But do not distress yourself with imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness. Beyond the wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself.

- from Desiderata, by philosopher & poet Max Ehrmann, publ. 1927 ~

this is who i am today...

a being made of fire

a spark of sinning sainthood

fighting with desire

I’d like to cup the stars in my palm, to take them gently in my hands and feel their light

Breathe it in

feel it’s edges and

it’s curves along my skin

Hear it’s soft murmur of light

as I hold it in my palms

Please star, bless the lake of my mind with your light and let me

gaze upon you

Ill disguise my rot, cover myself in flowers and fruit, and Ill hope the stench of my eroding skin is masked by the sweet aroma of honeydew.

When asked what gets me on my knees

✨

On my knees

for gorgeous poetry

& soul-sucking

literature, and

mother nature,

and sometimes,

a lover.

text under the cut

Blurring Together

cro cumaisc etir casbairdni ocus lethrannaigecht poem

Air resembles mustard gas It’s all a haze Through a pane of isinglass Watching passing days.

If there is a Creator,

I beg Their forgiveness.

Not for me,

But for the ones who

Blindly hate those

Who are only trying

To live.

Dear Brother

Yes, this one's for you,

you prick without a stem.

Could you not see me? Fragile,

soft, in need of minding?

You swung wild anyway,

hammer ringing, and I

was your anvil despite

not being made of metal, not

supposed to be hammered so

recklessly -- as if you cared.

So yes, this one's for you; like

a smith you forged this girl

into an instrument to strum

your hate on, but I'm the

one who's laughing last,

seeing as it was your blind

rage that made me strive

for heights you could,

would never reach. So

fuck you very much,

but... thanks.

by me :)

peach woes.

Tender muscle. Slender frame.

i don't know why i'm like this.

i feel pathetic

and small

and weak,

and for some reason they all feel so fleshy and sweet when i'm near you--

like i was meant to be those things when i'm ripening in your arms.

It's disgusting

and filthy

and i can't help but crave it.

i need you more than i want you;

i need your protection

and your guidance

and your power;

i need everything that makes it so indescribably easy for me to be yours--

to rot into your excellence.

Tender heart. Pit of shame.

x.

was it hard? i’m sorry. ‘22

an attempt to reach an indelible thing

not - quite - hitting

trying to get at the heart of the matter,

yet something - always - missing

Love as devotion. Love as worship. (pt.2)

I have almost nothing to offer you. These empty hands. My voice doesn't work as well as I would like it to. My own personality and disposition, do not favor, even me.

All I have are my words, sometimes blunt, sometimes well-crafted.

I wake up each morning with a stone where my heart should be.

I have almost nothing to offer you, but here is everything I know about books, about rivers, about Greek gods, about cracks in walls, about cats and about what it's like to love my friends. Here is everything I can do with my hands and everything I can't. Here are all of my good thoughts. My awful ones.

All of it, yours.

Here is every walk I have taken in the evening and every time I have stayed up at night. Here are all the hours I have spent staring at my cracked phone screen when I could have been licking mango juice off my fingers, or living in a cottage by the seaside. Here are all the hours I spent staring out my window into a world that loves me back less and less each day. Here are all of the times I have failed, publicly and privately. Here are all of my victories, small, and insignificant but also life altering. Here are all of the times I have been self conscious and pretentious but also here are the times i have tried to comfort my friends.

I am conflicting and coincidental and entirely too many things at once, but I am, entirely, yours.

I have nothing to offer you, except for everything that I am.

I will write you poems everyday, slip them into your pockets to find in moments of great distress. I will sit quietly by you while you work so that you never have to feel like you have to do anything alone, ever again. I will show you how to play with my cats. I will show you where the dents in the universe are, where the light gets in. I will remind you the world is yours, entirely. I will tell you to listen to that one song. I will love you like I cannot much else. I will go to mandir and whisper your name under my breath after each prayer. I will remember you above and beyond disaster.

Your eyes fill with anger as mine fill with sorrow. In a fit of rage your skull clashes with mine, when defense is my only option and yours seems to be a charge. We become intertwined, beyond unknotting. We look at each other, and as I look deep in your eyes I know you didn’t want it this way, you only did what you thought you could. A trembling pain starts to form. I didn’t want things to result in such ways, I know you were only protecting yourself, you know I was just scared. Was it worth the trouble and effort? Our bodies cannot survive in such a way, our heads cannot function, and for all we know we will starve. The light of day fades, and all we can do is think of it as a distant memory. My lungs start to hurt, a pounding in my head becomes more and more unbearable. All you can do is make one last effort of escape, it’ll only make things worse. Your bones start to hurt and you lay your body against the damp grass beneath. We lay here together, we see each other in our last moments of life, we lay together for a last bit of warmth. We can only dream of the sunlight that awaits for the others in the morning. All we have is each other, and there is nothing else we can do, nothing more can save us, I rest my eyes and hope your pain isn’t as unbearable as mine. We both must succumb to this death, I just wish for warmth in this unbearable moment, your wish goes unknown.

-loser monologue