(Most) of my poetry, from newest to oldest!
I don't have the dates or anything, I just write everything in my notes app ;-;. So these can go as far back as my freshman year of highschool!
Dolores
I don't fancy myself a Lolita,
For I know that Dolores knew.
In here 40s temperment,
she kept herself quiet.
But she knew.
She called it incest-
called him a dirty old man-
threatened to call the cops.
Dolores knew where she was.
She maneuvered in her bounds,
Manipulating when all possible,
understanding who this was.
I found myself at her age,
in love with someone older than i.
I found myself victim of a game,
I did not know I was playing.
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27/50
When navigating the game map,
look out for hostile territories.
Marked clearly in red, these zones are open only to some.
If wearing the wrong gear,
being in the wrong skin,
or being in a team with someone doing either,
you will find yourself unsafe in these zones.
Now, you may disguise yourself,
but you’ll find your health and energy depleting slowly,
fear and sickness and exhaustion status effects added.
Though a game that should be an open-world sandbox,
you’ll find that many of the programmers have harsh opinions on those that play it wrong,
and will use their powers, in a strategic, planned way,
to ensure that you play the game the way they prefer.
You’ll see them adding updates only to those zones, adding damage and restrictions only for those players-
those that wear the wrong gear,
or play in the wrong skin.
So much for open-world sandbox.
So much for total freedom of choice.
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Empty Alone
i think i am my 2 best friends combined.
i find traits from both within me all the time,
memories and childhoods that intertwine
personality traits that previously were not mine.
that is to say, I think I am nothing.
when alone, i become empty space-
i float from place to place-
like a ghost. like a disgrace.
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[the poem i can never honestly write]
this is the last poem i write about you.
i lay your stories to rest in my head,
i leave them for new people to hear
and for me to forget.
no longer will i think of you daily,
waiting for a phone call that will not come.
i will let other people take up my time,
without wishing you were here too.
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Big Brother/Little Boy
in a bed laid a little boy.
something had been wrong in his brain,
something they could not fix then and can not fix now,
growing to bring only harm.
his father was a mechanic, an architect, a contractor and a handyman.
everything that had broken would be fixed by dad, he was sure,
just like everything up to this point.
this car still had miles to go, surely, as it was so young.
the boy sat in a wheelchair, looking to his father, wondering when this would be fixed.
later, his father would give up on fixing such things.
he had done so much damage in the first place-
(though, he didn’t, really, he just failed to fix the damage he saw)
-that he continued to do damage with no desire to fix it.
so in a bed laid a little boy.
something had been wrong in his brain,
making him need all sorts of medication to be fixed.
his father was a mechanic, an artist, a craftsman and a survivor,
as he stood shouting at his son for asking for respect,
having lost one son and unaware of the likelihood of losing another.
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Furniture
the room is missing something
there’s a bit of space, right in between
young adulthood and retirement,
space we surely could fill with something.
maybe we place a lamp upon it, turn it into a source of light,
if the light’s not too bright nor too tall.
it needs to be small, though-
we only have so much space.
it’s gotta serve more than one purpose,
and serve each purpose very well,
since it is taking up space, after all,
and it cost us money.
it’ll be a chair, an ottoman, a side table
something to balance all of the bad upon
so that we don’t have to hold it ourselves.
it’ll really have to balance, though,
since it needs to be small-
we only have so much space.
it may come in the wrong color,
or just one we hadn’t expected.
we could allow it to be brightly colored, sure,
but it’s simply too eye-catching that way
this isn’t a statement piece, it’s only a side table,
and how dare it for trying to be anything more.
paint it the color of the rest of the furniture.
it must not be loud, not too big,
we only have so much space.
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You
most of my poems contain you-
the word you, and your essence.
most of my poems are about you-
my love for you, and your apathy.
i like to dream that if i describe you enough, you’ll become real-
You’ll meet me face to face, the perfect person i always saw.
i like to dream that if i describe the good parts enough, they’ll blossom-
the truth of your flaws will fade away, leaving someone i can keep.
will you understand my love for you if i use the right words-
if i find the perfect combination of phrases?
will you understand my hate for you if you read the poems-
or will you just find me crazed?
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Istus
take the end of this thread and tie it around my heart.
you must do this-
you were always better at knots.
follow the thread back and find yourself.
pull it tight.
this is not a noose.
make sure it’s tight.
it’ll help us in the fall.
-
find the thread to them and snap it
or tug on it, gently, try to stretch it-
it is thick, and binding,
like chains, not elastic.
better yet, follow the thread back-
pull until the other side is in your hands,
pull their heart out of their chest and find plastic.
it doesn’t pump blood the way yours does.
it doesn’t beat with life the way you do.
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[ ]
silent.
silent, and stagnant
like the morning after a rain.
i think it may be raining.
i think there may be storms outside-
tornadoes, wind to knock down houses
at home, there is fire
burning, aching, twisting
here it is silent
here there is no rain
at least for now
at least for tonight
you cannot hide from the weather forever
but the rain can wait for tomorrow
the rain can come another night
tonight, we are dry
tonight, we are silent
tonight, we are asleep
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Deadbeat town
ITS LIKE BEING IN A COLLAPSING BUILDING IN A COLLAPSING TOWN
AND WANTING SO DESPERATELY TO SAVE ALL OF THE OTHER BUILDINGS FIRST
BUT YOU CANT GO OUT AND KEEP THE OTHER BUILDINGS FROM COLLAPSING UNTIL YOU ESCAPE FROM YOUR OWN
AND ALL YOU CAN SEE IS A WINDOW OUT TO WATCH THE OTHER BUILDINGS AS YOU FEEL THE RUBBLE OF YOUR OWN FALL ON YOU
BUT THE DOOR IS LOCKED AND SO ARE THE WINDOWS SO YOU JUST SIT AND WATCH AND FUCKING SUFFER
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dream
in that dream, i do not call you.
I go quietly. I do not think about you.
I do not think about the domino effect.
I do not think about your own life ending.
I think about me. Only me.
and in that dream, i am quiet.
i am easy.
i am simple.
and i am gone.
in that dream, you are not keeping me aloft.
in that dream, i am gone without missing you.
please pick up the phone.
this is not a dream.
you are keeping me aloft.
i do not want to see the domino effect.
i do not want you to take your life.
i am loud. and you like that.
please call me.
I miss you.
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[derivative tranny poem]
There is no body in that coffin
Nothing for the worms to eat
Nothing for the earth to take
You hold a funeral for someone that did not die
someone that lives in your home still
different, and better, and happier
There is no body in that coffin
Only respect
it died the day i came out
Only regret
it died the day i saw you mourning someone still alive
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Theatre Kid Tragedy
The [redacted] performing arts theatre still stands.
{usually, we wish it didn’t}
Sitting in one corner, news gets out about fire
California continues to burn
Students continue to lose home
The [redacted] performing arts theatre still stands.
{It’s not as home as it wants to be}
The school got another threat today
another day will not be cancelled
another long conversation about gun control
The [redacted] performing arts theatre still stands.
{It’s students aren’t as safe as they feel}
The people inside fall apart
crumbling, by their own hands
shattering, like the fake windows
shouting, like there’s nothing better to do
acting, like it’s the only thing keeping us together
The [redacted] performing arts theatre still stands.
{usually, we wish it didn’t.}
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Ananke
Absentmindedly,
the goddess put two strings in her pocket.
not quite on purpose-
simply had to put them somewhere.
and then she ran.
and she ran, and she walked.
and she worked on her tapestry, infinite and sprawling.
she talked.
she spoke stories of fellow myths,
of birds of prey and of the ocean,
weaving and writing the truth.
she moved.
she couldn’t stay in one spot long,
too quickly betrayed,
her stay too quickly over stayed.
when she remembered the string, it had been years later.
both strands were stronger. thicker.
they had seen her tapestry,
constantly unfinished.
they had heard her stories,
of birds of prey and the ocean.
they had felt her abandonment,
her need to keep moving.
and they had knotted,
tighter than any yarn she had sewn.
so she added the pieces of string to her tapestry,
now nearly unrecognizable as having once been separate,
and she walked.
and told stories of birds of prey and the ocean.
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better than I ever have
and silently,
quietly,
as though nothing in the world matters,
as though i do not matter,
as though my heart does not beat,
i sleep.
as though sleep is enough rest for my soul.
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Religion
and when i stare at the moon,
dazed,
asking him so many questions and getting so few answers,
like a child looking to a parent,
like a nun looking to god,
then i am real.
never before after.
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Cut
the string connects us from beginning to end
looping, knotting, stretching
i tell you that i want to be intertwined with you
that i already am, intertwined with you
unintentional and unnoticed
like old necklaces in a jewelry box
like old friends that never truly left
like old tales interweaved over centuries
i tell you to notice the knot we are connected by
how we’d become stronger as thread if we simply twisted
simply embraced the bond put down by the gods
you tell me i’m too intense
and you’re right.
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Mirror
Female, says the mirror
Staring back in discontent
Stamped like a printing error
Made with the wrong intent
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I've been distracting myself since 6th grade
The silence sets in too quickly
and I fall apart too soon
So let’s get this little mess busy
And keep him okay until the new moon
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Largely different, somewhat the same.
it is the end of the world,
and as it all falls around me,
i will be high in a forest
laughing with my friends
until the last tree burns
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Yknow, the Weed Dam
the liminal space we call the dam
as we all sit and talk about nothing
creates an energy i always crave
that can’t be seconded by anything
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More like 10 times, nowadays
nothing feels real.
nothing has felt real since 2016, and
it has been the end of the world 3 times, and
my soul no longer feels clean, and
i think i’ve been lost since 2016
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From before the war
At the dawn of my time,
i had free happiness.
Now i have to work for it.
But that doesn’t make me any less happy.
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Made Stranger Later
i become a familiar face
in so little time
that i am not recognized
as a stranger any longer
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Healing, or something
And this is healing.
And this is finding a reason to wake up,
A reason to get out of bed,
a reason to eat in the morning.
And this is finding a reason to go to school,
a reason to look at people,
a reason to care about my classes.
And this is re-finding old interests,
re-watching that old show,
re-playing that old game.
And this is finding a reason to live.
Seeing the upside in things again
Wanting to talk to friends again
Wanting to be on stage again
Wanting to want again.
And this is healing.
No matter how many times i must do it.
This is healing.
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