MEGA YES

that said, ugh, what's next? another week? and then after that—?!

but like oh so handsomely 😍

but why?? 🥺

it's cruel that I can't be making out with them constantly 😭

some say that's worse, lol

daddyyyyy 🥵

Language of Flowers

the flower colchicum is named after colchis in greek mythology, which is where the golden fleece and the sorceress Medea are from; in the book of flower meanings from the prompt, it represents "my best days are past," which got me thinking Jason, specifically an older, decrepit, resentful Jason

screenshot 1 of a poem called "flowers for old jason," written by tophie for national poetry month, day 19. this half reads: oh, medea, my dear medea.. you old bitch. we two awful pragmatists made good use of each other, i suppose.. one an idiot, one a witch.. you used me to escape your barbarous home —damnable colchis— for prosperous greece. you saw us dreamy-eyed argonauts, you saw a way out, you saw an opportunity for a new life, you betrayed your family, your poor brother, your father, you betrayed your country, everyone, for love or a fresh start, whichever, you escaped with us and that golden fleece (wherever the hell that ended up..) butchering your brother’s body to slow your father down in his pursuit.. we dreamy-eyed argonauts shared looks but didn’t stop you.. but i should have known then my promises of marriage would doom me the same..

second half of the poem by tophie for national poetry month. it reads: for when i saw my opportunity in the princess of corinth and took it, you—who’d seen such opportunity in me in colchis and taken it— you denied me my royalty and royal heirs here.. you melted my princess bride-to-be with pretty robes (her poor father, the king, too..) and our two boys.. you slit their throats on our hearth.. you killed my only sons and fled with infant corpses triumphant.. you denied me even their burial, you denied me everything, all for jealousy and woe or whatever.. and now i sit here, unthroned and miserable, holding the meadow saffron of damnable colchis, “my best days are past,” they say.. they say that, you know, that my adventuring days are done and old age is upon me and i haven’t anything left to show.. no sons or ship or comrades or fleece or throne just some colchicum, some foolish flowers for a foolish man

today's practice poem is a bit long and rambling, i suppose on purpose.. 😜 the prompt was "take this book of flower meanings, find a flower, and riff on its meaning." my resulting poem builds off the myth of the golden fleece/argonauts/medea/jason

anyway, enjoy! #napowrimo2026 #poetry #amwriting

Tim Curry IS VERY MUCH ALIVE.

It is his birthday so he is trending because people are gushing about how great he is, which is deserved.

GOOD, you deserve that, cutie pie 😘

suuuuuch a good plan 🥹

New daily affirmation just dropped

The Hollow Men We are the hollow men

the prompt was basically "respond to a favorite poem" and this has loooong been a fave of mine; i tried memorizing it while visiting a friend in college, and after some hours on this section, found myself crying in the campus chapel praying to not become a "hollow man" 😅 anyway, go read it!

a draft poem by tophie for day 17 of the national poetry month writing challenge, it's titled "slop" and reads as follows: we are the sloppy bros we are the ai bros leaning together headpiece made of trash. alas! our stolen works are mocked our endless models flopped by ridicule and satire, our hard work putrid and plagiarized, they say. but what do they know of art, these artists? what do lawyers know of law, poets about poetry, that we cannot synthesize, imperfectly? well, those who have crossed with brilliant eyes, will remember us—if at all—not as great groundbreaking souls, but only as the sloppy bros

this practice poem for yesterday is a play on the openings ection of TS Eliot's "The Hollow Men," which i always read as people without faith... maybe i'm wrong there, but this wasn't easy to emulate in form and i wanted to "get something done and out," so here's my attempt!! enjoy 🙂

I will be personally going out of my way to spit on it when it's completed, and I'm not usually that spiteful.

I fucking hate it here. like I know it's far and away not the worst thing he's done, but it's an "icing on the cake" kinda thing? and it's gonna suck sooooo bad??

headline "commission of fine arts votes to move ahead with Trump's proposed victory arch" and photo of gleeful karoline leavitt holding a mockup of said arch

screenshot from the article that reads "The Commission of Fine Arts, or CFA, a federal agency, has voted to move ahead with President Trump's plans to build a 250-foot "victory arch" near the National Mall that will tower over Arlington National Cemetery and obstruct the sightline to the Lincoln Memorial in Washington, D.C. This group is responsible for advising the president, Congress, and the federal and local governments on the design and aesthetics of construction within Washington, D.C. The approval vote was expected, as Trump had filled the committee with seven of his own appointees after firing all its previous members last October. Current commissioners include Chamberlain Harris, a 26-year-old with no arts background who previously served as an executive assistant to the president."

I am screaming.

I am angery 😤 but yay job!!

perfecti

lookin so goooood

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!

nope! 🤪

you know what you need to do, @bauhaus99.bsky.social

so hamsome, damn 🥵

also go for it, have some fun, you only live once 😘

same here 🥺

happy birthday, stud 🥵

and yeah, adding on to yesterday's "leave the poem in the default font" attempt at easing my perfectionism, i'm also calling these "practice poems" so i can let go of some more of that... also trying to complain/apologize less! ❤️

a complex highway interchange is shown

the prompt today was basically "write about something that cannot speak and what you've learned from it," which i think i kinda did for once actually maybe?? haha

day 16 of national poetry month poem by tophie called "roadways"; it reads as follows: stretching long, spreading wide, sprawling onward like a single, endless, exhausting web— for they are all one monster; merely named segments that even continents cannot break. direction, so called, is a trick: we just have places to be; you can drive “along” as easily as perpendicular (which is which?) dead ends, so called, are just jokes for the mind: for there’s always another way; the choice remains yours—take a seat or turn around, no matter! powerlessness, so called, is a sick ruse: we built these things and we can break them down; the strictures, so perceived, cannot hold us back for long.

today's practice poem wasn't so hard, actually! 🥰 thank goodness, there's hope i'll be able to catch up that way, lmaooo

anyway... enjoy!
#napowrimo2026 #poetry #amwriting