Poet - Blog Posts

Pardon me if I'm wrong

Perhaps I'm just an idiot

I do not take advantage of the road I take

Paved with the blood sweat and tears

Of my ancestors

I do not go to college just for a degree

The paper at the end of four years does not matter to me

The classes I take do not simply fulfill a requirement

I do not study latin just to say Pulchra Femina es to a friend

I looked at someone today, and

Yes, I was colored by curiosity

Becasue my life is more than a few words

Read from a computer screen for a test I will take on Friday

I do not learn to say I know

I learn to expect I know nothing

The classes I attend have a purpose

The money I pay

The debt I choose

Is not for you or my employer

To say that it didn't matter

Yes, my school is too expensive

And yes, the programs I participate in will decorate my resume

But today, I looked at my friends

Crowded around a table to have fun

Like childish adults just trying to make sense of everything

And I knew I never wanted anything less

Then an education.

I want to learn from my peers

Engage in this class,

Maybe try hard or not try at all

But give this road a chance to shine

For the rhyme

I will make of it

If education was free how many people

Would take a class just to know

What color frogs turn in winter

And if Edgar allen poe knew her.

I embrace my debt because it is a privilege

To know my family supports my decision

Even if my bank account runs dry

And the stress piles high

Because being educated is important

At least to me

And I can't

For the life of me

Think of a reason to ban it.

The children in the schools don't know their letters,

But they know how to hide from an active shooter,

They can't use their mind but

They can leave me behind

In a race for their lives.

Maybe I misspoke

I need to know my place, right?

I can't be too woke,

But dammit I can fucking fight.

Fight for the children who deserve to read,

Fight for the young adults who yearn to be

In college

Fight for the women who are fighting for their right,

Fight for the man I call my best friend,

Whose very existence is the definition on rebellion

Fight for the change I want to see,

Even if that change means going back to just yesterday

should i start posting my poetry i write yes or no

#question #pleasebehonest #iwantmywritingtohelpothers

On healing:

I'm trying to be beautiful and to heal

but im dying and it's hard

to heal beautifully...

I want to get through this and be suprised there's still good left in this world

but I wonder if I'm living the life of a girl who dies young, chaotic and brief, mostly unknown, morning news

Spring:

Do you believe in rebirth?

I think I do now

We emerge just like her

Rapidly flourishing

Demanding life

What does it mean,

To experience the dance

of being

if today was my last

If today was my last How would I spend it? would I take in all the little things, gathering all those little details that I have always missed, my head has always been too full of all these things that keep me up at night. Or would I still just float through it all Still just a shell of the kid I once was, all the vibrancy and wonder having left years ago.

Would I go to the library? to collect a few last lines Letting them live on the tip of my tongue. only to set them free with my last breath. letting the feeling of ink on the page, be the last thing my fingertips will feel. the smell of paper and secrets, invading my senses and welcoming me home at last.

Would I go to the school that has hallways I have haunted? having drifted through them, my eyes empty and my brain always too full with all those thoughts. stopping in the classes to whisper a few final goodbyes even though nobody would notice or hear me pausing the disorder and energy in those hallways, for just a few moments, finally letting myself take it all in.

would I go to the forest wherein the deepest part I could lie on its soft grass floor, in the utter calm of it letting my lungs finally breathe in the crisp air, the feeling of its coldness expanding within them. closing my eyes for the last time, finally letting myself feel at peace and safe, hearing the bird's singing floating around me, their cries being the last thing I will ever hear.

My last words will be uttered so softly that not even the wind would hear them, when they escape this prison of my mind, floating away with my final exhale. My last breath will flow out feeling free for the first time, escaping into the world seeing it all.

child of grey

My father was of ebony. My mother of ivory I am the child of grey. Not enough ebony to be of my father To little ivory to be with my mother

My heart was of half-ice. A cold so unfeeling So a cold almost to the point of burning, never enough feeling to care my head half of snakes calculating and cruel always planning and waiting for the perfect moment to strike

My heart is made of half gold. Tender and caring beautiful and full of love, perfect to suit you my head half made of fire burning hot, always craving for something to fuel it unpredictable and starving for its next game

I am the child of grey. With the head of flame and scales calculating and unpredictable, Ready to strike and always to keep you on edge. And my heart of ice and gold blinding you with its beauty, while slowing killing you with its burning ice

i love you

I have loved you since We were young. barely old enough to even understand what love even was. the feeling of pure and utter devotion I had felt for you before I fully realized How much love would ruin me. How much it would kill me Tearing me apart, never letting me go Stealing away my heart, never giving it back

mama don’t you know

Mama, don’t you know your little baby is sitting in their room? Crying their eyes out screaming for help Screaming for you to help them Begging for you to love them for who they are

Mama, can’t you see the way they're pleading? How their pleading for you to love them For you to finally tell them they're good enough For you to please noticed this once how much they need you.

Mama, do you ignore the blank stares and the emptiness? The way they wear barcodes on their body       How no matter how much they try, they can't get you to love them

Mama, do you ignore all the blood and tears? Pretending you don't hear them crying out at night Acting like you don't notice the blood and bandages.

Mama do you spend your days looking for new ways to hurt them? You filled their heart with all your spite and hatred. Poisoning your little baby before they had a chance to grow Making them believe they were a weed Never let them be able to believe in anything else.

the bathroom

Smoke flows from my cracked and bloody lips the dingy bathroom lights flicker above me a low buzz echos through the room my reflection stares back at me a sly smirk gracing its lips I can almost hear its laugh echoing in my head. The cold porcelain of the sink pulsing against the rising heat of my hands dirt and grime caked on to the counter and mirror the buzzing of the lights mixes with the pounding of my head Voices and conversations outside the door seem to grow in volume. pounding against my eardrums All the noise seems to be surrounding me. Building up and building up my reflections laughter ringing in my ears the lights buzzing and flickering The mirror starts cracking. Sounds of glass falling and shattering mix with the symphony of noise The class finally shatters falling all around me. Knocking on the door starts. The pounding and shaking of the door mixes with the calls of my name It sounds like I'm underwater. The door and the voice feeling so far away while I'm sinking farther down in my head finally, I snap back I'm in the bathroom. the mirrors still intact no longer shattered lights buzzing no longer deafening My fingers loosen their grip on the sink. The reflection no longer laughing and taunting My legs start working. Uprooting themselves from the floor the sound of my footsteps echo against the walls

Anger feels like a sharp green. It lives in the eye of a snake ready to strike. Sharpening its tongue using it as a knife Ready to lash out and wound. Anger is locked in the eyes. Constantly watching and waiting to attack

Yellow is the color of safety. It warms like the sun's rays. Surrounding me. Being a beacon in the dark It's soft and shining in contrast, to angers hard sharpness Safety is free to roam. It finds those in need and makes them safe.

Fear is the darkest blue of the ocean. Primal, cold and harsh Running parallel to anger. Fear stalks its prey, Watching and waiting to strike. never hesitating, always ready. Waiting to cover you in its shallow depths pulling you under like a riptide Devouring you in its purest form

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FINALLY HAVE TIME TO SIT DOWN AND DRAW HIM. This is Poet (he/they)! Another new mc for Our Life. This time romancing Baxter :^)

He works at a children's "cryptozoology" museum that shows off odd and lesser known animals in fun and educational ways. He mainly works with the bugs they keep as exhibits but does work with the other bugs. They also sometimes are that person that visits schools with a buncha animals (bugs or snakes or the like) as an educational show.

A button poetry inspired by the Norse mythology comic by @yeehawpim

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When the Gods came to the Great wolf

Fenrir

He must have thought it just another day

Bright and grand

He must have thought it a game

These were the people who had raised him

And there was Tyr

his friend

They bind him He broke free

He must have rejoiced in his victory

Then the gods came again With different chains

Doubt would have taken hold But he must have ignored it

Bolstering his resolve in his strength thinking

He had nothing to fear

Since Tyr was there

But when the gods

Brought forth the cords

He must have sensed something amiss

This was no game

They wanted something from him

He must have recalled The fleeting hateful stares

But he also must have also remembered

How he played with Tyr

He would not let anything Happen to him

He must have cursed himself

For doubting his friend

For asking for Tyr's hand

But what is done is done he couldn’t go back

And now I sit and wonder

When the wolf couldn't break the cords

Did he pause?

Did Tyr know what would happen?

And offered his flesh regardless?

Or Maybe In guild for what was going to happen to his friend?

What he had caused?

There must have been A moment

When the great wolf pled

Hoping that he would be saved by his friend

Or maybe he wished for Tyr to pull back his hand?

And now I think

That when the wolf bit down

Maybe it wasn't from anger

Maybe it was from sorrow

His friend had made his choice

So maybe he bit

So the blood would hide his tears

Tyr was there

And he had betrayed him

Maybe it's festering. Maybe it's mending. Maybe it's Maybelline.

why does it burn

I coast through life

switching back and forth

from auto pilot.

Like a baby with no object permanence.

- C. Peach

“There will come a ruler

Whose brow is laid in thorn

Smeared with oil like David's boy

Oh lei, oh lai, oh, Lord

Oh lei, oh lai, oh lei, oh, Lord

Smeared with oil like David's boy

Oh lei, oh lai, oh, Lord”

Door open in my room

Now I lie in my bed

my window is open wide

I don’t have to be outside to feel the cool breeze

I can hear so much

The wind

The birds

My dog’s breath

My pen on paper

Leaves rustling

Cars rushing by

My brother’s laughter

And the tapping of my own fingers

The sky is turning purple

With the purple comes comes a cloud of calm

And a gust of joy

I want it to stay this way

(Perfect temperature, perfect sounds, perfect peace)

Forever.

cannibalized by my own jealousy

Envy consumes like a starving fire, Devouring all that's in its ire, Ripping apart what's not its own, Gnashing teeth, breaking bone.

Claws reach out to grab and shred, Leaving nothing but crimson red, Territorial in its gruesome feast, Not a scrap left for even the beast.

Digesting every ounce of worth, Leaving only an empty dearth, Jealousy spares no part or limb, Tearing apart even the strongest vim.

A monster within, hungry and vile, Feasting on envy, keeping it on trial, Until it has destroyed all in its path, Leaving just a carcass, in aftermath.

Thats pretty good for just a silly song about vampires

A silly song a I wrote about Vampires:P

I caught your eyes following a light seeping through somewhere behind me.

A velvatine dream, a skeleton scene, violent dinning, stay the night in Reanne.

Your hair tucked politely behind your ear; A single strand falls and it all turns clear. Within a black fog, a shallow song.

I'll always be your dog.

...

Teeth sharp, striving for a taste. Never have you ever, but I'm not losing faith. A saccharine case, a motive displaced. I see Dhalias sprouting instead of your face.

Midsummer- rotting away with the others.

Fangs against your skin, I restrain myself so I won't be alone. I admire you too much, yet you're scared of my touch.

Murderous urge; shadows taking turns.

Oh how lovely it would be to meet you when the sun begins to rise. Too bad I'll burn.

...

I caught your eye, staring into the night.

Slipping into some narrow hall, shadows fly away.

A fever dream, a polaroid scene. Black and white shades unto the night. Somehow the graveyard feels so bright.

Creatures crawl out from their slumber.

Stake lobotomy, sacrifice another. I see flowers fill the tunnel.

...

Midsommer- rotting away with the others.

Fangs against your skin, you're the only thing that matters.

I think you love too much, yet you're scared of me.

Wouldn't it be grand if we, if I could see.

I want to meet you when the sky begins to turn.

Quite a shame. It's too bad I'll burn.

𝓒𝓪𝓻𝓹𝓮 𝓓𝓲𝓮𝓶🕯

Here are two poems by Maksym Kryvtsov, a Ukrainian poet, who was killed defending Ukraine back in January. One of the poems is dedicated to a ginger cat that followed him around faithfully and later died with him. Please read his words, don't let them die too.

Soldier, Poet, King! I freaking love this song so much, and I couldn’t waste the opportunity to draw this! My friend@_alayna.pezzuto_ is the Soldier My friend Jia is the poet And I am the Ruler Song: Soldier, Poet, King by @theohhellos #soldier #poet #king #theohhellos #soldierpoetking #digitalart #drawing #art #songart https://www.instagram.com/p/B0Bhveclub0/?igshid=1rn7cinmehyst

Irish Spring

a raspy laugh, sharp as cheap soap a mind's movie on a honey-smacked whorl

Decomposing

Her fingers, the wispy breath of young wheat.

An Ohio summer hangs like a warm towel after swimming.

We kickball ideas over the nylon floor of the trampoline;

She recites revisions for her newest novel.

The dank rot of sweet hay and dirt wafts over memories.

Per Amor Ad Astra

Take only photos, leave only footprints,

The mantra of the visitor

To nature's stoop.

We tread lightly on our mother's carpet,

The grass or soil or sand deforms

Under shoe or sole.

We watch as our cousins trot or sway or chirp

As our brother sets on the horizon,

Brilliant and silent.

Together are we on our little world, starstuff all.

As much of the ground or sky

As we are each other.

Watch as the stars rearrange themselves,

See the passing of eras, young ones,

Rise to your feet and behold.

I Don't Have Hands

Eating daisies, yellow paint,

Drinking water, taking pills.

Doing everything as I should

Following all the doctor's rules.

Working hard, walking often,

Happy wallpaper, pretty songs

I wrote my feelings in the notes app,

Going to therapy, watching birds.

I have a cat, have a roof,

Have a bed, have a girl.

I don't wanna be sad no more

But my mind has been made up for me.

The ball's not in my court, and I

Don't have hands anyways.

I Take Pictures of Flowers

Who:

For my love, to make her smile

When a purple blossom makes

Me think of her favorite color.

For my Tumblr followers when

I post proof of my wilderness walks.

For my soul, so I might revisit these

Moments of awe and beauty.

For these,

I take pictures of flowers.

What:

A moment caught in my

Binary bug net,

A digital trace of my travels,

A daily commute or intentional stroll.

And along the way,

I take pictures of flowers.

Where:

My cloud storage fills

To the brim, and I deign to

Empty a single pixel.

Yellow, then red warnings of

Limited space,

But still,

I take pictures of flowers

Why:

To preserve what I cannot

Trust myself to remember.

Every detail, every shimmer on

A petal, every ring of color,

Every fold and roll and pleat.

To replace what I cannot have;

With no box or garden or

Sun-exposed pot,

I can only hold onto these beauties

In digital form.

When:

The golden hours escape me,

But they are probably sour grapes,

A cast of yellow hue on a face,

Not meant for leaf or colored bract.

Nay, whenever the feeling hits,

I pull out my device.

No process or plan in mind,

I snap one or two decent photos

And continue on my way.

Moment by moment

I take pictures of flowers.

How:

Only carefully, gently,

Holding the camera as I would

Carry a basket of down.

Motionless, I hold my breath and

Press the button.

My phone, with the help

Of an AI worth my trust,

Or with my moderately expensive

Camera I would like to buy

A macro attachment for.

I know not the specifics of how

My precious ladies make it onto

Film or image, but even so

I take pictures of flowers.

Don't Hide Your Wings

Pieced together with scraps

Of holy books, bound with the glue

Of a mad and desperate hope

Hang them on your shoulders,

Shine with the terrifying joy of being known.

Indulge in the sacrament of transformation,

Commune with the highest powers,

Feel your sacred self soar

Out of your bones; float in the whispers

Of thin air and cold mists.

And touch the terrible, destroying

Light of the great and fiery sun,

Falling up into the clear and silent realms

Above; the light piercing through your

Gilded flesh, radiating silvery threads.

Shed your hallowed frame and return anew

Crash and scorch the forests,

Turn the desert sands to glass,

Strike the earth with the force of

Lightning, scream your name like thunder.

Rise, smoldering, skin in embers and blessed

Black char, step from your crumbling grave

Bring new life to desolate plains,

Cleanse the salt from the fields,

Extend your arms, and breathe finally.

Breathe new air,

Breathe in new lungs,

Breathe fire and flame

Breathe nothing and everything

Breathe, at last, you.

Farmtown Vibes

Planting seeds in the rich brown of my eyes,

Watering them with the cool blue of yours,

We gaze past irises and into souls

Our identities blurring and blending

Fusing into something entirely new.

The harvest is lush, my basket overflows.

Corn of ideas, creeping beans of love,

The flowing gourds of acceptance and

Understanding give a cornucopia of

Nourishing food for the soul.