A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness.
these are all MY ORIGINAL WORKS! If you would like to use them in any capacity, contact me.
About my writing:
Why do you write?
I began writing poetry in early 2023,
during a time when my mental health
was at one of it's worst states. I really
couldn't find a way to possibly phrase
how I was feeling, and the only thing
that brought any catharsis was writing it.
I had no access to therapy or other
mental health resources, so this is what
it turned into. Enjoy the fruits of my
suffering xD
How do you write?
I really don't write all that
often, maybe a few lines once
every two months? And inspiration
always hits me at the most random times.
Like at a friend's school event. Or when
I'm in the shower. There's really no
rhyme or reason -- just like my writing!
life/death
|| April 22, 2023
the dead are horribly graceful in a way the living never will be
the sickly smell of rot catching in our throats
to decay is to be born once again, reincarnation in the simplest way
grotesquely stretched flesh and blood long clotted
reborn into a body of fungi, or plant, or
the Earth herself
matter cannot be destroyed, so our bodies will stay until the Universe collapses in a hauntingly
unfathomable death
the living will never outshine the dead
EXPERIENCE
|| April 28, 2023
vibrant human experience
crushed velvet, bloodstained
dying flowers, a dusty vase
slaughter and life and
everything in between
despair in joy, emotions
clawing at minds long cracked
by the wounds of the Earth
laughter and pride and
fear and experiences so overwhelming
history pages stained by
the blood of stories and of failures
history so rich and beautiful and
horrifyingly full of death
crumbled empires and young
nations born of strong hearts and
courage-full souls
beauty in life overshadowed
by horrors beyond the mind
vibrant human experience
grasp
|| April 30, 2023
divinity, dark as wine and bitter as hope
human hands, grasping for more which they cannot have
eternity flowing through mortal veins, molten and shining
holy fire burning through a heart far too weak to contain it
and yet man still wants more
always wants more
ancient words, long dead, spoken from numb lips
a sacred gaze, hardened from eons of knowledge
the mortal body was not built to be everlasting, holy
but an omniscient consciousness rests in a fractured mind
heavenly ichor binding it together
an almighty presence in the shape of a mortal, the Universe stuttering at the impossible achieved
because it was never enough