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Poetry

02.11.20

2/11/2020

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I sit and wait for inspiration 
and then I curse myself 
What ignorance
To think the words will come
Without practice, without consistency
How foolish ​
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02.24.19

3/10/2019

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The grasshoppers have stopped coming.
The Muses weep.
No one honors them with dance or song.
The Muses weaken.
Man’s only concern is War. Greed, the poison.
Eternal, the Muses sleep.
Creativity, Art, Expression lost.
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05.07.18

3/10/2019

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The night air is cool and crisp
The wind blowing in gusts that frighten the unsuspecting ear
Alone, staring at screens, I contemplate one, two, three things and more
Attention drawn to everything and nothing
Candles burn until they die
The noise of life dimming until the sun shines once more
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06.04.18

3/10/2019

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Set me on your windowsill
Face me toward the sun
Give me water 
Watch me grow
Help me blossom under your care
Talk with me, tell me of your hopes and fears
Carbon dioxide love
Let me bloom 
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03.01.18

4/22/2018

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Inner Warrior

I might be 5’4 (and ½) but sometimes I walk around feeling like a goddamn warrior.
I stand tall and clench my fists and feel as though I could punch a hole in the ground.
In my mind, I’m a fighter, a rebel, something akin to an Amazon or a Valkyrie.
I look small and weak, but inside I know who I am, who I want to be, who I will become.
When I stretch and hear bones popping I feel as though I’m transforming. There is a rage inside this small frame that’s screaming for an outlet.
I desire the strength of a wild beast.
I want to gnaw and claw my way through the world, gaining the respect of all who challenge me and fail to destroy me.
One day I will gain the power that I desire, for I have already seen it, and I will make it mine.
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04.21.18

4/22/2018

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Muses

​I wish I were as inspiring as a Muse
As talented on my feet as Terpsichore
As ethereal and charismatic as Calliope
As convincing an actress as Melpomene or Thalia
I wish I were as memorable as a Muse
Fiction made whole
My life recorded by Clio on an eternal scroll
I wish my voice could tempt and sooth
A voice as wonderful as Polyhymnia’s
I wish I were good at everything and nothing
Talented and poised and happy
A lover and a dreamer like Erato
A musician like Euterpe
A stargazer like Urania
Unafraid of the dark expanse between the stars
And curious until the very end
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04.21.18

4/22/2018

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​Air flows through the open window
Blowing incense smoke this way and that
I stare at the great gray of the sky
Listening to the birds sing
Watching life drift by
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08.13.17

8/24/2017

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You complained that I wouldn't let you have what was yours
​
But my body is not yours
I've said that I'm yours, but that doesn't mean you own me
Or my body or my soul
I can love you and still belong to no one
Don't you see?
In a moment of melancholy I let you take me
The way you wanted
Your favorite position, angle, what have you
I tell myself it's fine
Let you have your fun
And then a flash of pain
A triggered memory
I start to cry but I don't let you see
I let you finish because I feel bad
I leave the room and cry
The bathroom my safe little box
You don't know that you've hurt me
Or rather caused me to remember someone who did
I don't blame you
You didn't know
And I didn't realize what I'd locked away
You cry when I can finally breathe again
You hold me when I tell you
You cry
You apologize
I comfort you
A silly reversal of roles
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08.22.17

8/22/2017

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Waste
​​Photos bring me little comfort.
As I stare at the photographs on my cork-board I wonder with discontent,
is this all that will be left of me?
I sit here and waste away.
Writing for no one or everyone, 
allowing my shoulders to curve inward, ruining my posture for all the years to come.
The sky outside calls to me, but I ignore it for no good reason.
I sit here with my distractions,
technology that may or may not rot my brain and stain my insides with cancerous cells.
All around me is nonsense, material that won’t last, waste.
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02.01.17

8/21/2017

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Winter

The hardest part of winter: the darkness.
The sun is down by four pm and the day dies.
This death  causes anguish and pain.
The darkness makes for sleepy minds and desperate hearts.
It's hard to fight the urge to weep and whine in the cover  of early night,
for nights bring thoughts of the day, and we mourn its early death.
​​
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<<Previous

    Poetry from the past and present

    Poetry is not my forte, and I find most poetry to be sad or reflective of a teenage depressive state, but I have shared my rather crappy and depressive poetry to show my progression from sad and weird teen angst to sad
    and reasonable adult angst.

          Explicit content                  warning

    Archives

    February 2020
    March 2019
    April 2018
    August 2017

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