laneaconite
Do you feel it?
Lane. Writer, Poet, and Pedant.Icon designed and embroidered by me,Header photo by Walter Siegmund: https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=8794874
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As I learn something new,
I yearn to share it with you:
Reach toward the empty echo at my side
And ache.
-Lane Aconite,
February 24th, 2024
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Destination Nowhere
It’s been a long time coming but I’m begging for relief
Staring eyes wide open to catch the great time thief.
I watch the hours melt away as my hands beside me twitch.
There’s nothing I can find within that helps me scratch this itch.
“You know, you were never meant to settle here, you were an extended guest.”
But I went and burrowed deeper in, always afraid to be addressed;
I never learned when to hold on tighter or how to let them go.
Oh God, why’d no one teach me, how was I supposed to know?
When we met around the table, they filled the closest side.
I limped my way around it and collapsed to watch the tide
Of jumbled 3rd-hand conversation and shoring up the bills,
Until he turned to me, “There’s no easy way to say this,” and I was overcome with chills.
-Lane Aconite
March 1st, 2023
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How to Stay Alive
"You know what is my system?” the driver asks
As we're speeding down the Five, weaving between Sunday Drivers
And forgotten fragments of car wrecks.
He laughs as sharply as he turns, “I have to forgive them!"
“Oh, yeah.” I watch the man breathe and my mind reflects over our conversation—
Criticizing the merge speed and naming worst states to drive in—
Like rivers split in runnels across the hippocampus:
“Because otherwise you wouldn't keep going."
A quiet awe occupies the space, and then he fills it,
"We always have to keep going."
-Lane Aconite,
January 24th 2024
#so the dialogue here is from a conversation I had with an uber/lyft driver#I love getting into big discussions with drivers#& I was really struck by his anti-road rage sentiment#and anti-holding on to anger in general.#we ended up talking about how that's how a lot of accidents and tragedies happen#people can't forgive or let things go so they don't move on#it's fun to find wisdom in ordinary places#poetry#my work#lane archives#lane speaks
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You don’t have to snuggle me up in bubble wrap, baby
getting hurt’s just part of living.
All my cuts, scrapes, and scars will ultimately be forgiven.
We’ll all dissolve into the ground
to become the dust and dirt anew,
but here, right now, there’s nothing more I want
than to spend my time with you.
-Lane Aconite,
January 18th, 2024
#poetry#my work#lane archives#sapphic poetry#look gang I've made it to this year!!#my backlog is only ~9 more poems long about so I suppose I'll have to keep writing huh
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Bogged Down
Neighbor waves his cigarette in greeting across the wall.
Not the first stale waft or echo, friendly grin.
Wish I had more in me than a smile, belated
A hello returned too slow.
It's not as though I'm obligated,
hobbling, pajama clad with a cane.
I just want to know his name
-Lane Aconite,
December 29th, 2023
#poetry#my work#lane archives#disability poetry#originally I classified this as a fragment but it's complete on its own
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Looking for Progress
When I'm home alone,
you'll hear my whistle echoing along the white-washed walls.
Or in the garden, handrake turning soil
singing along to songs invented in my head.
A poem can be a song if only one
sings along instead.
My sister used to want to be a singer,
we’d twirl back and forth together,
making up what we thought were melodies,
but our brother, he’d hear us and scream:
"You sound like you’re skinning cats alive!"
Quick stab to the gut, good twist of the knife,
scarred with stale blood still roiling beneath.
He’d call it a joke but we’d call it a wound,
That’s three against one!
We danced and sang for our amusement,
for his, he cannibalized our dreams.
-Lane Aconite
December 29, 2023
#poetry#my work#lane archives#most of my poems do come to me in song fashion now#so in my head there's always an extended edition where I keep singing#for a sprinkling of personal lore: that's because after my major seizure episodes last yr I had cognitive deficits for months after#most heavily in that my auditory processing issues were way worse & my ability to focus was hugely reduced#before I was a 3 things at once in order to focus person but after my sound sensitivity from migraine was so bad it took 2 months to#even be able to listen to music again#and I found that I couldn't listen to music and do anything else like text or read so I just laid and listened and analyzed songs as poetry#from that I very slowwwly worked up to being able to listen and do tasks so now I'm back to a soundtrack most of the time to focus person#sometimes analyzing songs still distracts me but I used to not even hear the lyrics#Those months recovering alone were a kinda dark time but I really thank them for giving me the time to become a better poet#I think it's definitely notable in the work I wrote before my seizures and afterward like this one
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She wanted to break the cycle
I told her I won’t have kids,
"‘Cause the chronic pain’s hereditary,"
laugh half mirth.
She cries, “I’m sorry, baby, I’m so sorry.”
And it’s the 3rd cigarette she’s lit this phone call.
Said she didn’t care about Christmas this year except
what she sent to me, her mom, my sisters.
I look up from the calendar I’m marking,
only 7 painful days away from 500.
Show my smile and say, “Mom, momma. It’s okay,
it’s not like I wanna die.
I’m a jack of all trades—I’ve got plenty left to live for."
-Lane Aconite
December 20th, 2023
#poetry#my work#lane archives#chronic pain#chronic migraines#disability poetry#not even sure this one makes sense without the tags context but rhetorically analyze me I dare u#today is day 599 of the same migraine actually so#this is poignant in a very specific way#cycle refers to the cycle of generational abuse if that ain't clear#I like this one because it's mostly correct grammar but part colloquial#spoken & written grammar have different rules factually#irl I'm just out there saying shit
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Seizures
Adhesive from the heart monitors
sticky residue across my chest for days
even though I took three showers,
scraped fingernails against my skin.
It's a small price to pay for living,
maybe I shouldn't mind
the mild discomfort of it all.
It's not like I was really there
for that first seizure or the second
like my doctor was, or my darling friend,
who held me in their arms
as I foamed at the mouth for five minutes.
I can count the scabs and bruises,
four IVs, watching shadows pass by
the paper door of my hospital room.
Attended to for two days by Kate
and Esmerelda, called dear and darling
and escorted to the curb in a wheelchair.
Picked up this time by doting roommates,
hugged and welcomed,
centered and supported.
No longer singled out as a burden
but recognized as a creature with love to give,
needs to be acknowledged,
mountains of stress upon their shoulders.
If there’s anything I’ve begged for
all this time,
it’s peace,
it’s quiet.
So that’s all I’m given.
All and more.
I didn’t know how loud I’d been crying out for it;
it must have echoed.
-Lane Aconite,
December 10th, 2023
#poetry#my work#lane archives#chronic illness#disability#disability poetry#this is a rough spot in the poetry timeline#last yr was a rough spot in the uh *cough* life timeline#when this counts as a positive poem
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Escape
I shut the door on suffocation,
And stepped toward an absolution.
On the curb I sobbed beside my suitcase
Toward me stepped God, expression flat upon her face.
I told her, “All I ever do
Is bite off more than I can chew.”
She told me the past I could do nothing for,
It was I who closed that door.
Closed on perfect painted walls,
Curated beige and blue lined halls
A floor I walked on tiptoe, scared
Eyes darting back and forth to be prepared.
Felt her ire drawn at a moment’s notice,
As though my solitude morphed to malice.
Through her blue eyes, I am my mother:
An angry, horrid, awful abuser.
So I packed a bag and shut that door
Suitcase dragged along the floor.
Toward new safety I was swept
Heart racing in my chest, I lept.
Unfolded long and white, meandering halls
Peeling yellowed paint along the walls
Vines embossed across stained carpets,
Crystal doorknobs with glittering facets
And standing neatly in their niches
Dusty Mary, Joseph, Jesus.
With arms of roses, cross beside her,
Along Mary’s shoulder crawls a spider.
Toward her form I lean and she recoils,
Watching in the cleanly way she toils;
Legs run gently through her chelicerae,
And I am parted from my misery.
-Lane Aconite,
December 1st, 2023
#poetry#my work#lane archives#for those uninitiated: chelicerae are the mouth appendage of spiders#pronounced kuh-liss-er-ee#so phonetically it does rhyme with misery & so this poem works really great read aloud#& prose wise I think it's peak my fave especially with the transformative biblical illusions#I just hadn't had a chance to play around with them before! but they clicked perfectly with this one
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Expectations
That imagine in your head you have
Cultivated of me?
Constructed from fragmented scraps,
Flashes of truth—
Let it go.
I will never be who
You want me to be.
Let it melt like a sidewalk chalk portrait,
Pattered away by the rain, to
Trail in gentle pastel streaks along the road.
Let it slip through the tips of your fingers
To flounce and flutter down the street,
Dissolve like sludge into the gutter.
Let it escape the tip of your tongue,
Locked away like memories lost
And accept me
For who I’ve already been.
-Lane Aconite,
November 4th 2023
#poetry#lane archives#my work#this one's based on multiple experiences but one in particular that is still ouch#& there's a companion piece to it that I'll post tomorrow#in the wise words of singer-songwriter Samia “When somebody loves you they take you as you are”#and to people who feel this:#in the wise words of Avril Lavigne: “I don't know who you are but I'm with you.”
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In Your Web
Growing up, I was our house’s spider catcher
Or killer, but that grew to hurt me too.
Summoned by my sisters’ shrieking,
I’d scoop the restless creature in a jar,
Let it outside.
You told me on the phone about
A web you had to break,
Built ambitiously from floor to ceiling.
You allowed them free reign anywhere
But in your way.
Before we went inside, you introduced me
To the spiders on your porch,
Who dove away frightened from your gestures.
I could feel only joy and admiration,
You led me inside.
Arm in arm we walked
Under the mesh ceiling, swathed in web
You named the spiders for me,
Leaning in to admire them up close.
I wanted to kiss you then.
A gorgeous golden orb weaver appeared
Just out my door, this morning.
Web glittering tremulously in the golden rays.
I watched her wrap and devour a fat fly, and
I thought of you and smiled.
-Lane Aconite,
October 19th, 2023
#poetry#lane archives#my work#another one of my faves#but of a specific category from my other faves for the good memories attached <3#gay gay homosexual gay ya know#wlw poetry#sapphic poetry#queer poetry#and to meta-analyze myself: spiders & love for them as a representation of being openly queer in a 'weird' or 'unacceptable' way
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Trailing
Eucalyptus bark crunching underfoot—
Deliciously crisp,
Shed from naked boughs
Like old worn clothes.
Saw it sold as decoration:
Gorgeous Table Centerpiece!
For 50 cents a gram.
I imagine how someone gathered them,
Might even make a pretty penny.
I imagine I’d tie them with twine, like
A scented candle of crumbling
Cutaneous cells.
Swaddled off
In paper and plastic to vanish,
Sprinkling
Inexorable splinters in the sea.
Beneath my feet they lie,
Stacked with space between.
If I reached, I’d feel the crisp outer layer
And scrape away the spongy inside.
I raise my hands, can’t help but laugh
and I shatter them to pieces.
-Lane Aconite
October 7th, 2023
#poetry#lane archives#my work#gosh this poem has me missing my favorite trail#can't walk it rn with veritgo & cane but Mary my beloved instrument is getting an upgraded tip specifically for hiking#can't waaaait till it arrives & I get to crunch on back through again#even if now it'll be much harder than it used to be
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Rend
How to silence
The rhythmic churning of my ears?
Shrill notes echoing outward,
No silence unplagued by music
Internally.
How to escape
The strobing agony beneath my eyes?
Hot talons tearing my forehead,
Spikes protruding my brain
Internally.
How to erase
That agonizing urge to express?
Make known my infinite sorrow,
All I can ever contemplate:
Eternally.
How it ought to gush out thickly,
A bloody flood.
-Lane Aconite,
September 26th, 2023
#poetry#lane archives#my work#chronic pain#chronic migraines#chronic illness#disability#disability poetry#feeling this one really specifically lately
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The frog does not fret
Life’s small meanings, she thinks:
Sun warm, mud cool. Bliss.
-Lane Aconite,
August 24th, 2023
#bonus poem!!!!#going through my folders & realized I forgot this one in the timeline!!#original haiku#lane archives#poetry#my work#The Frog is a character in my ermmm personal lore from an oracle reading my sis did that yr with her new deck#she symbolizes the need to prioritize rest & relaxation#so one of our inside [not quite] jokes is telling one another to Be The Frog when needed
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Paint My Nails Again
Still remember your mulberry bedroom walls,
Curtains and lamp patterned to match,
Plum bed covers, splashed with black.
Split-level ground floor at your grandma's house;
Still could trace the blueprint of those halls.
We walked home together after school.
You offered me a manicure—spent the whole time shocked
At how split and uneven I allowed them grow,
Jabbing a wooden stick with vehemence into my skin
Like we weren’t girls just the same
Because mine were jagged, packed with dirt.
Only color I can’t remember is the polish I picked.
-Lane Aconite,
Drafted September 23rd 2023
Finished April 5th, 2024
Original Fragment:
Still remember being at your grandma's house
We’d walked home together after school.
You offered to do my nails,
And spent the whole time shocked
At how uneven I let them grow
Jabbing a wooden stick against cuticles
Like we weren’t girls the same age
Because mine were jagged, packed with dirt
#poetry#lane archives#my work#original draft under the cut!!! it lived in my fragment section#but she's freeeee#I just didn't have the words or the focus at the time#got so many memories with that old friend; they get muddled
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It’s alright,
History is continual
We can make it.
-Lane Aconite,
September 23rd, 2023
#poetry#lane archives#my work#I originally categorized this as a fragment thinking I'd “finish” it but I couldn't do anything better than what was already there#sometimes elaboration isn't necessary#& this thusly is one of my faves for that little personal lesson :)#lane speaks
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When we were little girls together
Connected through happenstance, on a day
In which a shared isolation was realized.
I scouted you alone, downcast eyes squinting at the tiled floor
And I knew if I tried, we would find a fellowship everlasting,
Across time.
We were girls together, flowers planted neatly in the garden bed;
We grew twisted and gnarled by plight and by preference.
In the dirt we concocted potions and portals, epiphanies.
Our futures we dreamt up fancifully, shameless of
Childhood love.
We were girls together, but through the ages we would metamorph.
Persecuted as we rose, dreams picked apart and remade:
Our roots escaped the garden bed, tore the wood to shreds.
We grew out of so called “girlhood” which held us
Tight as a fist.
Tight as the spasming, anxious throat.
Only after a myriad could we unfurl, after
Careful years of self-interrogation, isolation, irony
In that which tore us apart, folded us back into one another:
Growing up.
-Lane Aconite,
August 21st, 2023
#poetry#lane archives#my work#queer poetry#trans poetry#i'm only uhhhh I guess 4 days late to trans day of visibility?#but I'm here with my nb swag
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