poemsbydee
Dee
Here's some stuff, poems,prose and ramblings. Maybe you’ll relate to my monologue into the void.
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Im so tired
Im so tired
And I can’t even make art about it because
Im so tired
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You are so easy to love
your plain existence is a joy
You are so easy to love
there is no hardship in this
You are so easy to love
easy like breathing, it feels so fresh
You are so easy to love
always have been.
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I look at myself in the mirror
and it’s me
still,
always has been.
When I look again
It’s me once more
but a different me than before.
I know who that is
in the mirror.
It’s me.
But it’s not the me from where I was then
and it’s not the me
that I will be.
I look in the mirror
and back look two eyes.
They’re the same as ever,
and yet the skies
in them
have changed.
I wonder,
if with every passing day,
theres more of me
in them
or less.
Does it help
to stress
that I like them?
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I will persist. I will stay and I will get my worth. I will become more authentic and true by the day and it will be exhilarating and lovely. I will take the hurt and fall back on trust, on love and it’ll make it okay. I will be okay even if it’s only out of spite. I will be okay even if it will hurt and I will persist. I will persist.
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My father told me he was proud of me
and it’s nice.
To be someone
to be proud of.
I just wish
he’d also told me the same thing
when I tried taking it easier for the first time;
when I finally went to get help for the first time;
when I allowed myself to breathe for the first time;
when I was learning to be me
instead of a hollowed out ghost.
It’s nice
that he’s proud.
I just wish it was I that made him proud
what I liked, what I cared about.
Not something
I had to do
to survive.
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My mother is happy
when I visit.
For her
it means her eldest daughter
has come back.
She does not know
that daughter
has not resided within her walls
for many years now.
She does not like
the person that visits very much;
or rather,
she does not like them
for very long.
They are annoying and demanding,
a burden.
They are opinionated and passionate,
too loud;
too loud
about so many things
my mother tries hard to bury.
My mothers daughter
is sweet and serene,
'a pleasure to have in class'.
She is lazy and stubborn,
but doesn’t care too much.
I haven’t told her
I am none of those things.
The perfect eldest daughter
my mother wishes for,
is dead.
#not actual death by the way just yknow metaphorical in the i am both trans and a completely different person than my mom thinks I am yknow#poem#prose#original poems#tumblr poems
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When I was almost as old as I am now, our cat died.
When I was almost as old as I am now, my cat died and I felt sad. I didn’t tell myself not to. I didn’t stop it.
When I was almost as old as I am now, my cat died and I couldn’t go see him. I didn’t know what I would have done if I could have. I never knew how to care for the sick and not have it be at my own expense.
When I was almost as old as I am now, my cat died and I am still sad about it. But I am okay with it having happened. It was inevitable and I have loved him to bits. (I hope he knows.)
When I was almost as old as I am now, my cat died and I will forever know that he loved me too. And I think that might be enough.
When I was seven, my grandpa died.
When I was seven, my grandpa died and I didn’t feel sad. He’d been sick for a while.
When I was seven, my grandpa died and I was proud of myself for not feeling sad. "I shouldn’t," I said to myself, "I never really got along with him that well anyways."
When I was seven, my grandpa died, and I sat in church, looking at the little booklet they make, with his picture on it. Smiling. All the names of family closest to him, me included. I looked at it and I felt sad. It felt like it was someone else and it made me sad for their family members who were listed as loving children and grandchildren. Surely they had loved him very much and were very sad.
When I was seven, my grandpa died and I thought to myself, I shouldn’t be sad. So I wasn’t anymore. It’s not like I got along with him anyways.
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When I was seven, my grandpa died.
When I was seven, my grandpa died and I didn’t feel sad. He’d been sick for a while.
When I was seven, my grandpa died and I was proud of myself for not feeling sad. "I shouldn’t," I said to myself, "I never really got along with him that well anyways."
When I was seven, my grandpa died, and I sat in church, looking at the little booklet they make, with his picture on it. Him smiling. All the names of family closest to him, me included. I looked at it and I felt sad. It felt like it was someone else and it made me sad for their family members who were listed as loving children and grandchildren. Surely they had loved him very much and were very sad.
When I was seven, my grandpa died and I thought to myself, I shouldn’t be sad. So I wasn’t anymore. It’s not like I got along with him anyways.
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Does the universe hate me? Does it revel in the tragedy of my struggles? Or does it look on in indifference, ever impassionate to my woes?
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u r my baybie I lov u so
u r my babie, u had to go
i miss my babie he was so smart
i miss my baby, my cat, the little dork
i miss my babie, u had to go
i still feel ur soft fur on my fingrs so
i miss my babie, I never said goodbye
the last thing I told you was
“I’ll be back, it won’t be a long while.“
i miss my babie, I lovd u so
i miss my babie
he had to go
#poem (?)#it’s missing kitty hours#he was so good#so softe#poem#prose#sad poem#idk#cw pet death#idk just if u don’t wanna be sad don’t read this maybe#or do! as u want
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i will be okay i will be okay i will be okay i will be okay i will be okay i will be okay i will be okay i will be okay i will b-
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I love the winter sun.
Gentle and lone, telling you stories of ice cold rivers and frozen lakes.
In the Winter the sun is static, she doesn’t do everything and all she does in summer.
She’s there sometimes, saying hello on a walk, making the snow glitter way too bright.
She speaks of forests with the only sound being the snow crunching under your boots, and the occasional trickle of water that hasn’t frozen.
She let’s you go when you go inside again, and while she won’t wait outside all night, she will let you see her again, warming your face again.
Tomorrow.
#Winter#poem#prose#original poems#tumblr poems#love poem#i guess#winter aesthetic#snow aesthetic#winter forest
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Just… tell me there’s enough little moments to survive the big ones. Tell me there’s enough times I will hold you before I will hold you once more. Tell me I can live in the quiet foggy mornings, in the mute afternoons tinted in orange, in the star dipped late nights without fearing the end. Give me something to hold on to, give me life before you take it. Before it takes you from me.
#existentialism#tw existentialism#i guess#tw existential dread#but also not?#idk#existential angst#poem#prose#tumblr poems#original poems#i am filled with grief and love and all of it is too much#but that’s ok#or well. it will be
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bees
in my fingers
under my skin
bzzzzz
my knees
are jittery
bounce bounce
please
let me out
i can hear
the elecricity
it’s buzzing
with the bees
I just wish
when I say 'shhh'
it would listen
#yes i am anxious how did you guess#adhd#actually autism#autistic adult#neurodivergent#poem#prose#original prose
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I look at myself in the mirror
and it’s me
still,
always has been.
When I look again
It’s me once more
but a different me than before.
I know who that is
in the mirror.
It’s me.
But it’s not the me from where I was then
and it’s not the me
that I will be.
I look in the mirror
and back look two eyes.
They’re the same as ever,
and yet the skies
in them
have changed.
I wonder,
if with every passing day,
theres more of me
in them
or less.
Does it help
to stress
that I like them?
#poem#prose#did y’all see I actually got a poem structure in this time#we got rhymes babyyyyyyyy#(but only some)#we don’t need to overdo it#poets on tumblr#tumblr poems#original poems#poetry
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I love the world
my love spills out of my soul
like warm sun rays on a spring day
I can’t contain it
I don’t want to
I just wish
that sometimes
the world would love me back
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Im cupping my palms
im holding it up
Wait wait here
Cup your palms under mine
Let me give you my love
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