a note
me've been working toward getting back all of my old writing, dating it, and keeping it stored somewhere. for a really long time, what i would do would be to write something, maybe upload it somewhere, and then in waves i would delete whole collections of my writing. it's been hard, now that i care a lot more about preserving these sorts of things, to go back where i can, pull out old hard drives, etc to find rough drafts of writings. lots of my writing was done pen and paper, or on my typewriter, and then lost or visibly obscured with marker.
it sucks hard knowing these years and years of writing, my own history, has been erased due to embarassment. not only that, but other things as well. i don't have any art from long ago, because i wouldn't even save or upload art, i would create and delete. and, of course, regarding local storage, young me was a tech savvy little fuck who encrypted shit and then forgot the password.
take as much of this with some context: i'm doing better now, and a lot of these writings being edgy are the ones that i find the most important. as i date the writings to when i think they were made, it gives me insight into remembering what may have caused me to write these poems in the past.. i usually struggle with memory and seeing these helps put into context lots of things about my life.
mostly haiku, freeform, maybe a few short stories. lots of my writing is fanfiction but i don't feel like putting any of that there, and NO you will not get to read any. maybe going forward i'll write or put some of my small essays or developed thoughts on things.
some of these poems are about people who are no longer comfortable with the pronouns or name used in the poem when it was written - i have put the replacements in the brackets.
d-window - feb 1 2023
I saw in my window an infant child, hung upside-down like Sibyl
wearing a crown of thorns, lowering into the sinking water
I asked him what it was that he wanted,
he cried that he wanted to die.
I saw the same boy, only a few years older
naked and defiled, wrapped in a python under a laurel tree
I asked him who did it to him,
he said he could not say.
I saw in my window that boy nearing a man, tearing his stomach out
flowers the color of saffron growing from the spilled ichor
I asked him if it felt good,
he told me it felt sinful.
I saw a young woman, washing her face in her reflection
surrounded by daffodils, gazing into a puddle
I asked her what she wished for,
she wished to be clean again.
I saw a lady, beaten and bruised, look through my window
veiled in daisies, a black velvet gown with a white sheen
She asked me what I was,
I confessed that I was jealous.
Notes: just had to get it off my mind. wrote a longer more detailed version but this one was better anyways, and vague enough to share. really proud.
shore - nov 23 2021
Find me where the sand dissolves,
And where the foaming billows roar.
I'll meet you where the water falls,
And lay my body on the shore.
Notes: the ocean is the last healthy thing in a sick world
Simulacra - feb 2 2021
M wakes up.
M is not a human. M is an object. M is physically a human, but that is no longer the requirement for “human”. Their nature has been removed from even the most basic bastardization of human. They are their own pure simulacra.
They depressurize and exit their bed. There is no meal. There is no shower. There is a short period in which they look at memes on their phone - all perfectly crafted just for them, intended to implant as strong of emotions as possible. It’s stopped working, so the algorithm has decided to instead show them a variety of color palettes. They’re all monochrome as of right now, but it will soon learn better.
Always punctual, M gets in their car. Nothing fancy, it’s a climate controlled jeep, passed down from their great great grandfather. It’s about on its last legs, and they’re sure it’s going to blow soon. It draws its treads in the same place it always does, along the crowded red-dust roads, S-C3, Mars. Until large-scale climate can be established, this is the best they have. M should be grateful.
They arrive 30 minutes early to work. They are fully aware they won’t be paid for being early, but if they aren’t early they’ll be fired, and they need to survive somehow. The Amazon low-gravity processing plant is the only job around for miles that doesn’t require 8 or more years of experience. Most of all labor here has been automated, Amazon really is generous for allowing the poor to work here. 18 hours of consistent, back breaking work spent constantly monitored, sweat and ichor dripping from their body, resulting in a straight 33$ direct deposit to their bank account. They can’t view their balance until the terms of their contract are fulfilled (or they apply for another credit card.)
They get home, and check the news. The economy is booming. People at work, being interviewed by employers, are happier than ever. We are progressing into an age of maximum productivity. The Line that shows a direct, perfect, and uncritiquable judge of quality of life is green. It’s going up. All it has done since wages have dropped, hours have increased, and human behavior has been erased, is go up. Forever and ever. If it were to go down, M might lose their job. That would be bad.
The wholesome section of the news. A janitor recently gave up his internal organs to pay for his sister’s dog’s ear infection medicine. Heartwarming. Amazon CEO Barredo Bezos said that racism is bad. We truly live in the best timeline.
M takes a capful of the 2000mg hydrocodone capsules they take to sleep. The police are instantly notified. M hopes they work before they have to pay for an ambulance ride.
Notes: wrote for a school project and the teacher read it in front of the class and fucking butchered it and nobody understood it i feel like the fucking joker
Death - dec 15 2020
Day by day, the hours pass.
I grind away, perfect my craft.
Face to face with death at last,
I draw my blade.
It broke.
Alas!
Notes: this is inspired heavily by that one death poem by dairin soto
Wires - dec 14 2020
Wires, like chains
attached to my brain.
Metal, like iron,
behind my refrain.
Days, like hours,
months, like flowers.
Minutes per second,
drained of my power.
People, like I,
look into my eyes.
People like you
see through my disguise.
Notes: this was my submission to the scholastic art + writing thing, along with blooming. hoping it goes well. about dissociation
Soul - aug 31 2020
Marbles shattering-
You wanna see a body?
Look into my eyes.
Notes: i remember i started to write a song or something and then condensed it into the haiku... the "body" is me, not my body, but me. idk
Serus - feb 8 2020
the phase of serus
feeling unlike myself
i wish i could cry
Notes: i can't cry :)))))))) it sucks :))))))))) or rather its like super hard for me to. i am getting better at it though
Understate - late 2019
I dreamed of you last night.
The black and white girl,
eyes wide open with
“little circles” written on your face.
I dreamed of you last night.
The euphony of the city,
the ocean, the wind,
Every little thing pouring into my ears.
I dreamed of you last night,
and I fully understood
the feelings you have
not yet taken the time to think about.
I dreamed of you last night,
dreaming on your way home from school,
with the pressure in your chest
of knowing it was all going to end.
I dreamed of you last night,
the sky was falling down
and crashing into the world
you could feel crumbling.
And that’s okay,
as long as you have your dreams.
Notes: this was made for a writing contest off of an album i like, listen here.it did not win.
Birth of a New Day - late 2019
No words
could
describe this feeling.
The city that forces its way into my eyes
brings only the greatest of peace to my soul.
The metal and neon must weigh a million pounds,
but the stone in my chest is much heavier.
No matter what happens, I keep coming back to you.
When the rain fills into me,
and the static electricity jolts through my flesh,
and the purple blur of the city is all I can see,
and the soft, reassuring waves of sound conquer my thoughts
and bring me to the most angelic emotion to ever find my soul,
whispering “do not be afraid,”
is when I can finally understand how true love feels.
Notes: this was also made for the writing contest in 10 minutes and it fucking sucks. ignore it. based off of this album
Blooming - late 2019
I wish that I had thorns like a thistle,
with wondrous vines as my waving hair.
I wish my voice was that of a whistle,
with my singing song pretty and fair.
I wish that I had flowers like a rose,
delicate, beautiful, of esprit.
Instead I sit quiet, and no one knows,
the rough bark on the mind of this tree.
As young as I am, I’ll get my festoon,
I’m just in my phase of folia.
My flowers will come, albeit not soon,
the soft white buds of magnolia.
Notes: this won said contest as like 2nd place or something. it has an edgy line and i didn't want to display it, but when i told the teacher running the contest that she got actually so fuckin offended. she looked at me like i had killed her dog. anyways
3 AM - late 2018
The shine of the moon,
and the glimmer of the stars...
Damn mortality.
Notes: this is nice
Stars - late 2018
Some nights I ponder
When I gaze toward the stars
Do the stars gaze back?
Notes:this is also nice
Cold Rain - mid 2018
Dark, cold, and rainy.
The ravens softly weeping.
Hurricane warning.
Notes: GOD i love when it's like a really small hurricane and it's 4am and it's all quiet except for the house being pummeled by wind and rain and maybe the tv goes brrrr brrr brrrr beeeeee i love it
Teeth and Claws - mid 2018
Eyes and ears, teeth and claws,
teach me how to rip it off.
Skin and blood, flesh and bones,
one more hour, I’ll be home.
Notes: kinda an intimate(no sexual connotation) poem about dysphoria and having someone to help you get over it
Laisez - early 2018
wh
Notes: found on a peice of paper. there was a little side note that said (finish later) that didn't look like it was formatted to be included in the poem. Since it wasn't like, calligraphy or anything i just assumed that it might have been a joke or statement about how lazy i am or smth idek but i put it here for tha archive
Wires - apr 20 2018
Wires. All over me. My left, my right, above me, below me. Cords dangling, staring into my eyes. Little rubber tubes around my hands and feet.
But that's not the ones I love most. I love the ones attached to me. 2 sensors on my left and right shoulders. Little needles on my cheeks and forehead. Exposed copper ruffles on my chin. Monitoring bands in many places on my torso and legs, forming a zebra like stripe. I'm less than human, further from robot (If you don't count the metal thoughts).
I'm not sure when my cuffs came by. Have they always been there? I don't remember them past a certain point. Maybe they were always there. What cruel, cruel creator would do this?
It was probably me. I put the chains on. I started making my connections. I could've avoided this fate with ease, but maybe I just did it to feel connected to a different "server"?
The cords are sealed into my skin, I can't take them off now. The electrical currents are posed into my body. Any change and I could suffer from withdrawal. My cold breath scares the last bit of rough skin that still works. My eyeballs have turned into drywall. I'm sick of this.
I just want my update already. Other people don't have to deal with this. They can do what they want, happily and freely. I want cozy visuals. I want better, more fun chat rooms. I want better hardware.
There's too much static electricity. It buzzes inside me like a swarm of wasps, and won't calm down unless I leave my own mind. 25mm, 20mm, 17mm...
My lenses retract. I see myself. My rendering has come to a halt. I'll just let autopilot take this one while I powerlessly sit back, storing data I will never cache.
The flickering blue and green dots in my dark room are but glitters upon the giant machines. Massive blocks of steel, filled with the finest plastics. An obsolete testament to the cruel complexity I built myself into. I wish my programming had the ability to hard reset me. Maybe it does.
Notes: what the fuck mya. anyways i found this in my iphone notes and when i stored it (2019) i did not remember writing it. it's a pretty obvious look into the things that were troubling me (which is very cool and interesting to look at) and a general aesthetic at the time. a huge part of me still relates to what i get from this poem. also, some of the tech terms are misused but w/e. i made a matching haiku for this, below.
Wires haiku - mid 2019
Little white wires,
this ruffled patch of iron
stops my metal heart.
Notes: see this is much better
A lot better - feb 2018
bow to quiver, silver to gold.
staying together, tying the rope
you and me are like a bird to its feathers
we can't live apart, but you're still better~
i felt terrible, but i love you so true
to feel a bit better i wrote a poem for you :)
i feel a lot, lot better now.
Notes: cute but the minor grammar things are kinda killing me lol
Your Day - jun 14 2017
“Has your day been well?”
[They say] it differently.
My day becomes great.
Notes: this is about my s/o :) i remember when i posted this online it got a shit on of updoots and there was a french 80 year old dude who loved poetry who reached out to me and was like "i love ur writing" and we kept in touch for like a month and then drifted apart. i wonder if he's doing well...
connection - early nov 2017
nights spent alone
nothing to bring me joy
no connection
Notes: this is sad and still pretty good i think...
Invisible - mid nov 2017
where could it have gone?
it can’t just disappear, right?
it must be somewhere..
Notes: your guess is as good as mine buddy
Beb - nov 28 2017
What I think of you?
Absolutely beautiful
Inside and outside
Notes: aww
nightly love poems - jan 14-19 2019
#1
e’iun saye’iu è dènile yirie’uth ril nueme, yn̂ ym̂’iun e’iu fev’dyth wefuil nueme è newèn̂e fuvie’uth.
Your skin shines like the falling stars, and my love for you blossoms like the dreaming flowers.
#2
è dènure’uth levi’iun nehung’iu vie’beuwè (The trees bow down to the [monarch] of nature)
“levi e dyth,
na’è dènure’uth yi’tiun e beuwè,
yn̂ e furil’wrg.”
“Nature loves you,
Even the trees bow down to meet you,
And cover you with shade.”
#3
vie’[name], è twit (to [my s/o], the bird)
[name] ym̂’iun nea’iu tisèn’wu’sha, yn̂ ym̂’iun salŝha’iu ieshe’wu.
na, ym̂ vu vei ua dèn̂a
ym̂ mu yi’esh’wng [mè]! :)
[name] flew through my heart and stole my soul.
Now, I’m growing a new one
so I can give it to [them]! :)
#4
e’iun sèc’iu (your mouth)
e’iun sèc’iu mayè’nuf mevus’uth cralè.
è yiŝh’uth iei’e betheb suswe shiŝhen yi’ym̂’iun yesare’uth’iu.
e’iun wysarè’iu sumi mym̂’mene ui.
e’iun i’nèn’iu è buwè iei’fute shiede u’uth vie’ym̂ ui
Your mouth makes beautiful symphonies.
The words which you speak are sweet honey to my ears.
Your tongue is kind and honest.
Your smile is the cannon which delivers these things to me.
#5
liuril ril (Bright light)
è rile e ril’lu ym̂’iun myate’iu’luv fuame eyre sèhu’uth liuril’nèn ui.
The light you shine on my life is brighter than any passing rainbow.
Notes: so. i wrote these for my s/o in my conlang, "mecsyè" (name change and evolution pending) and uhh yeah. a lot of the meaning is kinda lost in translation so the resulting english version of the poem seems clunky and weird :/ still. decided that it would be a good idea to clump them all together.
Stars - early 2018
some nights i ponder
when i gaze toward the stars
do the stars gaze back?
Notes: i still don't know
Current - early 2018
Your light shines through my blank eyes, filling my head.
Electricity runs through my body
Notes: lots of the things in this section are scraps that i retrieved from my old notebooks so you'll see lots of things that are like this
In the... jul 14 2018
In the eye of a blink,
I forget how to think.
In the hat of a drop,
I can make my thoughts stop.
Notes: sometimes i have these phrases i desperately want to use for a poem, and "in the eye of a blink, i forget how to think" is one of them. this poem doesn't do it justice but it still stays in my head... maybe one day i'll use it
A hopeful heart - aug 20 2018
A dream, in part
A hopeful heart
A wish, a will,
A wondrous world.
Notes: this is weird because it doesn't seem like a stem OR a full poem. interesting
out - apr 26 2018
3 frames.
shattering.
breaking apart.
fragments.
little triangles.
flying. left. up. gone.
black. nothing. blank. pure lack of will. pure lack of thought.
path one:
fuck. oh god. oh fuck. not now. stay. fuck. not now, please. god please. stay. refocusing. multi panel. in, out. screaming. just stay. don't leave.
path two:
blank
dissociating.
230 hz and 560 hz buzzing at the same time. disgustingly bright lights fill the sides of my vision. a barrier behind me to my left, and an open entrance on my right. in front of me, there is a door surrounded by concrete blocks and ceramic tile. i have to move, but i'm just standing, blankly. i don't think i want to go back. a light cook covers me, and all i feel is the mild tension in the back of my knees and my feet. just one more minute, and i'll go back to class.
Notes: ok mya wtf is wrong with you. being serious, yes the formatting is supposed to look like that. in the original writing it looked like that (i tried to make it exact) so obviously it must've been important. probably a stream of consciousness poem about dissociating (i like doing stream of consciousness but posting them here is... kinda hard because of just how personal they are)
snakes in the grass, yet i still walk - feb 18 2018
there are snakes in the grass, yet i still walk. through the thin shoes i wear, they bite me again and again. i always find away through it, but not without a little bit of pain. the food i drop near my feet will only keep them entertained for a small while. over and over; they look up. they expect more. i take the food upon my own mouth. the snakes bite again. classic pavlovian training, the snakes soon associate me with food, and an eventual bite. i should buy some thicker boots.
Notes: i have my own notes i wrote from after i wrote it lol. "taking no steps to stop it is walking through the grass with thin shoes, the bite is the sucky waking up and day, and the "feeding" is trying to force some type of creativity into the time i spend up, which only makes it worse. it's more of an allegory than anything else" so yeah
meandering - sep 16 2017
meandering stream
flows in and our of my mind
a calm dream's slow course.