justanotherwannabesappho
Wannabe Sappho
Lara // 22 // New Zealand
I write poetry, make art, procrastinate
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The Face in the Mirror is Mine But I Don't Recognise It
Super proud of lower back length hair,
Tied back into a ponytail
With green or black or brown hair ties.
Crisp, clean, green jersey, and tunic,
And a dainty silver cross around my neck.
The face in the mirror is mine but I don’t recognise it.
I was once a young girl with a big toothy grin,
Hair cut into a bob.
Thin frame, hot pink glasses
And shoving my tunic in my bag after PE,
Just wearing the white blouse and green gym shorts.
The face in the mirror is mine but I don’t recognise it.
Long brown hair always tied back into a classic ponytail,
Wearing a clunky school uniform:
The summer dresses that looked like tablecloths
Or the winter skirts that were a pain to put on.
Always sitting below the knee.
The face in the mirror is mine but I don’t recognise it.
A good girl, well behaved, try hard.
Bright eyes and eager to please.
Acne and spots along my forehead
And the smile was sometimes a little forced.
But who can tell the difference?
The face in the mirror is mine but I don’t recognise it.
Cry baby, over sensitive
“Look Bella! I made her cry!”
“You can only sit with us if you actually talk.”
Spending lunch time sitting alone
Because my ‘friends’ walked away before I finished eating.
The face in the mirror is mine but I don’t recognise it.
Grey beanie even in the early months of summer,
But I’m smiling more.
Less uniforms I have to wear,
Leaving me to figure out who I am without them.
But I decided to cut my hair again.
The face in the mirror is mine but I don’t recognise it.
The red has almost faded from my hair,
Might be time to get it cut again.
But I actually like how I look most days,
For the first time in years.
Tired but happy smiles.
The face in the mirror is mine but I don’t recognise it.
But maybe that just means I’ve changed.
#my poetry#poetry#poems#writeblr#poetblr#poetry on tumblr#poets on tumblr#spilled ink#in this house we love repetition#lara rambles
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Current Poetry Projects:
Lavender Menace: a collection of queer poetry, telling the story of growing up and falling in love, heartbreak, growth. Almost complete, just hesitating on the editing and publishing process
Divine Guilt: I'm gay, raised Catholic, have a healthy dose of religious trauma. So, poems to speak to my experiences. Or to get a little sacrilegious
Buried Roots: a mix of essays and poems and prose about trying to connect with your roots for the first time since you were eight
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WRITING LONG-ASS POEM TITLES LIKE I’M NAMING A FALL OUT BOY SONG BY FALL OUT BOY
My year nine teacher gave me a lesson on God’s toxic behaviour and said it’s good.
A lesson in the Sacrament of Confession,
Committing ritualistic cannibalism at the ripe age of eight:
Love does not exist between consenting members of the same sex.
The candle that has only been lit twice.
A small identity crisis because of a university assignment.
Rewriting my high school’s school prayer.
I’m tired of being the person that everyone thinks that I am.
Don’t walk through the Esplanade with a hole in your heart.
Inspiration strikes in the corner of McDonald’s.
Seeking some lost answer from a god who loves me,
Coming out to God while breaking up with him.
Reasons I should have figured out I was gay:
#lara rambles: a collection of Tumblr posts by yours truly,
A non-exhaustive list of things I want to do with her
#lara rambles#my poetry#poetry#writeblr#poets on tumblr#poems#poetry on tumblr#no this is not inspired by an old tumblr meme#spilled ink
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Writing the Divine
I want to write about angels
I want to write about cutting my hands on a glowing halo
I want to write about the pain of wanting what you can’t have
I want to write about the pain of loving what can never be yours
I want to write about divine ecstasy
I want to write about divine suffering
I want to write about devoting myself to you on my knees
I want to write about repeating your name like a prayer on my lips
I want to write about fallen angels
I want to write about broken wings and shattered halos
I want to write about the burning pain of falling from heaven
I want to write about the burning pain of falling in love
I want to write about worshipping your body like an altar
I want to write about worshipping you like a god
I want to write about being in love even though it will hurt in the end
I want to write about the type of love that kills me in the end
I want to write about baring my entire body and soul to you
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A Response to 'Who Am I?'
That poem was written in 2018.
A suggested task from one of my lectures
That was never revisited.
But I wrote it anyway.
Supposedly inspired by Tayi Tibble
And her poem
‘Identity Politics.’
A poem I wrote when I was eighteen years old.
Fresh out of high school.
So, the poem made sense.
Who knows who they are in high school anyway?
But it’s 2022.
I am 22 years old.
And the poem is still updating with my age.
18, 19, 20, 21, 22.
And the poem will probably keep updating,
Aging alongside me.
When the day comes,
When I figure out who I am,
The poem will cease to age,
Frozen in time.
And I will have the answer.
#poetry#poems#poets on tumblr#writeblr#new zealand#writersociety#tayi tibble#lara rambles#my poetry#spilled ink
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Hypotheticals With My Younger Selves
Six-year-old me would love that I still have our beloved stuffed toys. Maybe a little confused that I no longer sleep with them. Six-year-old me would love all the pretty things in my room. However, there is a severe lack of dinosaur-related books, much to her disappointment. Six-year-old me asks if I’m happy.
Eight-year-old me asks where my glasses are. I tell her I don’t know. We can’t see out of them anymore anyway. Eight-year-old me would ask about the new bedroom. We’re not sharing with our sister anymore. We’re no longer in our childhood home. Eight-year-old me asks why dad doesn’t live with us anymore. Eight-year-old me asks if I’m happy.
Ten-year-old me would adore my crystal collection. It’s so much bigger than what it used to be. Ten-year-old me had no fear for the future, I envy that. Ten-year-old me asks if I still play the guitar. She asks me what Saint Peter’s is like. I tell her she grows into a hardworking young girl. Ten-year-old me asks if I’m happy.
Twelve-year-old me would be ecstatic to discover we own the full Percy Jackson and Heroes of Olympus series. I won’t answer too many questions about our friends from back then. Twelve-year-old me continues to obsess over the books. I tell her we’re writing our own book series. Twelve-year-old me asks if I’m happy.
Fourteen-year-old me would be happy we have our own room. She asks about the people in the photos. I tell her that we make some really good friends when we get to university. Fourteen-year-old me is heartbroken that some of our old friends aren’t our friends anymore. I tell her it’s for the best. Fourteen-year-old me is shocked that sometimes I feel really good about myself. Fourteen-year-old me asks if I’m happy.
Sixteen-year-old me cannot believe that we graduated university. With a degree in creative writing for that matter. Sixteen-year-old me asks about our writing. I tell her it’s good. I tell her we write poetry. I tell her people like our writing. Sixteen-year-old me notices the lesbian flag hanging from my door. I tell her it’s okay. Sixteen-year-old me asks about the tarot cards. I tell her that it’s okay she has her doubts. Sixteen-year-old me is relieved mum no longer makes us go to the gym. Sixteen-year-old me asks if I’m happy.
Eighteen-year-old me is relieved that we didn’t go through with psychology. They’re surprised that we’re still studying, though. Eighteen-year-old me notices the tarot cards and the pendulums, the herbs, the crystals. If she realised that we let go of Catholicism, she doesn’t say anything. Eighteen-year-old me cries when she realises we have friends. Good friends. Eighteen-year-old me is shocked that we run the drama club for a few years. Eighteen-year-old me asks if I’m happy.
Twenty-year-old me wouldn’t see much of a difference. But the fact that we are still going is a small victory in itself. They’re grateful that we finally have a second bookshelf. Twenty-year-old me is scared about the future to come. But twenty-year-old me knows me well, she tells me she trusts me to make our future good. Twenty-year-old me asks if I’m happy.
I think I’m getting there.
#poetry#poems#inner child#poets on tumblr#writeblr#poetblr#lara rambles#my poetry#totally not inspired by a tiktok trend#spilled ink
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Who Am I?
Who am I? It’s a tough and constant question.
I am twenty-two, I am from Aotearoa.
I live with my mother, my sister, my brother.
I am white. I am Maori. I am from Whakatohea.
Is that enough? Are you satisfied?
Who am I? There’s still more to explore.
I was a student at a university.
Before that, a Catholic high school.
Before that, a Catholic primary school.
Is that enough? Are you satisfied?
Who am I? What else is there for me to tell?
I am an artist, a writer, an actor.
A reader, a creator, a thinker.
A person. Just like everybody else.
Is that enough? Are you satisfied?
Who am I? What do you want me to say?
I’m quiet and I’m a dreamer.
Or maybe I’m loud and a jokester.
Or maybe I’m somewhere in between.
Is that enough? Are you satisfied?
Who am I? Deep down?
I do not know.
There are so many sides.
Multifaceted sides. Sides to be discovered.
Is that enough? Are you satisfied?
Who am I?
I am a puzzle.
An incomplete puzzle.
Yet to find all the pieces.
Is that enough? Are you satisfied?
Who am I?
I’m discovering all parts of me.
One side is missing,
I’ve yet to find my roots.
Is that enough? Are you satisfied?
Who am I?
I am me. I am myself.
An incomplete, multifaceted puzzle.
And I am still looking for all the pieces.
Is that enough? Are you satisfied?
#poetry on tumblr#poetry#poem#new zealand#maori#writeblr#my poetry#lara rambles#aotearoa#in this house we love repetition#spilled ink
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Here's a sneak peak at a little something I'm working on.
I'm going to figure out which poems I can share here (with some editing of course), and which are going to stay in my poetry archive (either for future projects or forever). In the mean time, have this!
And maybe a few poetry tips and recs
Image transcript:
[Lying in bed together, / limbs tangled together in sheets. / My hands trace every dip and curve of your body / while I feel your lips on my neck. / My knee presses up between your thighs, / drawing a gasp from your lips. / Twin arrows pierce our hearts, / golden and radiant, / joining us together. / It's a gift from the gods, / bringing you to me. / Giving us the luxury to map out every inch of our bodies, / and how they fit together. / A moment of devotion to you. / I want you, / only you. / I run my hand through your hair, / before connecting my lips to yours. / Eros.]
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Here's a sneak peak at a little something I'm working on.
I'm going to figure out which poems I can share here (with some editing of course), and which are going to stay in my poetry archive (either for future projects or forever). In the mean time, have this!
And maybe a few poetry tips and recs
Image transcript:
[Lying in bed together, / limbs tangled together in sheets. / My hands trace every dip and curve of your body / while I feel your lips on my neck. / My knee presses up between your thighs, / drawing a gasp from your lips. / Twin arrows pierce our hearts, / golden and radiant, / joining us together. / It's a gift from the gods, / bringing you to me. / Giving us the luxury to map out every inch of our bodies, / and how they fit together. / A moment of devotion to you. / I want you, / only you. / I run my hand through your hair, / before connecting my lips to yours. / Eros.]
#poetry#poems#poetry on tumblr#poets on tumblr#writeblr#writing#prose#prose poetry#lara rambles#my poetry#nsfw ish#spilled ink
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a list of some of the favourite lines ive written
i will get no satisfaction in watching my old bedroom burn
i dig the small blossom tree out of the ground. / i take it with me as the house burns to rubble. / maybe i can plant the tree in some better soil
i want to say no one, / but i swallow it down
that one false confession proved to be a bad idea
at least my inner child would be happy with that
if my grandmother could see the heathen i became, / would she still love me unconditionally?
dissect her in a poem only meant for her eyes
drawing the lord's name from her lips. / oh, god, / amen, amen, amen
bruised lips crash together, / held in rhythmic percussion
bouquet that i will never send
my chosen family is one i love just as my own
there is no room in my soul / to hold any anger towards / one who has never hurt me
but i didn't say any of that / i just told him / "i know"
you carry the stars with you everywhere
i would love you quietly
crumpled bloody flowers / adorn the photograph / in pathetic beauty
finding solace in our words
im now 22, / and i don't know who i am
and i'll be damned if i let those broken pieces stay buried
my kindness has limits
i shove the flowers under the sheets
i am capable of love, / and i don't need to prove it
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Hello!
Hey all! My name is Lara, (you may know me as @rising-above-stars). I am a young artist and poet from New Zealand. I graduated with a BA in Creative Writing and Theatre Studies. Currently working on a Library Studies degree, and prepared to do Museum Studies afterwards. Alongside writing, I create art, procrastinate assignments, and do some sort of theatre. I am currently working on a lesbian poetry collection.
I mainly write poetry. On this blog, you will find snippets of my own writing, the odd poetry recommendations, other people's posts I've reblogged, and maybe some tips.
Feel free to drop by for a chat!
My work has been published in:
'Between the Lines', Out on the Shelves Rainbow Zine 2020
'Silenced Angel' and 'Rose By Any Other Name', Bare: A Pop Opera Fanzine 2020
'Lesbophobia is Homophobia With a Side Order of Sexism', Sunstroke Magazine 2020
'Blasphemy', Overcommunicate Magazine 2021
'Daisy, Daisy' The Jupiter Review 2021
'Roots' Auth. Mag Upcoming Feb 2022
'Blooming Love: A Collection' The Garden of Venus Zine Upcoming June 2022
'Blasphemy' Messy Misfits Club: Issue 2, May 2022
'Re: Still Being Referred to as My Parents' Daughter' and 'A Look at My Relationship With Gender', Powders Press: Issue 3, June 2022
'Burning Everything', Catchwater Magazine: Issue 4, August 2022
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