something reflective beautiful. And it's not that I was unwilling or didn't work hard it's that I worked with the anticipation that purpose would fall into my lap, that I would grow large on my effort alone... ...that there was heroism in creativity borne from isolation. My most joyful moments consist of time with family and friends, of collaborating with peers and creating community with those not likeminded but familiar with the struggle to exist; the one simultaneous and in tandem with the deep yearning to be seen. And I will tell you that life is

love is not a cat by myriadwhitedarkness, literature

Literature

love is not a cat

Let me tell you of love; of the way it settles deep in your chest like a cat curls into a cushion. Let me also tell you of love; of the way it can hide under your couch like a cat slinks under it to avoid your questing hand. It purrs in your belly, unfurls like the stretch of toe beans on carpet and rubs its cheek against you in sweet affection. It hisses down your spine pricks like the extension of murder mittens on skin and turns its tail against you in cold dismissal. It is sleek as silk and nimble as a rabbit playful as Spring and warm as Autumn candlelight. It is bristled like alarm and skittish as a hare cold as Winter and hot as the blaze of Summer. It is joy it is sadness it is knowledge it is failure but above all beneath the sentiments love is conscious love is blind. And love is not a cat. But you can love a cat.

Peth, the Voyager by myriadwhitedarkness, literature

Literature

Peth, the Voyager

A word has walked a path of letters from the front door of its house, to cross Paragraph forests, and marshes of Misspelling. It has braved the Peaks of Exclamation, the Deeps of Understatement, and the Deserts of Silence, all while wielding the Blade of Elucidation. Some say it has sailed many seas of great and terrible essays, to come to the land of Rhymes just to fall in love with its poems. Still others boast of its battles, its sieges in stories laying waste to a lack of imagination… …if such a thing truly exists. And yet more speak of its kindnesses its pilgrimages in prayers for peace, its petitions of wrongdoing. But if you sit and talk with a word you will find it insists it is nothing at all without its fellows; "...that is what makes me great..." it will say, "...to be among many." The greatest adventurer you will ever meet is a word, and the greatest adventure you will have is when you let a word inspire you to have journeys of your own.

cozy by myriadwhitedarkness, literature

Literature

cozy

A room to love is filled with books, a redbud vase and many nooks. A fine haven has blankets woven, a dragon's hoard of snacks you've chosen. A gem of hearts has so much music, a candle to light if you so choose it. A palace is where you can retire, a place where you can light a fire. A sanctuary is but a treasure, that no living thing can truly measure. A place to go to warm your soul, a harborage to make you whole.

a poor excuse for writer's block by myriadwhitedarkness, literature

love, phonetically by myriadwhitedarkness, literature

Literature

love, phonetically

And so we start, 'o poem in a method quite express to exude a written form of joy or disseminate distress. We wander off, o'poem to converse line after line of all the strange things in the world that can be made to rhyme. Our journey's long, o'poem sometimes I think we've wrote it all but come the time when I sit down there's always more to scrawl. I think too much, o'poem I've really got a problem but when I sit with you in hand sometimes I think I'll solve 'em. You're such a joy, o'poem I hope it's not odd to say the words that get stuck in my head get brought to light this way. And so we end, o'poem I do hope you comprehend; I know you're just a string of words but mostly, you're my friend.

take it eas[y]ier by myriadwhitedarkness, literature

Literature

take it eas[y]ier

On days you feel a thousand pounds and thoughts consume your head, remember there's accomplishment in getting out of bed. There's no such thing as perfect and those who say it's true, my dear, I really verily fear they're liars through and through. If you got your clothes on sideways I won't pretend that it's a crime, if you're moving at a snail's pace well, you're moving, and that's fine. So the coffee isn't strong enough so your bedroom is a wreck, some need time, just to embody 'fine' and if you're not, well, heck. I'm not here for the 'perfect's for the 'wonderful's or 'happy's, I'm here for the 'exhausted's-the 'weird's- -and I think you're doing snappy. If you find, within the maelstrom that you made it through the day, you're A-list on my tattered chart and I'm glad you're 'just okay.'

Ode to Expression by myriadwhitedarkness, literature

Literature

Ode to Expression

Now, the deep breaths, the 'Arthurian' metamorphoses. 'Sword' becomes pen, [drawn perhaps again], ink falls as rain it- -w a s h e s- the grief-old and new- down paper gutters and drains, to that far away sea. And you, between the lines, blue or black is fine, tense-anticipatory- where sorrow is a swallow beating its wings on the painted windows just to swerve out and away; to city noise with the gulls calling, calling, 'goodbye, goodbye'. So the heart is poised, above oblivion to remember fuzzy friends and how pages whisper to our fingertips. Old bones, firelight and, perhaps an absence, of palms but never, never never an absence of beauty. Now, the deep breaths, the 'Arthurian' metamorphoses; where paradise is in what we create of our crying, empty spaces... ...and not of what put them there, inside of us.

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If You'd Like to Support Me: Anthology on Self-Love. -Amazon

Laurels in Ink: From the Alphabet Garden by myriadwhitedarkness, visual art

Laurels in Ink: From the Alphabet Garden

myriadwhitedarkness

Group Member 66

Project Info

General News: on indefinite hiatus from all websites due to out of state move.

For those who wandered over from AO3:

A supplemental piece 'Tea House Moon' has been posted.

A supplemental piece 'Conclusions, Grevious and Joyous' has been posted.

A supplemental piece 'To Seal a Source From The Depths' has been posted.

* An Acceptably Wrinkled Timeline: Chapter 50 has been up for a while, ch 51 is slowly [glacially] in progress. *Of Sun and Starlight (Hiatus but sort of slowly being worked on in the background)

* Everybody Wants Some : Chapter 9 has been sporadically posted.

Past Writing Projects

For information about prior FFN/AO3 lit not on my current page, visit the FFN link available on my AO3 profile. If it's not there, it will eventually be posted except for my IWTV pieces, which I unfortunately cannot post & don't intend to pursue further. Writing in Lestat's POV takes more from me than I receive, & that's not the sort of relationship I want with my writing. 'Black Nebula' has been reposted, in its entirety, on Wattpad. The order is, by letter of the title of each book N,M,P. I can't comfortably post it on ffn; I think it is too explicit & I enjoy the removal of association here, so, no permalinks. Search my AO3 username. Na Mae, Im, is also being given a facelift & reposted there, but it's slower. ***when it comes to fics, keep in mind I don't get paid for them and I receive no other gratuity. I don't owe you consistency. I owe myself wellness; you're not more important than that. If you can't handle that, too bad.

About myriadwhitedarkness

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Artist // Literature

Oct 29, 1991
Deviant for 14 years
He / Him

My Bio

Parent|Freelance Writer|Dabbling Poet| Aside from commissions, I strive to advocate for mindfulness, acceptance, lifelong learning, & human freedom. I'm not an expert, but I believe that there is some value in effort alone.

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“Are you happy?” “

"In all honesty? No. But I am curious – I am curious in my sadness, and I am curious in my joy. I am ever-seeking, ever-feeling. I am in awe of the beautiful moments life gives us, and I am in awe of the difficult ones. I am transfixed by grief, by growth. It is all so stunning, so rich, and I will never convince myself that I cannot be somber, cannot be hurt, cannot be overjoyed. I want to feel it all – I don’t want to cover it up or numb it. So no, I am not happy. I am open, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

― Bianca Sparacino, Seeds Planted in Concreteee

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scop=poet

attercop=spider

former tarantula keeper & current poet. no other underlying meaning.

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Important:

*I do not have a patreon. Not one you can donate to, in any case. I am a patron but not a creator, and my page is under an old name. any links you see to one with my name are not affiliated with me. Please have care where you donate.