soft, quiet angels who believe they are boys.
scared of the to bright, to loud world. angels hurting in their hearts, wanting to stop the pain.
blood dripping, stinging.
soft boys, angels wanting to die.
tragedy in their souls, death in their fates.
those angels will find heaven again, they will see home on the horizon.
soft, sweet, quiet, kind angels just trying to fit in a world they don’t belong in, to harsh, to loud, to violent
they deserve better,
and one day they’ll find the peace they are looking for
Angels Lost. V.V. 18/12/2016
Soft boy with pink lips, blue veins mapping your skin, thick eyelashes and a small smile;
Lavender boy with a garden of soft flowers, a sea of purple and blue, sweet flower fragrance floats on the wind, the boy across the street comes to see it everyday, the boy next door, every night
Honey boy with sun kissed hair, with golden eyes and a smile brighter than all the stars, at the garden watching the bees, one day you follow them home, the honey tastes of everything you’ve been missing
Moon boy with silver specks in his eyes, in the garden he watches the moon, he wishes to one day meet her, Luna watching over our seas, please meet me , he sings to her every night
Honey, Lavender and the Moon. V.V. 18/12/2016
What am I? I’ve forgotten the taste of humanity.
Watching the world behind glass, what is human?
Who am I? Feeling like I haven’t seen myself in years.
Mirrors are a mystery, and I have been avoiding them.
Am I a shadow?
Humans; kind, sweet, soft, I miss it
Humans; violent, cruel, cold, Why does it hurt to be?
Soft is all I’ve ever wanted to be, the world will take that from you.
It took it from me.
Angels; watching from afar, uninvolved, unaware
Angels; confusing emotions, passionate, wide-eyed
But even they can be angry and they’re anger can be uncontrollable, unbearable. They hold wrath and that wrath can smite cities. It has.
I just want to be soft. Like the angels in children’s books. I want to know who I am. What I am. Why I am the way I am.
Sometimes I think I’m an angel because of our stories, I wish I was one. Things would be easy. I dream of being and angel and I think I always will.
Who Am I. V.V. 18/12/2016
Flowing like water, moving fast
Fluid curves, pounding base
Flashing lights, bright clothes
Fruity drinks, tapping to the beat
Dancing like there is no tomorrowSlow, precise movements
A story told in song, sadness in your heart
Losing your flow, why am I here?
Its quiet, everyone’s listening
Tears in your eyes, where are my friends?
You have work tomorrow, you don’t want to feel this
You see someone passing something to someone
You approach then and ask for someDancing all night long, perfect bliss
Your movements are no longer fluid
Closing time, how do I get home?
You are walking along the side-walk in the darkness
It's so cold that your legs eventually give out beneath you,
Before everything goes black
Night Clubs. V.V. 30/12/2016
'I started writing poetry just before the end of the year, at the time it was really a diary to vent my trauma, well that and me trying too hard.'
'It's quite bad, as far as I'm concerned, but it's always worth keeping these things to compare your improvement, and it provides a window into the past that gets foggier every year.'
PART 1
No words leave my mouth but my mind is screaming. I want so much to scream out loud but I’ve worked so hard to be able to keep it in. Not to say how bad I am. Not to talk to anyone other than my therapist. Its bad, I know. But what else can I do? When all my friends are gone and my family can’t take the truth. The smell of fire and water on the wind, my body to warm to cover up. Its all to much. Its all to much. How am I suppose to cope? How am I suppose to do anything when my mind is falling apart. Free falling. My memories are free falling from my mind. Gone. Gone. Gone. So many things, so many important things gone and I’m terrified. My mind is a terrifying place.
PART 2
You tell them you had a good day. You tell them your making progress. Maybe they’ll stop avoiding you if you are better. You tell them a lie to make them stay. You tell them a lie and now there’s no one left to talk to. You hardly even talk to them anymore. What does it matter? Nothing really matters. You have a bad day. You have a bad day everyday. But you avoid it. You shut it out. Because its the only way. You’d be dead if you didn’t. You don’t want to do it anymore. There’s no reason left, was there ever one? You can’t remember anymore. You tell them a lie. And they believe, because they haven’t seen you in months. You tell them a lie and that’s it. That’s the last straw.
PART 3
You don’t want to talk. When they talk to you, you grate your teeth. Its irritating. You think you use to enjoy talking. You can’t remember the feeling. You hardly talk. Silence feels easy. It feels like freedom. You don’t have to lie when you’re silent. All those thoughts swirling around in your head things that beg to be said. The storm is just as loud when you talk. So why bother. You tell them lies. You tell them lies and lies and lies until you can’t speak. Talking is lying, and you’re tired of lying. You think you’d never talk again if you knew how. If they wouldn’t question it. If they wouldn’t worry. If they didn’t worry you think maybe you’d still be okay. All the things you’ve done to stop them worrying have destroyed you. Maybe you would have made it through. You share a moment of amusement with yourself. The irony of it. You did all of this for them. And they were your downfall. They wouldn’t like that. But you’re starting to think that they wouldn’t like you anyway that you could be. Your not sure you care. After all you did lie to them.
PART 4
You tell them a lie. Who are they? Everyone, they are everyone in you life. All the people you called friends, family. All the people that mattered. You aren’t sure they do anymore. You lie so often and so completely you aren’t sure of the truth anymore. You feel suspended in water suffocating under all the lies. But also unsure of which way is up and which way is down. You tell them a lie. You always do. You are tired but you know how to do it with your eyes closed. You’ve done it so much its ingrained in your bones. In who you are. Who are you? You’ve forgotten. You are a liar certainly. But what else? They can’t tell you. You’ve lied to them for to long.
the veils and masks lies create. V.V. 22/11/2016
I lose things more often then I like to admit,
I haven’t seen my keys in weeks.
I don’t think I’m getting them back, often I simply wait and hope my things will come back to me.
But my memory is a fickle thing, it gives no hints.I miss you.Flashes of bright colour,
warm laughter and soft smiles,
the calm in the center of the storm
all I had when things got to bad to speak of
I needed her, she was my rockI miss you.I am drowning,
the current is dragging me away
I am untethered
clawing for a safehold,
there is none
What happened? How did I get here?
Oh, I remember now.I miss you to the stars and back.This is my fault
this bleak and barren life,
I created this for myself,
things were so bright and beautiful before
it all feels so meaningless nowI miss you more than words can describe.I am lost,
I do not know what path I follow
I miss the calm, safety, protection
I was in a war-zone but the world did not feel lost
I had hope, where did I lose it?I miss you so much its killing me.I do not know what to do without you,
but I have convinced myself you do not want me in your life
but that breaks my heart,
Shattering, crystalline falling, I do not have the knowledge to properly fix my broken heart
Why did I let this happen? Why did I not see stop you slipping through my fingers
I miss you, more than anything, more than I have the words to describe, more than my heart can take- To put it simply you broke my heart
A Poem About Losing Things. V.V. 05/01/2017
cruelty’s claws try to wrap around your heart, do not let them
your soul is soft and sweet, protect it from this harsh world
you are still kind, despite the world,
this is a rarity, treasure it with all that you are
the world is a hard and unforgiving place, it will try to harden you
the strongest people are the ones who can stay soft
I tried, I failed
do not make my mistakes, I have already made them for youstars shine so brightly we see them from earth, stars keep us warm
burn brightly, never let your center go cold
without it, we will all freeze
do not do this for us, do it for you
because however beautiful winter may look, cold is not a nice way to bethe world will beat you down, when you hit the pavement don’t let it take you
get up!
when the world says be hard, spit the blood from your mouth and say
screw you
and be soft
cold stars. V.V. 14/01/2017
Anger, it is a dangerous thing
with it comes fear and confusion
do not hold your anger inside you, it will burn you
do not turn to ash, do not revel in the flamelet it go, move on
this is the only way to survive anger
this is what i didn’t do
and let me tell you
my heart is burnt to cindersanger is not soft
it is rough and loud and frightening
but do not let it make you those things
be soft as you always were
it does not have to change who you aredo not let it control your actions
do not let it ruin lives
it will destroy you, so let it go
be angry, only for a moment
and then let it gounless you are on a battlefield, harness it
fight with all the rage you possess
and then let it go
you survived the war, do not die by anger’s handif you need to find a quiet moment
wait till the moon is shining, go out and watch the sky
the stars and the moon, the world quieted
you can almost imagine it doesn’t exista piece of advice from me to you
always be soft, never stop
because you may forget how, then you may lose it forever
hold it tight and never let it leave your sightanger is strong, it is war
soft is stronger, it is peace
when the war comes remember;
anger may be the only way to survive, but soft is the only way to live
Soft, Anger. V.V. 08/02/2017
I asked you what you would do, where you would go if you could escape.You said you’d be a musician, and my mind drifted to an impossible future.One warm day, years from now, you’re sitting on a stool playing a song on your favourite guitar.You’ve had that ting for years, you were playing on it back in high school.It’s gotten old and worn but you keep it, because it’s your last piece of home.The bar is small and the sun beats down, it’s quiet, no one talks as you play.You’re singing and strumming, losing yourself in the song.Not thinking about the ache in your chest.I walk in the door, I head to the bar and buy a drink. I had a long week.I saw a ghost, someone I knew a lifetime ago.They’d come looking for me, they tried to bring me home.I sit down and turn to watch you play, my heart stutters when I see you.It’s not long before your eyes find me, we stare for a long moment before you look away.I stare at my drink for the rest of the song.The song ends and people clap, someone comes up to talk to you.I get lost in thoughts of the past.I hear a chair scrape and I look up in surprise to find you sitting down at my table with a drink.It’s been a long time. You say. I smile in return.I didn’t think you’d recognised me. I say.We talk for hours, we don’t talk about where we’ve been.We don’t need to, not in this dusty town.Not when we’re both so far from home.We know, we know how we got here.We part ways at the end of the night because the sight of each other is too painful to stay with.Because we both know in another world, we didn’t run.We didn’t run from our lives, our homes.And in the end, when there was nothing else left, we didn’t run from each other.I walk out into the cool night and look up at the stars for a moment.I get on my motor bike and I see you get behind the wheel of a van.I smile, I’d said once, that I’d take a van if I ever left.I guess you took that as advice, I worry for your safety.You always use to say I worried to damn much, truth was we both did.I needed something faster, I couldn’t stop running.I guess you needed something slower, you weren’t willing to keep running.Sometimes I think if I’d just stopped running maybe we’d still have each other.I should have known, we were never good at staying together.We were far to good at fighting, and far to good at running.I turn the key and I do what I’ve always done, I run.You said you’d be a musician, and my heart broke a little.I couldn’t help thinking for where we might have been years down the road, if we’d run.- is this a story or a poem? **
__we don’t drive cars on the road. V.V. 01/03/2017**__
They are like a hurricane,
terrifying but beautiful,
mesmerisingly destructive, unknowable,
you should run,
(and you know it.)It is impossible to do anything but fall in love,
they are as beautiful as the stars,
but just as unreachable,
(they could tear you apart.)They are a warrior,
graceful and quick as light,
they dance violence but all you can do is watch in awe,
you feel your heart grow,
you should not love them for this,
(they will break your heart.)For everything that they are,
for all the destruction they can cause,
the violence they commit,
and all the rage in their heart,
they are so kind,
they would heal the sick,
and they would die to save the world,
is that not worthy of love?(maybe, but they could still destroy you.)They wouldn’t.- what i imagine it’s like to love them
like a hurricane. V.V. 28/04/2017
Silencesomething I wish I could have more often,I love the night because no one is talking,There are times when I am silent,not because I choose to be,though it is welcome.Silence feels a lot like freedom.It doesn’t matter whether I can speak or not,I never know how to say it,words are a maze I am always navigating,I never memorise the layout.Silence is easy.There are no questions,there is just quiet.
silence. V.V. 02/05/2017
We were just kids and we made mistakes,
I thought a flutter in my heart meant everything,
A smile on my lips meant he was the one.I left a broken thing,
With no reason to live,
There were times I barely survived.For a time it hurt,
I missed him,
I yearned.Then it stopped,
I stopped missing him,
I stopped worrying about what I’d left behind.I ignored my past,
out of fear and embarrassment,
I buried those memories.Today for the first time I didn’t bury them,
I thought of him and smiled,
but not how I used to,
this wasn’t because my heart beat like butterfly wings,
no, it was a fond memory.A strange thing,
the passage of time and the perspective it brings,
I am glad I am alive to experience this moment,
here and now,
immortalising it in words,
a treasure to precious to lose.
about a boy. V.V. 12/06/2017
Reaching, they are always reaching out,
hands, grasping at you, grabbing at you,
running, running from there outstretched hands,
your fingertips burn everything they touch,
and you do not wish to scar them.
Hiding, curling up in the dark to hide the shaking of your hands,
to hide the whimpers,
deafening in the silence of darkness.
Scratching, your body is a canvas of red marks,
it is better to inflict pain upon yourself than others,
twitching, eyes flitting to the blade that will bring the release you so desperately need,
but they told you not to,
your eyes prickle and betrayal settles in your stomach,
how can they rip your lifeline from your hands when it is them you are trying to save?
You feel hate for them bloom in your heart and turn it inward before it takes root.
You have lost count of how many times you have saved them,
but they have yet to notice even once,
you realise they never pay attention unless you’re screaming.
Your limbs grow weak and your shoulders tense,
exhaustion sets in and your feet drag,
they still don’t notice,
you know it’s soon.
These days you say less and less,
all your words held close to your heart,
to precious to waste on those who don’t listen,
(not when you have so few left).
You dream of never speaking again,
but you know they will never allow it,
not when all they do is take and take and take,
and never give back.
You know you are already in your grave,
you cannot tell them what is coming,
maybe they will finally notice you when the coffin closes,
and the pain they will feel vindicated just a little even if you will not be there to witness it.
You feel the earth pulling you down, down, down,
and you drop like a stone.
They don’t even notice until it’s to late.
- and your already free of this gilded cage
On The Anger We Are Taught To Hide . V.V. 01/07/2017
I am tired of heartbreak.No, I don’t mean I’m tired of trusting others with my heart. No, I don’t mean I’m tired of trying to find people to love.What I mean is,I’m tired of all this pain I have locked in my heart.I’m tired of all this anger I carefully direct inwards, because I can’t bear the thought of hurting someone else.When I say I’m tired of heartbreak what I mean is that I’m tired of breaking my own heart.I am done with the days where I silence myself for others,because anger is a dirty emotion,because grief and shame are things I am suppose to suffer quietly,without ever opening my mouth to cry.Here’s to the days when I scream because everything inside me is agony.When I tell people that today the pain is twisting my heart.That today I don’t agree with them,that the things they say do hurt me.Today I stop using silence as a weapon against myself.- do not moderate or lessen yourself for anyone
heartbreak. V.V. 19/11/2017
Sometimes it’s walls that go on forever. I’m walking through days but I swear I haven’t moved an inch.There’s a lake, a river, but mostly an ocean. The sting of raw lips hitting salty water echoing in my head.Wings. Wings that no longer free me, rather their weight pulls. I shouldn’t have forgotten what the word relaxed feels like.Digging in, the inadequacy of buzzing thoughts, the focus of pain. Is it enough? Will it ever be enough?Hint:The answer is no.- of the days my thoughts drown me and I forget how to swim
two steps back, three forward. V.V. 11/12/2017
It is time,
guilt has stayed your hand until now but it is time,
let her go, she is not you
she is a half formed idea, an unfinished story
she will never get the closure you think she deserves
it is not your fault so stop blaming yourself,
you couldn’t have changed things if you triedYou are allowed to move on,
to throw away her dresses, I know the sight of them makes you sick
I know you think you killed her but she died and was reborn,
rejoice because she is now you, and you are everything you’ve been needing to be
she will not hate you for letting her goLetting go is not easy, I know
but you are hurting for no reason and its time to move on
you have a life to live, a life that should have been hers, you think
this doesn’t matter, she’s gone
don’t waste the gift she gave you,
don’t let her death be meaninglessYou do not have to throw away her make up if you think you may one day use it
you are not ready yet, but maybe eventually you will be
learn to stop cringing every time you see a photo of her,
she is not you, she doesn’t make you less of who you are
they are hers, do not hide them, do not burn them
they are all she has left, let them beMourn her, she deserves to be remembered
because without her you would not be
but do not get caught up in the misery of it all
move on, she would want you too
stop carrying the guilt on your shoulders, you are developing a slouch
you are young, you have a life to live so live it
and never waste a second on regretOn Letting Go of The Girl You Use To Be. V.V. 06/01/2017
Recovery is a long and arduous process,
it’s breaking down in the middle of the night because you’re scared of getting better,
it’s practicing smiling in the mirror until it stops feeling like a lie.
That’s been hard, when I smile it feels unnatural, like I’ve forgotten how to do it.Recovery is wanting to cut, but not
you are felling sad or tired or even just bored, but you don’t do it
I’ve already done that once today, and today is a good day.Recovery is learning not to hate yourself, and that might just be the hardest part
it’s seeing how fragile you are and hating it, but reminding yourself you’ve been through a lot
it’s seeing your scars and knowing one day you are going to regret them,
I still hate the sight of myself, I can’t look. But I’ve started to take photos with filters on them.
I never use to take any at all.Recovery is progress, but it is so, very slow
some days I want to scream because of the time it takes
this has ruined my life and I am only now seeing it for the damage it truly is,
the frustration boils up inside me with no means to escape, it makes me feel useless.
But I use to feel hopeless.Recovery is not knowing who you are, and trying to figure that out
I was robbed of my childhood, my chance to build a foundation for identity
now I lay awake at night unsure if I’ll ever know who I am,
but I’ve started to notice little things. Things that make me, me.
Before I hid everything I was, where it couldn’t be seen.Recovery is coming to terms with the fact that you are alive, when you thought you wouldn’t be
I wanted to die for so long that I am struggling to understand the concept of having a future,
the fear that grips you when you realise you haven’t planned, you didn’t expect to reach adulthood
I’m starting to figure things out, I have ideas about how I’m going to make money.
I didn’t use to believe I’d need it.Recovery is hard, they tell you
but hard is a small word and recovery is so many things it can’t describe.
Recovery is hard but it’s also frustrating and terrifying and leaves you with questions you haven’t learned how to answer. For the longest time I didn’t want to recover. It sounded like so much work, why recover when you can just die, right? But I’m here now. And I’m getting better, slowly.Here’s what they do tell you, but you don’t believe: it’s worth it.
It sounds to hard I know, and that’s why you have to choose this for yourself. Like I did. But from one broken person to another, I’m telling you, it’s worth it.- I swear on all the pain depression put me through, it’s worth it.
The Road to Recovery. V.V. 16/01/2017
when every single second feels like a million years
when every breath feels like trying to carry the weight of the world
when dying sounds like a goodnights sleep
when you are just to damn tired to try anymoredon’t stay for a boy who will forget your name in a years time
don’t stay for someone you met yesterday
they can’t save you, no one canthe only one who will save you is you
a person can be your rock but can’t be your saviour
not even when you’ve forgotten all the reasons why life is beautifulthe only saviour is youyou are the only one who can choose to get to get up every morning
you are the only one who can find the peace in your mind
you are the only one who can brave the stormlet the pain go it has destroyed you and it will never end
find each piece and rebuild, even when you can barely lift your arms
do not sleep until you are sure you want to wakethe only saviour is youthere is no escaping
there is no do over
there is only the life you are in
and you must choose to rebuild itthere is no easy way out
there is only living and dying
there is only ending or new beginnings
death is a tragedy and you don’t have to be onethe only saviour who will save you is youso stop searching for another*- no one can save you, you have to save yourself *
ONE DAY OF LIVING. V.V. 08/02/2017
You are young and scared. This is okay. This is normal. You will learn how to get the words past the choke in your throat, then the weight of your tongue, then the lock of your jaw. It will happen, if you don’t stop trying, if you don’t give up just yet. You will learn how to trust yourself and not doubt every idea you have. You will learn how to raise your voice and finally people will hear your opinion. You are so young and so scared, but it’s not as bad as you think. You think your inexperience will cause you to fail. It will not. You think your fear will hold you back. Only if you let it. (You can fight it and win) You will learn how to survive. You do not believe you are strong enough, but you are.
- trust me, because I was once you and i survived
trust me. V.V. 25/03/2017
people are always praising me for my words
sometimes it’s because they think I’m mature for my age
sometimes it’s because they think I’m wise
they all think I’m this put together person
but what they don’t know is,
I am a broken, fallen thing,
that I don’t really know what I’m doing,
that I need help,
but don’t know how to ask for it.I am in so much pain,
I spend every waking second trying not to cry from it,
and maybe this hardship has made me wise,
but the truth is,
I don’t want to be wise,
not if the cost is my life,
not if it costs me my heart.I am only seventeen,
I have so much still to learn,
please,
don’t expect me to always know what to do,
I need help.And this is the only way I know how to ask.- on being treated as an adult before you are
only seventeen. V.V. 02/05/2017
'I wrote a whole lot more this year that I could ever have guessed.'
'I cut a few here that fell more on the side of vents than poems.'
pain, pain, pain to the beat of my heart, thoughts, fears, confusions whipping by me to fast to catch, too much, too fast, a hurricane inside my head, i can’t think, i can’t think, there is so much, and i can’t take it. i cover my ears and crouch to the ground, ignore it, ignore it, ignore it. maybe it will stop. you am i kidding? it never does.
The Mess Of Thoughts Inside My Head. V.V. 15/06/2017
the ache, dull and throbbing, a soft soundtrack to my consternation, lonely, words choked back time again, a wistfulness for something never received, goodbye, tears falling in time with the beat of my heart, a tragic end is all there could ever be.- the ashes of a feather
the unnamable abstraction. V.V. 09/08/2017
First;
the one my parents gave me.
I’m sorry Mum, Dad, but that name was never mine.
I wore it loosely, it never quite fit no matter how hard I tried.Second;
the one I chose for myself.
I tried a few, I scoured lists of names until one caught my eye,
I wore it as a badge, the name of another I wanted to honor.Third;
the one I hoped was right for me.
I knew the other had not been mine, not really.
I desperately hoped that I’d found the right name, finally.Fourth;
the one that took the truth to find.
I found this name months ago, held onto it, like I knew I would need it.
I remembered who I was, I admitted the truth and I found this name to match me.Even now I can’t be sure. Is this name really mine?
I feel as though I have yet to claim it. I know it takes time to settle.
Maybe there will be more, five names or even six.
One day I have a name that fits. It will sit comfortably on my shoulders.- I have lost count of how many names I have used. There are as many stars in the sky, I am sure. But there were four that meant the most, that I wore more meaningfully.
four names. V.V. 13/08/2017
I’m tired of writing poetry about being a monster.Because the truth is, no matter my pain I am not a monster.I am not something to kill. My anger is not my enemy burning my heart away.I am tired of being the broken thing. The dead one.I survived. My scars may ache, but I did not die to this.And I am done pretending it still has the power to kill me.- on my depression, and how I did, in fact, survive it.
the true beginning. V.V. 04/12/2017
I remember falling, air rushing past me and the crushing silence. Watching the stars.I remember drowning, slowly floating down, down, down. Watching the light fade.I remember dying, what it felt like to wake up everyday with lungs that weren’t breathing. Watching my life turn to ashes.I remember all of it. Sometimes it feels like yesterday, today, but other days it’s oceans away from me. I remember what it feels like to die. And that no longer terrifies me.- sometimes this is what recovery is
it's called living. V.V. 09/12/2017
When this starts, I expect an epitaph that reads:Taken to soon.
I learn that my only legacy will be death, that there is no such thing as adulthood.Monsters are born to die, and the fastest way to kill them,
It’s teaching them to kill themselves, of course.It wasn’t supposed to be this way, they whisper to me.
You weren’t suppose to survive.But I’m standing here, with only days to walk through before I see it,
The thing they didn’t want me to see.Here’s how this story goes,
I write my own. I take the pen with shaky hands and choose to live.Because I was never the monster,
They were.- It wasn’t supposed to be this way
looking back. V.V. 20/12/2017
i’m following the path, we all are
but a fog is rolling in and a i can’t see the road ahead
am i alone? is anybody out there?
i can barely see where to step, i am afraid
every step has been a choice, every fork has shown me a decision
but how can i choose now? when there is no way to see forward
do i close my eyes and walk, place my faith in chance?
faith, i have known faith and i have known its struggles
i pray, there is no answer
there never is
i look back, i know letting go is the right course of action
but what else is there to do?
at least i know what lays behind me, there is no fear of the unknown
a crushing wave of hopelessness grips me, i fall to my knees
where do i go?
what am i suppose to do?
WHAT AM I SUPPOSE TO DO?
my tears flow freely, there is no one to judge me here
i have fought so long and hard it would be a waste to give up now
but i am so tired and all i want is to rest
i do not lay down, my shoulders scream their eternal ache at me
i ignore them and begin to rise
i take a step forward
and another,
and another
the fog does not lift, mile after mile its stretches on
i am so tired, i do not remember what feels like to be anything else
why do i go on? what is there to fight for?
the voices ask
i don’t answer because i don’t know
but it doesn’t matter i will keep walking until my legs give out beneath me
fighting is all i’ve done for so long, i may be tired but dying is a far more terrifying fate
i do not harden my heart, it always bleeds but i do not let it turn to stone
i am soft and that is the way i wish to stay
i take a deep breath and keep moving forward
never giving up and never giving in
staying soft
confusion on the road. V.V. 11/01/2017
It is choking me,
both figuratively and literally.
I can feel my throat closing up.- and i barely have the strength to care // this is what anxiety did to me //
This Is What They Did To Me Part 1. V.V. 10/03/2017
do you ever feel like all the bad hollowed you out? like all the terrible things tore your heart right from your chest,and that in its place a river has formed,
that the river does not run water,
that it is a black sludge that oozes everywhere,
that it poisons everything it touches,
that you feel like you are drowning but you are bone dry,
that you are drowning inside yourself in this nauseating goo.No one else can see it, they don’t know about the poison that runs through your veins,
they can’t see that your blood has turned black,
or the darkness threatening to spill from your eyes and ears and nose,
they can only see the red you never allow yourself to bleed, they can only see the tears you never cry.More than anything I want to be free of this,
I would wish to go back to when my heart was still beating,
but I am not foolish enough to dream such things,
so I would simply wish for it to end,
for the poison to finally kill me,
for me to finally take that last step.Sometimes I wonder what holds me back, certainly not a friend’s hand,
maybe there is still a foolish part of me that still hopes,
I have always been to stubborn for my own good,hope is a terrible thing.- the awful feeling in my chest won’t ease and it has been so long I don’t remember what it felt like before // this is what depression did to me //
This Is What They Did To Me Part 2. V.V. 10/03/2017
when did food turn to ash in my mouth?
when did eating become so hard to do?
i never skip a meal if i can help it, i know where that road leads,
my friend has been there, i will not make the same mistake,but what i can’t say is sometimes (all of the time) i am not hungry,
i don’t remember what hunger feels like,
i only knows how it feels to swallow when all my instincts are screaming at me not to,
i only know how it is to eat and to drink because i have practiced it,
because i have learned it,not because i want to, not because it feels good,
when was the last time anything felt good?
plenty of things still feel good, and maybe that’s why i haven’t lost complete faith
but so many things are fading, slipping between my fingers,
my thoughts, my ability to focus and to care, my wants and dreams,
my motivation left me so very long ago,
almost as long as my naivety has been gone,why does everything have to taste like ash in my mouth?
when did i stop enjoying so many things?
when did life get so bleak?
when did everything get so colourless?no wonder i am tired of being here,
there is nothing left here worth staying for,
there are no colours left in my life and i am tired,
i am so exhausted from all the running,
run, i thought, run as far as you can,
maybe you’ll escape it,
but i couldn’t, maybe my legs were to short or lungs to small
but i tried, oh god, it tired- running is all i’ve ever known and now my legs feel like lead and i am panicking // this is what they both did to me //
This Is What They Did To Me Part 3. V.V. 10/03/2017
sometimes when I can’t get the words past my lips I wish that all the things I feel would manifest,
that my body would change to match how broken I am,
that all the cracks would show,
so that just this once people would understand,but then I remember how things were,
I remember how I was in pieces and it took me years to put myself back together,
how there are still jagged edges and and missing pieces,
it’s like I’m a puzzle and the pieces don’t fit together,I can’t imagine anyone else seeing how broken I am,
yet I want nothing more than for someone to know how I feel,
I am more broken than I will ever be able to fix,
I am an incomplete puzzle and the pieces have gone missing,But maybe one day my edges will smooth,
worn down over time,
maybe I’ll find new pieces to put in the empty spaces,
I don’t know when that will be,But I have to hold on until then,
I’ve held on all this time already,hope is a terrible thing.And sometimes I believe that.- for times when I can’t get the words past my teeth // or my throat closes up every time I open my mouth // or when I open my mouth to speak no sound is made // everyday is a minefield of anxiety and it never gets easier //
minefields. V.V. 15/03/2017
Loneliness is an island, most people know this.
It’s the days when you can feel every mile between you and everyone else.
And that feeling is not diminished even if you’re the one who put them between you.
Loneliness cannot be learned, it does not get easier.
Like many other things, that ache never fades.
It’s going weeks without talking to my friends,
and months without seeing them.
(There’s someone I called a best friend once,
and I haven’t seen her in a year.)
Sleep is the easiest way to avoid the rest of the world,
when you’re arms are to tired to row.
But I always wake up tired.Loneliness is that pit in your stomach that makes you want to throw up,
and the lump in your throat that makes you want to cry.
You don’t reach out to them,
but they don’t reach out to you either.
The feeling grows, the lump twists until it’s choking you.
They don’t care.Your island gets further away.
You spend a day fortifying it,
no one can get to you now.
Your walls are high enough to keep out God,
but they are cold,
and they start to feel less like an achievement.
(You think maybe they are a curse.)You hope that one day someone will find you in all this,
that they will row until their arms burn and they finally reach your shores.
That they will not turn back at the sight of the fortress you’ve built,
but instead they will bring down your walls.
Not with bulldozers or explosives,
but with gentle waves slowly corroding the stone.
- loneliness is the slowest and most torturous death
Loneliness. V.V. 11/04/2017
And what if my heart is full
what if it is so furiously pumping blood
and it is so broken and bruised and bloody
and yet,
still so full of love,
doesn’t that matter?
It should,
because after everything the world has done to it,
it still beats,
after all the loneliness,
it still loves,
and that’s the thing,
my heart is so full of love,
leaking out of the cracks,
because there’s no where to go,
no one to love,
and it aches,
it aches, just give me someone to love,
someone so beautiful I can love them with my whole heart,
without fear,
without worry,
just give me a chance,
because I have so much love to give.- on the loneliness of having no one to love
my heart. V.V. 02/05/2017
crackle, hiss heat crawling out in tendrils, my heart in cinders, chocking on the heat, and the beat, beat, beat of my heart.
this is what it’s like, this is what it’s like to have an inferno in your chest,
burning you out, turning your flesh into ashes, it’s so hot, my chest is an oven,
i can never stop my blood from boiling, i dream of slipping my head under the water,
ice collecting in the space i left, a slippery bath on a cold night, it’s never enough,
i dream of swimming in the oceans at the edge of the world, freezing my limbs,
but just maybe my heart is finally cool, it’s never enough,
i dream of faceless villains tearing my heart out, a hole furiously pumping my life out, so much blood,
but I’m done, finished, and my chest is finally cold,
the hot lava is finally stone, i am a gaping hole, missing a piece,
but it doesn’t matter. Because I am finally free of the heat.
- on the heat in my chest that never burns out
a heart on fire. V.V. 21/05/2017
candles burn low and sounds grow distant.
i listen as they all settle and silence falls.
the quiet is a peaceful reprieve but it bares down on me
and binds my mouth preventing me from making a sound.
i sit alone in my bed in the darkness listening out for a sound.they chitter and move restlessly.
i try desperately to pretend they don't exist.
but silence reins and i am forced to face them.
they clack they're claws and i am left feeling uneasy.
they want something.
they always want something.
flee.run,
run as far as you can,
they whisper in my ear.
i bite my cheeks and bounce my leg,
i tell them no.flee! they shout.
run further than you can ever be followed.
my hands shake, my legs, i shudder and say no.they crackle and hiss,
you will do what we want!
you want it, too.
no, no, no, no, no
i repeat like a mantra.
i will not run.
i rock back and forth.
i repeat, repeat, repeat.
just last until morning.
they will leave.its pointless i know,
they always come back.
i fight this every night and it never ends.
this urge to run never subsides.
it never ends.
The Urge To Flee Leaves A Bad Taste In My Mouth. V.V. 17/06/2017
All those poems about being awake at 3 a.m. could
never describe the desperation of survival.
Wanting nothing more than to find a way to stop the pain,
without dying.You start to wonder if it’s even possible or if they lied.You struggle to care.
You learn how to live tired.
It becomes a part of you,
exhaustion defines what little of you there still is.There is hardly anything left to save.Tragedy has written itself into your bones,
and you watched in horror.
You learnt to mourn a life that would never be lived,
unfinished is all you ever expected to be.You get mourning down to a fine art.What’s there left to care about?
The war is already lost,
you are a dead man walking.
Somewhere in your mind you remember this is suppose to bother you.Exhaustion slowly chokes everything else.Listen,This is your story,And it isn’t finished yet.It’s up to you.You have to choose.Like every other day.Make the choice.Get up.Go find out what the world has in store for you.You aren’t simply a ballad of tragedy.You are a song of hope in the darkness.You still have strength to fight, so fight.Listen, I know you’re scared. Here’s the truth kid, we all are. I know you didn’t think you’d live long enough to see your eighteenth birthday, but no one knows what’s in store. It’s scary but finding out is the best adventure of your life.
hope, is indomitable. V.V. 03/08/2017
the bruies form and i don’t worry, not at first,but then, they never fade,old wounds open wide like chasms, i fear the space painted across my skin,i fear the days to come, i fear the exhaustion filling hollow bones, i close my eyes,it’s a tragedy, did you really expect anything else?this story was written decades ago, it was always going to go like this.- when it’s time but you’re not ready yet
I’m not stalling, I swear. V.V. 21/11/2017
Some days I am ready to crack open my ribcage and let the black ooze everywhere.I am ready for everyone to see the damage.I think, I’m tired of hiding what anger has done to my heart.But before I can even touch my chest she comes.Telling me I must hide it, as I always do.- on the bad days and wanting to be honest for once
lying under duress. V.V. 23/11/2017
Tell me a story. I say.Bear your heart in written word,Teach me things I could never see on my own,No matter how many times I drown.Write a letter, to a 4 year old kid.A 27 year old adult.A 65 year old you.Show me all the flowers growing around your ribcage,And the stars in your memories.I want to know you more intimately,Than intimacy could ever be.- about the poets I dream of being friends with
write it for me. V.V. 27/12/2017
It's too loud, the colours are hurting my eyes.
The torrent of light and sound is bleeding me, I'm an open wound.
I sow, singing of loving scars for what they are.
I am learning not to fear love.
Say it, when you mean it. Don't be the watcher, wishing on a shooting star.
Bones of stardust, I burn like they did.
I love.THINGS I’VE LEARNT ABOUT LOVE PART 1. V.V. 01/01/2018
a soft sigh,jaw tense,I’m still here.I’m alive, I whisper to myself in the dark.A reminder that the pain,it means I’m living.The sigh is soft,and I’m tired,I have been for decades.The sigh is soft because I’m staying kind.
on every day. V.V. 29/01/2018
I was drowning, water collapsing my lungs.But how could I find the surface, how could I breathe fresh air,when I was the ocean I am drowning in.How can I put myself back together,when I have sharpened all my jagged edges.I have weaponised every part of myself,and now,I cut my fingers every time I touch my skin.- I am waiting for the day when I have smoothed and calmed, the day when I trust myself again.
weaponising yourself. V.V. 01/02/2018
"What's the date?" You ask.
"2014." I say.
But oh, I was wrong. While I've been standing still, the rest of the world has been moving on.
It feels like yesterday, I swear. The pain echoing through my bones.
I haven't forgotten, I haven't forgotten, I haven't forgotten.
It ebbs and for a moment the storm is calm.
I take a breath.
When was the last time I did that?
"2018." I say.
It's been a long journey, and the sun is still up. A little longer, you're nearly there.
"It's 2018."
Because my feet may not have moved, but my heart has.
Take A Step, Go On. V.V. 17/02/2018
I was never very good at fixing things, least of all, myself.Broken glass or scrap metal?Either way I’m bleeding, self destructing.A song whispered in the silence, begging for direction.If I keep trying to fuse, the pieces back together, will they know they can’t ask to hold my hand?Will they know I was never theirs?- If I’d learned how to use my hands, it would never have been this way,
broken glass or scrap metal? V.V. 09/05/2018
A strange monster settled in my chest one year ago, or possibly longer.
It took me a while to ask it’s name.
Do you want to know what it said?
It said hope, my name is hope.
there is hope. V.V. 12/05/2018
Fallen branches and blackberry bushes? I know the season.It is the season of slow healing wounds and fixing broken plates.It is the season in which children learn to hear the world and how to be hurt by it.It is the season in which I live and breathe, listening to the rain hitting the roof.It is the season my eyes open, and my heart blooms.It is winter, and I am alive.- take a walk through the rain without a coat, I’m never more alive than in a thunderstorm
blackberry bushes. V.V. 11/08/2018
I’ve thought about going back,what it would cost,what it would gain,in the end it wouldn’t be worth it,that much I know,I still dream of repeating it all,why would someone want to reliveall that pain?I ask myself that every night,to break my heart a hundred times over,it surely will not heal,not again,i barely survived last time,why play the odds?I’m not sure where my dream comes from,or why I have it,or whether I shouldlet myself continue to have it,but it’s lodged itself in me,like a thorn,in my heart,and it will take me an eternity to remove.
on dangerous dreams. V.V. 05/09/2018
I write because the words in my head are endless, bounding and screaming. Because some days they suffocate me, if I don’t speak, they’ll kill me. I’m like a match you struck against the wall, I’m like a storm on the ocean. Watch me fade, watch me fade. But before you do, watch me burn.
If I Don’t Write Who Will Remember Me? V.V. 30/01/2018
a name,a symbol,an identity,It’s been a while since I had one of those.It’s time to settle,to calm the raging storm,to trust.I chose a name, and it’s time to make it mine.
on my name. V.V. 01/02/2018
'A quiet year, shorter poems. This is the truth, I stopped writing when I got better.'
'I've never known what to write without opening up my own arteries. I'm still hoping to figure that out.'
When you first see me, you think there’s something strange about that boy.
But I speak and the moment passes. You forget. But the truth is, you were right.
It’s been years and no one ever told me, it’s okay. I figured it out myself. I’m here, and I found myself.
Without your help.
the boy. V.V. 17/02/2018
Don’t be afraid to drown a little. We all drown sometimes.Is someone there to catch your reaching hand? Let them.Hold tight. I know the sea floor is beautiful, I know the silence is tempting, but hold tight.Cough the salt water from your lungs. All of it. And breathe. For the first time in years, breathe.Hang the shell from a cord around your neck as a reminder to never return to that beach.Everytime your legs twitch, everytime you feel the urge, let them hold you close. And hold them closer.
on drowning in yourself. V.V. 14/08/2018
Everyone's writing about love ruining us,
How;
Why twist something so innocent and gentle.
Why break the heart in your chest,
In mine.
Love.
And do it recklessly.
THINGS I’VE LEARNT ABOUT LOVE PART 2. V.V. 01/01/2018
I gave up waiting, did you?Some things can’t be fixed, but glass can be, over and over again.Thank god my heart is made of glass.A perfect prison can only be built by you, the day I stop loving my isolation is the day I die.Broken is a tired word, so is shattered. Why not try devastated?I’m watching you choke on salt water, I’m sorry there’s nothing I can do.I’m the ocean, and I can’t stop myself drowning the people I love.
an ocean's depth. V.V. 12/02/2018
The storm is rolling outside my window,
and I’m holding still, hoping,
the snapping of wood sends my stomach lurching,We’re driving down a dusty road,
and I’m holding my tongue, I’m sowing my mouth closed,
my heart is in my throat,My mind wanders and I stop, disgust rushing through me,
well done, you’ve gotten me to hate my foothold in this hurricaneI’m reaching and begging, don’t do it, don’t do itTake a deep breath, you are not a failed experiment,Do you want to take a photo of this broken temple?Go ahead, in a year the rubble will no longer be dust.What you don’t understand is; when you asked me to stop,
It was as if you’d asked me to crack open my ribcage so you could tear out my lungs,
and you asked me as though I would damn you if I didn’t.You might wonder, if I told you that I gave up on you, why.The truth is, I let every bone snap without even flinching, because it would make you happy.But you’re not happy, not when I’m lying here paralysed.So what did you actually want from me? What did you really want?For me to never exist at all?
rubble, stone. V.V. 07/03/2018
I sit in front of the grave burying my hands in the gravel. Silence poisoning the air around me, if I’m empty can this finally end? Never. This is as much a punishment as it is a gift.- you offer to help but I don’t know what I need
they're easily mixed. V.V. 20/03/2018
Dangerous words and treacherous thoughts I cannot forget.
A year or 4 passes but I swear the weeds have not grown any taller.
The crack in my window still whistles in the wind and I think maybe it’s time to patch it.
If I leave tomorrow will you let me? I cannot stay any longer please let me go.
I have drowned in the version of love you taught me.
And I am finally learning not to call it love.
call it what it is. V.V. 11/05/2018
It is a strange thing, to feel yourself fall from grace,
I could have sworn I was standing on the ground,
Or was I drowning in the ocean?The sting of an open wound, where is it coming from?
Why can’t I find a cut? There is blood everywhere.A single piano note echoing.
Wouldn’t it be nice just to listen for once.
I blink away the tears and step back,
My foot catches and I wait for the hard edge of the stairs to crack me open.Have you ever wondered if it was worth it?
I’m still trying to shake the addiction from my mind.
I step back from the edge, I’ve done enough falling.
I write the date in the calendar.
(And this time, it’s a celebration.)
Mark The Date. V.V. 24/05/2018
Do I ever miss it?The tantalising line of red travelling down my arm?Or the precise agony of a scalpel cutting out my heart?Or when I forgot myself?Or how it is to mourn your own death?Do I miss my poison blood?Of course,The answer is of course.- on 2014, depression and my nostalgia for it
rotten nostalgia. V.V. 11/08/2018
The raven flies south, the candles blow out, the necklace falls from your neck. You find your torn up childhood dreams between photographs of someone you never were. Glue them back together, take your time. Relight the lanterns. Water the apple orchid. When you least expect it you find the raven at your door.
on the past and wings. V.V. 14/08/2018
People tell me I have old eyes, wisdom beyond my years.
So I’m an old soul, huh? I’ll let you in on a secret, then.
It’s not about age. Age doesn’t matter.
It’s about the things you notice when you really look.
It’s about the one thought you can’t get out of your head all morning.
It’s about the things that matter most to you.
How often do you think about the answers to your questions?
How often do you cry?
The answer should take you the rest of your life to find.
I’m not an old soul, I’m just tired . V.V. 16/10/2018
It’s about stars. It’s always about stars.
About the cold in the space between planets.
About the fear in our hearts.
About the infinite.
It’s about rebirth. It’s about living again.
About tracing the same lines on the map.
About carving out roads with your echoing footsteps.
About the bitter taste of loss twice lived.
It’s about death. It’s about accepting the end when it comes.
About written goodbyes and words that can’t be found.
About every breath.
About the rise and slow fall of your chest.
It’s about acceptance. It’s about opening your heart.
it goes, like this. V.V. 17/02/2019
I take a sip of my coffee,
it tastes like my depression and sleepless months,
like hopeless years and endless pains.
It reminds of what it feels like to forget what happiness means.
The memory of how it felt to wake up every morning
without a hope for the day to come robs me of my ability to breathe.The heady buzz of alcohol sets in,
it feels like losing control,
like being in free fall.
People ask me why I don’t like drinking.
I can’t tell them how easy it would have been to lose myself in that numbness.
I lost control of my first attempt to gain some kind of control.
It took me far to long to get it back.I see a box of band-aids in the store and my chest tightens.
I try to skate my eyes away before the anxiety can set in,
it never works.
I put on a sleeveless shirt and stare at the neat lines.
Would anyone notice them?
Do I even care anymore, they’re a fading memory now.
A different life, a different me.So I’m left with all these memories,
of years spent suffocating,
and falling apart.
I’m left with little mementos by a version of myself I can no longer recognise.
A version of me I don’t want to recognise, but I can’t forget.
I wouldn’t want to forget.
But sometimes the memories feel too sharp,
as if things that happened so long ago,
happened only yesterday.
Bitter Memories. V.V. 27/04/2019
A winding, messy path. A complicated start.
I heard someone got lost on that trail a few months ago, but it’s alright, they found their way back.
An excited group, laughing under strings of lights. The middle is like a party on the grass, next to the lake at night.
Sweetness hits at the first bite of a plum, savour it. Sit with me, and watch the sun set.
An endless list of possible futures, we don’t yet know the ending. Part of me hopes it never ends.
Warm smiles and long conversations, this is the music of our friendship.
warmth. V.V. 20/06/2019
So here’s the funny thing,
I like romance, I like the poetry, I like watching love stories unfold on the pages before me,
But when it comes to real life…
I feel empty at the thought of romance, I don’t need it, I don’t want it,
It’s just not in my heart,
And that’s not because my heart is cold, I love love,
I just don’t yearn for the romantic kind of love,
There will always be a part of me that enjoys watching love blossom from afar,
- whether or not I enjoy romance says nothing about my aromanticism
i will always love love. V.V. 27/09/2019
'It's interesting to look back on how I wrote about love now that I know I'm aromantic.'
'I really did over-romanticise it, even, or maybe because, on some deep level I knew I didn't truly want it.'
Smoke. That’s the first thing you notice. The light and sound will linger with you for months.Your eyes land on the blaze, instantly the loss stabs you between the ribs, you run.Standing on the cold pavement you flinch as the windows blow out.You beg them not to go back inside. You beg.The sirens finally reach you, the fire has already touched the sky. It’s too late.In a single moment, it all collapses around your ears.The smell of smoke still fills your nostrils as you drive away.
A Poem About Losing Things Part 2. V.V. 16/04/2019
the sky before it rains – the clouds hiding the sun and the world grows a little darker, there is a sense of the whole world holding its breath, you can feel it
the sound of crunching grass – nature, the mystery of noise in the dead of night or a walk in an unfamiliar wood
a single missing glove – losing things, that has always been one constant in my life. I can no longer count how much I have lost
ying and yang – the first thing I ever seriously considered getting tattooed, as a reminder to keep myself in balance, that I too easily fall out of it
an eye-catching pendant – a crystal strung around my neck with cord, its cold against my chest, but it grounds me, like a guide every step I take
the gentle fade in of a violin – the hum of the strings is a both sad and hopeful, the music of my life is a deep soul aching violin solo
clear nail polish – subtle, no one notices but me, it’s a small act of rebellion, but it’s safe at the same time, I’m waiting for the day someone notices
a game console forgotten about and left to collect dust – my n64 is long gone now, but the thought of it and the memories I have still bring a smile to my face
the silence of graveyards – I use to sit in the local graveyard when I needed to think, it made me feel closer to life, the birds there know words I’ve never spoken aloud to anyone
the wistful feeling one gets when they see an abandoned church slowly falling into disrepair – time goes on, we can’t stop that, but coming to terms with that is one of life’s great struggles, for me at least, it hits hardest when I watch a building slowly turn to dust
Describe yourself as aesthetic things. V.V. 09/06/2019
the moment will pass, we'll never be the same again, just stay with me a little longer,i'm holding my breath, i'm waiting
for the fall, i'm waiting,no, there's no big romance waiting
for me, that's okay, that's okay,it's okay to mourn the ending of something
that never was, that never will be,because there is love, there is always love,
my life is full of those i hold close to
my heart, my healing heart, fragile, but whole,the waves will crash against the shore,
the tide will come in, and i will have love without romance, these things are undeniable fact,
aromanticism V.V. 25/06/2019
Is it over?
Not yet. Hold on just a little longer.
I don’t think I can.
You can, I know you can.
How can you know that? I feel so tired, I don’t have the strength.
Because you’ve survived worse, you’ve survived everything life has thrown at you so far.
But what if the surviving has exhausted me?
It’s hard, I know it’s really hard, but there are things worth the pain.
What? Nothing holds any life for me anymore.
It will, give it time, give it a chance.
Okay, one more.
That’s all I ask.
a conversation with myself, in the past. V.V. 28/06/2019
I see now that I was possessed by something,
some grim bitterness,
some monstrous ghost.And its hands wrapped around my heart,
squeezing until I spluttered my last,We all die a hundred deaths,
it’s been said before,Ones that change some infinitesimal thing,But if no one knows who were
before,
who will remember the dead?Careful hands sculpt and sand rough edges,
You may find that it takes years to build yourself out of the bones and ash left behind,But one day you will rest with an old tiredness,And look upon something entirely new,
recognisable for its parts,But nothing a like to what you were before.- Possession, or as I called it at the time, depression.
Possession. V.V. 14/04/2020
It is a strange thing, to feel yourself fall from grace.
I could have sworn I was standing on the ground,
Or was I drowning in the ocean?The sting of an open wound, where is it coming from?
Why can’t I find a cut?
There is blood everywhere.A single piano note fading out.
Wouldn’t it be nice just to listen for once?
I blink away the tears and step back,
My foot catches and I wait for the hard edge of the stairs to crack me open.Have you ever wondered if it was worth it?
I’m still trying to shake the addiction from my mind, from my memory.
I step away from the edge, I’ve done enough falling.
I write the date in the calendar.
(And this time, it’s a celebration.)
Mark the Date (edited), . V.V. 15/04/2020
Dangerous words and treacherous thoughts.
I cannot forget. (I desperately try)A year or four passes,
but I swear the weeds have not grown any taller. (They choked the flowers long ago)The crack in my window still whistles in the wind,
I think maybe it’s time to patch it. (Will tape be enough?)If I leave tomorrow, would you let me?
I cannot stay any longer, please let me go. (I would go even without your blessing)I have drowned in the version of love you taught me.
And I am finally learning not to call it love. (Call it what it is)
call it what it is (edited). V.V. 15/04/2020
tik-tok, tik-tok
the hour is over, time has run out
but the beauty of all things, is that it will refill
overflowing like water from a cup,there is much to be learned, and much to be lost
we all make mistakes, but my advice?
don’t get them mixed up,
it’s a messy business if you do,follow the clues, don’t hesitate
a good mystery is always worth a disappointing answer,
and an unsatisfying story end,
the trail starts, herethe seasons change, and the fruit falls from the trees
and things collect dust in layers,
but there are constants, there always constants
take solace in that.
thoughts, ideas. V.V. 16/09/2020
What is writing without direction or drive?In my opinion it’s soulless.
An old theatre, still beautiful on the outside but nothing more than a husk within.This isn’t a problem for most writers in my experience, we’re like possessed things.
Words pour out of us like waterfalls.
Or they used to for me.As it stands I find myself untethered in my own storm.
I’m sitting on the riverbed of stones, as far as I look I can’t find a drop of water.Perhaps it comes from the fact that my words were always my trauma.All the words I had to say were ones I couldn’t seem to say when it mattered.Some writers are simply born with flowing rivers of words inside them.But not me, my ocean was only ever the depth of my pain.Now that my pain has run dry I’m here with nothing left to say.And there’s only so long I can spend writing my own eulogy.
what is writing. V.V. 13/12/2020
‘To be human is to love’What a load of rubbish, right?
I mean, it’s a cliche, but that’s hardly a crime
Moreso, it reduces,
And not only by half, it reduces until you can no longer reconstruct the whole,
Human-ness is so many more things than just love,
And we’re hardly the only ones to do it,
Just ask the birds, or look into the eyes of your brother’s dog,
Love’s nothing to write home about,
Isn’t humanity compassion, ingenuity, creativity, resilience and so much more?
Think of all the infinite complexities and absurdities of the world we’ve created for ourselves,
Isn’t that being human, all of that beautiful mess?
So love,
Sure, its something most of us feel, at one point or another,
But truth be told,
For me some days it’s a spec of dust compared with the enormity of my life.
to be human is to be many things. V.V. 12/02/2021
'And so the spring inside me dries up for good and I'm left with nothing at all.'
'Truthfully I've always struggled to write poetry and fiction at the same time, it should be no surprise that I took to it in 2018.'
what's a little blood in all this? V.V. 22/09/2021
The storm is rolling outside my window,
and I’m holding still, hoping,
the snapping of wood sends my stomach lurching,We’re driving down a dusty road,
and I’m holding my tongue, I’m sowing my mouth closed,
my heart is in my throat, and I’m learning to choke it back,My mind wanders and I stop, disgust rushing through me,
well done, you’ve gotten me to reject revile hate my only foothold in this hurricaneI’m reaching and begging, don’t do it, don’t do it
Take a deep breath, you are not a failed experiment,Do you want to take a photo of this broken temple?
Go ahead, in a year the rubble will be dust.What you don’t understand is; when you asked me to stop,
it was as if you’d asked me to crack open my ribcage so you could tear out my lungs,
and you asked me as if I would damn you if I didn’t.You might wonder, if I told you that I gave up on you, why.The truth is, I let every bone in my body snap without even flinching, because it would make you happy.
But you’re not happy, not when I’m lying here paralysed.So what did you actually want from me? What did you really want?
For me to never exist at all?
rubble, stone (edited). V.V. 15/04/2020
Bury it in a storm, until the storm understands youBury it, unbury it, bury it-Half-way houses torn and untorn by a-The storm is you, always was you, always will be y-Bury it in the ground, digging with soil covered handsYou’re soaked to the bone and freezing to deathBut don’t stop,Don’t ever stop,When you finally understand,When your hands have gone blue from the cold,In the middle of a storm,In the middle of you,Unbury it,Bury it in a storm, until-Until-Until the land-Unbury it again,And again,And-Bury it
Bury It. V.V. 24/06/2020
and what if we weren’t soulmates? what if there was no such thing?my heart is by no means cold and hard, but it does not beat for anyone but me.iv asked myself, how can a heartbeat for someone else? it pumps blood through our veins, breathing life into our bodies,so how could it beat for another? when its very purpose is to keep us alive?if I have a soulmate, I worry they may be more of a tether, trapping me in place, more than they could ever be a lover,if there is a red string of fate tied to my finger, I have no wish to ever follow it, nor find out who or what may lie at the other end,when I hear someone say they believe in soulmates, I can’t quite explain why my ribcage suddenly starts trying to crush my lungs and how I can no longer breathe,but live in fear of that feeling, not because of the pain it brings, but because I fear never being able to name it or give it voice,maybe there will never be words for this, or the way I feel when I meet eyes with a stranger and their eyes promise something I can’t return,maybe no one will ever listen, or care, but in the meantime my heart will still beat, pain and all,
and this crushing feeling will be no less real than if I could speak it aloud
maybe the sun will come out one day,
and none of this will be strange at all, and anyone you meet would nod if you explained this all to them- being aromantic can mean carrying a lot of pain
and what if we weren’t soulmates? what if there was no such thing? V.V. 11/11/2020
Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about fallingAbout the part of the fall where it’s quiet, when there’s peaceAnd I think, there’s nothing quite like itBecause it can never last, that moment is always in motionIt inevitably slips away as soon as it comesBut I can’t stop replaying it in my head, (can any of us?)Some part of me thinks, that’s where I’m supposed to beIn that moment,That it’s who I amI always come back to that,
the quiet of the fall V.V. 04/06/2023
you’re a pawn, againalways, always a pawnalways acting as someone else’s handswas there ever a time before it?and what will there be after?can there ever be an after?(no)maybe one day (freedom)
freedom is a foreign country . V.V. 06/06/2023
break it (the leash is broken, so let’s soothe those bruises) V.V. 05/07/2023
Have you ever wanted to be something but never had the chance?I’ve always wanted to be sentimental, but I lose things so easily, I break things without meaning to.And I have this complex, about goodbyes. If I think I’ve lost someone or something, I just… detach. I can’t think about a goodbye, I guess I don’t really do goodbyes.So I’ve never had the chance to be sentimental, because I’ve never had anything long enough for it to be truly important to me.And something about that… feels unsatisfying, like holding something so dear its loss would be devastating is something I long for.
sentimentality. V.V. 07/09/2023
time rewinds, start.
the story’s already written,
you made your choices a million iterations ago,
you’re already dead, this is nothing more than a prelude
a convulsion, a final fever dream
you were doomed long before this story ever started
rewind, start. V.V. 17/09/2022
Rebirth. And new beginnings. Or unendings, if you’d prefer.
You get to decide after all.
You choose how it goes, when it ends, if it ever does.
You’re writing each line of this, not me.
So why don’t you ever stop?
Do you not care who you trap in these cycles?
Don’t tell me you never realised.
Fine, then please just |
Rebirth. V.V. 18/09/2022
'My creek-bed never quite dried out for good, but it may never be the river it once was.'
'I found something of a muse, for a time. That helped me to find some inspiration again in 2023.'
i ain’t stalling, i ain’t stalling i swear!(there’s only so long you can spend writing your own eulogy)
and time is ticking. V.V. 06/01/2023
A quiet noise interrupts the silence of the forest, the stone sinking down, the boy’s footsteps already fading into the distance. As if he’d never been there.But the pond ripples. Out and out until it’s waves crashing against the shore. The silence upended.Until a few small ripples fade into the still, unbroken surface. And silence reigns.
The Pond Ripples. V.V. 02/02/2023
tell me a story,in the light of morning, it’s easy to see the bed’s gone cold, sochange your fate, change it, put pen to paper for me, why don’t you tell me a storythe road was dark you said? and you saw me standing there in the moonlight,as the truck screeched past, but when you looked again, i was gone?see it ain’t so hard, just a few words on a page, that’s all fate is, for folks like you and me,
tell me a story / the two of them. V.V. 06/06/2023
I’m tired of not existingIt’s been going on and on, how much of me is left?It’s not safe, it’ll never be safeNot everNot until the day I wake up with two eyesIt’s over, but it’s notStart it all againBefore I, they, can even start looking for me underneath-Put it back on, back togetherGrit my teeth behind the easy laugh, I can’t take it to heartWho needs to exist?I’ve got the pain to ground me, that’ll be enough, it’s always been enough
im tired of not existing / him. V.V. 05/07/2023
I keep telling you that I love you,In the only ways I know how,With my fists,With blood in the street,With the spaces between words,But never the words themselves, never-Three layers deep, no four,But you can’t hear me,Can’t see me, never see me,Like it ain’t my own damn fault,Like I don’t know you can’t see past the surface,Like you’ll ever look,I’ll keep telling you, and telling you, and-I keep hoping just once you’ll understand,That you’ll care to stop and think,Maybe then things will finally change,Until then I’ll just keep holding things the way they are,The way they’ve always been.
Communication (And The Heart). V.V. 08/08/2023
loneliness. like a poison berry tempting you to eat it. you are starving.ghost of a lover you’ve never had. but you want. oh, you want.hold it together. it’s leaking out between your fingers. hold on, hold on.pull up your boots and your convictions. there’s today still to see.I know you can manage it. whatever ache or gnawing pit you have.
leaking out like your convictions. V.V. 01/09/2023
sand down your own rough edges,
you don’t need to hurt anyone who comes close,
you don’t need to hurt you,
your hands will bleed but when you’re done it’ll be a little easier
sand, bleed. V.V. 05/09/2023
Did you see it? No?
Let me give you some hints.
Did you see how the pendant hanging from his neck glows faintly?
Did you notice how the radio loses signal when he gets angry?
Did you hear him ask for rain just before the storm hit?
Did you feel the pulsing heat underneath his skin when you held him close?
Darling, it’s been right in front you this whole time.
He’s an angel, you’ve fallen in love with an angel.
on loving him - castiel. V.V. 14/08/2018
Pulling his boots out of the mud, he walks into tomorrow.Head high, but pride has not been seen here in decades.
Wheezing air coughs its last, but don’t tell him that, don’t tell him.Glass paper slipping through his fingers like sand. Boom, blood wells from the cuts.
Collapse. The strings snipped one by one. But what does it all mean? He asks over and over.Mould them into something new. Rewrite the script and change the ending.
He drops the gun, takes the words in his mouth, and kisses the town’s beating heart.Tomorrow may be theirs and yesterday is broken but he has today, today there is time.
Just enough time for prayers, for words and hands clasped.Young and naive, forget what’s to come, there are seconds and minutes to spend.
Break it, break it again, rebuild. Again, again. Kiss each knuckle until the bruises fade.Masks, real or fake? Real, they answer. The truth is whatever you make it.
A single eternity, an infinite moment. That’s where it happens.The snake comes home to roost and the chickens live till morning.
A bloody man washes off the dirt and gives in.
Lost girls search a little longer, ever closer to the ending.
tik-tok, tik-tok - haruspex. V.V. 28/07/2020
as winter turned to spring a flower grew among the grass,
gently I touched it, as I watched it flourish,
and now I grasp a single blue petal between my fingers,
blue, the colour of warm nights spent listening to music and soft smiles,
the wind blows through the trees and I swear I can hear your voice whisper through the leaves,
I sit on the same weathered wooden bench, watching and waiting to see how you bloom next,
would you allow me to join you in your dreams and futures? would you entrust me your heart?
I’ll wait by the bench as long as it takes, for spring to bloom again
Seth's Confession Rewrite. V.V. 10/11/2020 (Highschool Dreams)
In some ways he’s not sure if he even knows what pain is anymore.
How can he?
How can he?
How can he?
When he’s seen so much with a tarnished and cracked centre.The brightness never dims, not even a little. Now his feet are planted in the dirt.
It blinds him.
It blinds him.
It blinds him.
Bleeding, spluttering, he stands and falls.The darkness feels like whispers ringing in his ears, choking him.
Is it too late?
Is it too late?
Is it too late?
Does he even want salvation, he won’t bear the sacrifice.What is loss when you’re already giving up the rest.
Don’t do this.
You’re worth more than this.
Please.
Too late, the bells toll in rhythm with your still beating heart. Not long now.It’s now or never, choose a family, pick a story.
Trust or hope?
Up or down?
Choose, choose, choose-
The clock is chiming 12 and the path is bending, will it break entirely?There’s admitting and convincing, can you even tell the difference?
Some things aren’t meant to be.
Death will always reap, eventually.
You can’t run from it.
The truth is your path was set, and you can’t even see it. You’ll never quite escape it.
Repartition - Dean, Cas & Sam. V.V. 29/12/2020
It starts with reaching hands and failing grips, and ‘I don’t want you to die’s, its a story that’s already been written, and then comes the ending, but instead of ending it is rebirth and beginning, and it is love, now its all desperation and fear, but its also an all consuming, passionate love, a love worth sacrificing for, a love worth fighting for, a new story, a story they choose for themselves, a story of hope.
on sol. V.V. 27/04/2019
'Derivative and character poetry is another beast entirely. I've loved and hated it in equal parts.'
'I take a lot of inspiration from the world around me, but I've always hoarded my poetry like a jealous dragon. I was never going to like sharing ownership with someone else.'
My hands are in the air, and I’m praying to gods I wish I didn’t believe in; I am rain soaked and shivering, I have faith in myself, I repeat the words over and over until its far too late to change anything. I wish I would wash away into the soil with the blood on my hands.
klara - healers. V.V. 28/08/2020
Is my heart beating? I worry that I am starting to believe them when they say its stone cold. The gun is heavy with the weight of losing, what is defeating death when you kill others with your own hands?
daniil - healers. V.V. 28/08/2020
Helplessness is nothing squashed under the boot of faith. One foot in front of the other, the cause doesn’t matter, only the result. Hold the words close, what little you have, is yours. Hand off your future, and let it lie.
artemiy - healers. V.V. 28/08/2020
“What’s it like to die?” Pride asks him, He’s a mentor and Pride is a child, Not something he ever wanted,
He thinks about how to answer the boy,He wonders if he knows, now. After everything, Is he dead?“What’s it like to die?” A friend asks a million years ago and in the fragile present, He considers how to answer the question that the man isn’t asking, But at the same time is,It’s like losing all hope, he finally settles on.“What is it like to die?” Pride asks him for the second time, An elf he no longer recognises stands over him, Pride would never threaten him, Not the boy, not his Pride,It’s like this, he hisses between bloody teeth.“What’s it like to die?” He whispers to the wind one cold day, He no longer knows the time and place he stands in, He doesn’t know how much longer he can do this,I wish I didn’t know, he thinks when he receives no answer.“What’s it like to die?” Pride asks him for the last time, There is no malice or manipulation in his eyes this time,
There is only fear, He coughs and blood splatters on the ground,You promised not to break my heart, he doesn’t say, Instead he says,
It’s easy, you won’t even notice.He watches Pride’s eyes slip shut and the man’s hand go slack,
And he finally let’s go.
Pride, Solas. V.V. 05/06/2019 (Inspired by this.)
The power to speak as another, to speak as yourself. Can you speak as yourself if you are a role, an actor?
bachelor, 1. V.V. 16/07/2020
What lurks underneath your skin? Under mine? A dull ringing follows your footsteps. The beginnings of a headache, forming out of fear and misunderstanding. Transcendence, what does it mean?
bachelor, 2. V.V. 16/07/2020
What if I was to reverse time? What if the flower petals did not wilt? The trees not lose their leaves? The buildings not groan with age? What then?
bachelor, 3. V.V. 24/07/2020
In a hundred other worlds we don’t work,
You’re too sharp, I’m too unforgiving
Neither of us soften, neither of us melt,
There is always blood between us,
Your brother’s words are always just short of what I need to hear,
What you need to be reminded of,When we hold hands for the first time,
I wonder what it’s like for the other you’s and me’s,
The ones holding hands for the last time,
Or the ones whose hands never quite fit right,
A world where your hand is too cold and mine too warm,As I watch you reading in the sunlight,
I think about the luck of this very moment,
The chance of both of us slowing down together,
Of both of us bending at the right moment,
And I think, who’s watching out for us?There are days when your eyes are hard and my shoulders tense,
And I think we’ll be added to the list of failed attempts,
But it never comes, we never quite break,
And yet I wonder if the number grows,
I plant a flower the next day for them and their lost love,
And wait to see if another sprouts for ours,The day I realise you feel the same gentle unrelenting pull as me,
Is the day I start believing we really might make it through,
One in thousands to break the odds,
To make something of two terrible lives,
Whoever feared what we’d make of ourselves, of each other,
Should see us now.
lifetimes, vergil & cyn. V.V. 01/12/2020
There’s not working out, and there’s losing, And there’s a chasm between them written in his name,
There’s burning like a forest fire, There is ending and beginning entwined in a beautiful disaster,
There’s bad ideas from the very start, There’s something being built on his ashes before they’re even cold,
And there’s not having enough breaths left in your lungs to care, There’s a twist of the heart that’s nothing like love,
There’s knowing he is just the interloper in your lover’s skin, And there’s changing your mind,
There is love finding the cracks in between the stones, And there is taking root.
There is something new, sol & vergil. V.V. 04/10/2021
a year late, or maybe only a moment. Will we ever understand?
The distant beat of some old pop song, playing in someone else's apartment.
Conversation like the ocean, deep enough to swallow us whole.
Daises line the side of the road, growing and surviving the weeds surrounding them.
In a year life will shift like sands on the beach, or is it only a moment from now?
holidays 1, V.V. Christmas 2018
Reminded of carefully constructed jewellery and a lonely violin song, you are not forgotten.
You are many a thing, you are here.
The seashells chime in rhythm as they dance across the warm stones. The song is never lost.
Lemonade slides down my throat as I watch the winds fly across the grass.
My arm shifts, the delicate tattoo of a sing cleff is visible. We all carry the song on to tomorrow.
holidays 2, V.V. Christmas 2018
Darkened hallways and spiced wine, the scent of lilies carries on the wind.
Questions without answers and unclimbable walls, they won't always be that way.
A gentle glow washes over each and every face, we all listen intently.
A haunting song might play if you choose to let it, or a new beginning.
The questions are passed in whispers but the laughter echoes for miles, the glow never dims.
holidays 3, V.V. Christmas 2018
A beach of high waves and stirring waters,
what thoughts wait on the edge of your consciousness for your moments of weakness?
Are they biting like the winds through your hair?
Are they stormy like the waters?
Walk through the dunes with me, I do not know what we're looking for.
We'll find it.
I'm planting them to save myself, but you're welcome to stay.
The warm sun will stay with you, friend and foe, it remains.
holidays 4, V.V. Christmas 2018
I hear his call echo through the hills, and I can't help but smile.
The strength of quiet days keeps life moving in the streets, don't forget that.
The fog lays over the valley and we wonder when it will lift, the answer:
when it's ready.
Do not let your impatience turn into bitterness, hold him close, hold him close.
holidays 5, V.V. Christmas 2018
Birthday balloons and soda pop fizzing over, the strong taste of pomegranates.
Doubts might grip you in the dark, I do not know,
but they are merely shadows if they do.
The quiet displacement of air as I open a cola breaks the comfortable silence in the courtyard.
We're talking about life and lists of things to do before we die, the others are painting and flying.
The party never ends, the music never stops, the friendship is never lost.
holidays 6, V.V. Christmas 2018
A quiet tune of plucked strings, coming from just around the corner.
Are you safe? Will you stay on your feet?
Don't dwell on these questions. Sit, listen to the music.
When the time comes close your eyes and keep your trust, it will flee from your arms.
The music fades and a new song begins, we sit and listen for a little longer.
holidays 7, V.V. Christmas 2018
The end of a good book, melancholy and triumph, the lingering taste of lemon meringue.
A lack of strong foundations can sometimes be dangerous, you never know what the tides might bring.
Everyone talks as they place each layer of stone, smoothing them over with witty remarks.
I place a seashell between the stones as a mark of where we've come from.
We may paint the walls tomorrow, if you're ready.
holidays 8, V.V. Christmas 2018
Late nights, so many late nights
And too-early mornings,
Snacking between hushed whispers in the dark,
You know, it kind of reminds me of being a kid at a sleep over,
Easy laughs and shared secrets,
There are hard years and harder years,
But this?
This makes it easy,
To another, and another after that,
To a softer ease.
holidays 14, V.V. Christmas 2020
Quiet months,
Busy days and hard tomorrows,
But there is pride, there is trust,
A month passes in the space of a breath,
But it doesn’t change at all,
There is lasting,
There is standing the test of time,
That’s all that really matters.
Don’t you think?
holidays 15, V.V. Christmas 2020
'Gifts given to friends past and current. There are lots of happy and bittersweet memories here.'
'But I'm glad all the same, I want to learn how to write my soul into their hands.'
What is losing, without being lost?
There is meaninglessness,
But there is finding, still
If you hold your breath, does time still move?
There is blooming and pathways,
Even in the moonlight,
Bloom, because there is nothing else to do.
And no one around to see it.
holidays 16, V.V. Christmas 2020
Often,
Words form rivers,
But underneath the rushing waves,
There’s sediment,
Sometimes words are dust in a desert,
Endless, but empty
Drive until you find that stream,
And don’t be afraid to get lost,
Sometimes that’s what’s needed most,
In order to get found.
holidays 17, V.V. Christmas 2020
The gentle sound of waves crashing the shore,
the warm sand underneath me and the sun.The sun is burning, it aches down to my bones.
I walk to the water, I let my toes sink in.
Do I step into the sea?The world turns on as I stand there,
Is it safe?
I step in.The relief overshadows the instinct to get away.
I float over the cold, dark, endless blue.
Sometimes I start to sink down,
but the memory of floating comes to me.The salt is stinging, but I don’t worry.
I worry for the depth I can’t fathom.
I worry for the distance of the shore.
But the sea has yet to betray me, so I trust.I will, because the sea is wild and untameable.
So I swim the length in practice.
I learn to swallow salt water.
I don’t worry.It’s a wave throwing me under,
a voice crying out in fear,
it’s not mine.
I don’t worry.I sink down and down,
far enough to lose sight of the light,
I forget the light.
And I worry.I cannot count the days before I finally see the sun again.
I cannot count all the days to come, I know there will be more.
I know I will drown again, but I don’t worry.
The sea is not my enemy, it does not mean to drag me down.The sea has no will or motive, it simply is.
So I float,
I laugh,
I swim,
I live.
The Shoreline. V.V. 17/12/2017
Falling maple leaves, a warm wind gently blows,
When was the last time you wondered about the vastness of eternity?
A decade ago? A year? A second?
I never stop thinking about it, I walk myself in circles through the wheat fields,
You won't stop searching? Will you?
Don't give up on the apple orchid, it has more fruit to bear.
holidays 9, V.V. Christmas 2018
The confident strum of a guitar and the scent of apples.
You are following the path, you know where it goes, or do you?
Not knowing is sometimes better.
We won't let you be led astray, the bees will not lose the hive.
A morning of honey toast and milky coffee, the laughter is not forgotten.
holidays 10, V.V. Christmas 2018
A busy street full of noisy people moving the world along, turning time forwards.
Have you ever thought about stopping it? Even for a moment?
Some moments can't be savoured, they're not meant to be.
Continue walking, there's always somewhere to find.
You may walk in circles before you reach them, but they will be waiting for you.
holidays 11, V.V. Christmas 2018
Soul deep laughter and a feast of fruit, you remind us of open doors.
Too many open doors can be dangerous, but don't close them all.
The garden needs tending, the soft purple pansies bounce in the wind.
The laughter mingles with soft acoustic music in a symphony of colour.
The instruments are waiting, choose one, play a song.
holidays 12, V.V. Christmas 2018
A photographers studio and the smell of mint, we're talking about baking souffles.
Do you feel satisfied I wonder, you wonder. The answer is: you will, you will.
Careful brushstrokes and the sound of traffic, people talking about everything that matters to them all at once.
Don't worry and losing your hearing, the words will never leave you, even if you stop hearing them.
holidays 13, V.V. Christmas 2018
it's 4:18 am and the moon is gold,the darkness bleeds and the silence stills,and the moon is glowing gold in streams,and i remember,i remember choirs of angels brighter than suns,singing the courage back into our hearts as we bled,do you?do you remember the taste of nectar and the scent of lavender,a shining night sky of gold stars,(so here's the truth)those constellations map the battles we fought across centuries,fields of ichor where glass once grew with angels crying over the scorch marks,in enochian there is no word for graveyard but if there was it would be the name for that place,i listen to siblings talk about the war,and i want to ask; which war?we are older than dust and war has been raging since the day i started burning,maybe you meant every war, every battle we fought,the millions of fallen brethren we cannot begin to mourn,maybe that’s why,maybe that’s why we’re here,humans,they love so possessively,when angels love so completely we exist for nothing else,different and yet the same, i think;maybe we are to learn grief from them,they lose so many,they get grieving down to a fine art,so maybe that’s the point,
gold moon, human wars. REMIEL 16/10/2017
Bottled lightening,
A hurricane contained by bruising skin.Shoulders tense,
Hands gripping the memory of a blade, waiting for the first blow to land.Stomach turning,
A disappointment at every meal placed before you, it gets easy to avoid them at all costs.Aching loneliness,
Angels are not made to be solitary beings anymore than humans are, it always aches.”
About The Abject Dissatisfaction Of Humanity. REMIEL 01/11/2017
I’m lying here at 2 am and thinking,
the world is a gift, it holds beauty beyond words.
I’m thinking,
my brothers and sisters will never understand the majesty of human life.
I’m lying here, staring up at the stars, and i know;
these weak eyes can barely see them,
I can’t even comprehend the distances of such things.
I’m lying here, and I’m grateful.
Humanity is often a horrible, pain and terrifying thing, but it is not something I would want to lose.
Thank you for this, thank you, thank you, thank you.- i know many of my siblings curse my father for this, but I don’t. I can’t.
thank you. REMIEL 03/12/2017
Shattered like glassBleeding stardustIt fallsI fall with itThe scorch marks lingerAnd I can still smell burningI can still feel the heatMy wings droopI’m exhaustedThe scars acheAnd my sword arm slackensI restI restThis is what humanity is for a fallen angel. REMIEL 02/01/2018
Did he break your heart too? Of course, why did I even ask. He has broken us all at one point or another. Don’t despair sibling, the humans are just as kind as they are cruel. They will acknowledge when they’ve hurt you, and unlike Him, it will eventually heal. Their scars are not permanent like ours.
One Angel To Another. REMIEL 23/04/2018
I.Remembering isn’t new, something forgotten by my heart, by my blood. But never new.ll.Wings as heavy as the fresh blood pumping through these veins, the first sensation this body felt was cold wind.lll.Stars, stars stretching further than these eyes could see. So many stars they begin to escape my memories. Stars enough to drown in me.lV.The wind is howling, and I’m falling into a new identity. Slow it down. The wind was colder than ice, heart beat loud enough to deafen, and a earth shattering fear, well, it would have been earth shattering once.V.What does it feel like to land? Is it soft, is it painful, I’m sorry I ask, it’s just, I haven’t stopped falling yet.- Maybe angels never land.
Landing. REMIEL 28/04/2018
strategy of a warrior,
heart of glass,
wings of heaven,
hands of blood,
soul of a human.
a patchwork existence. REMIEL 30/06/2018
Why do I sometimes feel, like I am still falling?
- and that I won’t land until my feet touch down on the fields of heaven?
steadiness. REMIEL 02/07/2018
a name softly spoken. a breeze through the branches. the moon casting shadows. the sound of wings. i am here.
i am here. REMIEL 14/08/2018
It reminds me of sunlight sometimes, or fields of flowers, liquid silver flowing, but mostly it reminds me of a lightening storm, thunder crashing and power sizzling, the feeling of electricity and destruction in the air.
what my grace feels like. REMIEL 14/08/2018
What makes you think that I had forgotten?
A warrior never truly forgets, however much they might wish to.
And I do. I wish I could forget.
But my hands still shake and I still itch for a blade I can no longer grasp.
My grace still sizzles just out of reach.
A warrior never forgets, but our armour does rust with age.
a warrior never forgets. REMIEL 06/09/2018
Is that why I want life to just stop so I can stand here in awe of it all? No angel truly understands as themself, they have to die first. Because it is, falling is a bit like dying. You forget yourself, your loves, your promises and your purpose. And you change, you become something new.
reincarnation isn’t particularly gentle. REMIEL 06/10/2018
Thunder. It’s loud and violent. There’s nothing gentle about it. There’s nothing gentle or easy about me either. I’m made of lighting and stars, I was never going to be soft. So my grace will always be that, violent, but I am more than just my strength. I am not without a soul, and my soul is soft as warm wind on the first day of summer.
i am not without heart. REMIEL 16/10/2018
GRACE. REMIEL 27/04/2019
Distant ringing, straining to listen, is it them? Is it them? Is it them?
Heat coiling in my chest, spreading through limbs, fire underneath skin, is it grace? Is it grace? Is it grace?
The ache weighing me down like stones, hunching shoulders, is it wings I thought were lost to me? Is it? Is it? Is it?”
- questions I cannot answer, and am starting to doubt I ever will
ringing. REMIEL 14/11/2017
Ichor;
It leaves a bitter taste in my mouth,
You talk about it like it’s something holy,
But all I can think when you say it,
Is of a graveyard with no graves,
Grass soaked gold from siblings dead,
Scorch marks and precious metal the only remains of entire armies,
You say ichor,
And I think;
Death.”- I’m a warrior but I’ve grown weary, I don’t miss war, I don’t miss it at all
ichor. REMIEL 30/12/2017
I had fire for blood and crystalline wings and sometimes I can feel my body turning to ash, I can feel the cuts across my back but I don’t stop breathing. I don’t stop breathing.
finite breath. REMIEL 04/01/2018
I remember painting the sky,
Lightening striking as my feathers rustle,
I remember forming stars from burning shards of grace,
Breathing life back into dead lungs,
And now:
I see a sunrise in the morning,
Listen to a song on the violin,
I see the constellations mapping the universe,
A meaning to everything no angel’s eyes can see.
It can’t be a tragedy. I’m alive.
it can't be a tragedy. REMIEL 13/01/2018
'For anyone unawares, I'm an angelkin (or angelkind, preferably).'
'And I've been writing poetry about the subject since I figured it out and started my blog on it in late 2017. In an interesting twist of fate, these poems are the only ones that ever gained any traction.'
The storm is both my beginning and my destruction,
My death and rebirth,
When my ribcage aches under the weight of divinity the storm washes it away.
on the storm. REMIEL 23/01/2018
Rusted metal, my hands still remember the cold weight of steel. Eyes open, focused, on edge, waiting for a fight that ended millennia ago. An ache in my shoulders, quiet in the face of the pain in my chest. The moment before I wake I can still feel a home, I spend my day watching the birds and the sun. Every moment is to precious for missing something I will get back. Closing my eyes, I wrap my wings around my shoulders and dream of a beautiful life.
Thoughts About Heaven And Humanity. REMIEL 10/03/2018
How can I be deserving? It’s a question I ask myself often. I’m not human, not really, not properly. So how can I be deserving of the same things? Am I at all? Or am I simply mistaken for the thing I am pretending to be?
will I ever have answers to these questions? REMIEL 06/10/2018
life is terrifying and
violent, violent, violent,I never know where it's safe to step, it's
chaos, chaos, chaos,a hurricane inside my head,
a volcano in my heart,because;the fall hurt,
it was;
burning, burning, burning,behind my eyes at 2am,
and I miss the safety of obedience,
there were;
orders, orders, ordersI always knew what was right,
I suppose that is why I am here,
to learn that we get it
wrong, wrong, wrongbut that does not soften the ache,
it does not stop the fear,
and it does not make me any less lost,
bound to earth. REMIEL 20/10/2017
Holy,What does it mean now?Is it the ache in my shoulders? Wings weighing on muscles not built to carry them. Strainging and tensing, never relaxing.Is the way my skin doesn’t quite fit? The feeling that I can’t quite get comfortable here, like I’m constantly readjusting.Is it the bitter taste everytime I take a bite? I eat, because we all do down here. With fragile skin and organs, but food always tastes unfamiliar.What is holy, for a human?Is it the way my soul sings out for a home lost to me? Knowing I will wait decades to see my siblings again.Is it the strong arks of my wings as they lift, pointing up, up to the sky I once flew across with ease.Is it the quiet fear that has followed me all this time? Ticking away in the back of my mind reminding me, I don’t belong. I will never belong.I hope that one of these days I find the meaning of divinity again.
holy. REMIEL 29/10/2017
I remember the stars, not as tiny specks of light but as brothers and sisters.
I remember holding the warm light in my hands, flying past galaxies and watching universes form.
I remember being being beyond human comprehension.
And I don’t regret a single moment since my feet touched the ground.
I think, fireworks at midnight.
I think, dancing in the rain.
I think, swimming in the storm.
Such a small perspective is beautiful in ways no angel can imagine, until we live it.
And I don’t regret it, I don’t regret it, I don’t regret it.
I never will.
on loving my humanity and learning not to feel like it chains me down. REMIEL 19/12/2017
“There’s a boy, and he has mercury skin. His eyes blaze like sun, and his hair is spun gold. You know what he bleeds, the same thing as all his brothers and sisters. He’s crying, he’s crying thunderstorms, and the house is shaking. He’s crying and he needs you, so you hold him with bleeding hands. You know, you’ve known since the day you met him. He’s dying, but not the same as you. You’re rotting, but he’s burning. And he’s only got till the sun goes down.”- hey taziel how are the stars? I haven't seen them in a while
taziel. REMIEL 05/02/2018
They all talk about how angels are built to be warriors, but forget what that means. I am a hurricane, I am thunder booming and lightening striking. I am fire burning and burning never to burn out. So yes, I miss the weight of steel in my hands. Yes, I miss immeasurable power waiting at my fingertips. But I do not miss blood, don’t mistake me. I do not fear it, blood is not something I could ever fear. But I do not miss making others bleed. I do not miss the screams of battle. But more than anything, I am not bitter.
just a little tired. REMIEL 20/03/2018
All I remember about the fall is cold.
I was lost.
The fear was intoxicating,
but all I could feel was the wind whipping past me.
since we’re all talking about the fall. REMIEL 24/04/2018
There’s poetry about aching ribcages stretching for days,and yes,my ribcage may ache,but where are the poems about being new to them?I was not created with skin or blood or fragile bones,I was made of light and heat and divinity.In a way, I was just an idea solidified.
I can hear my blood pumping to this muscle beating in my chest,But I cannot fully grasp the feeling of why I should trust it.Or believe that it could be mine.on a carefully constructed human body, that I know will never fit. REMIEL 04/06/2018
From my moleskin notebook:
The first thing written here should be a poem,
so here’s one about grace;
about feathers I wish I could feel brushing my shoulders,
and stars I once held in my hands,
I do miss it, not often, not even every day,
but I do miss a home with glittering gold gates,
and soldiers with bloody wings;
who are trying desperately not to cut themselves on their own swords,
I even miss the fields covered in ichor where no flower grows,
the brothers I’ve watched damn others,
and the ache of unquestioning obedience.
I do miss it. But not every day.
on a home. do i even remember what that word means? REMIEL 14/08/2018
I’ve heard people call the storm unyielding.
And I agree, I am unyielding.
My grace can twist and curl every which way, but it does not yield to just anyone.
It crackles and shakes the earth with an echoing boom.
Grace is energy made living, potential creation and destruction in one.
about me. REMIEL 20/08/2018
I tell you on a cold Tuesday afternoon, we’re sitting on the back porch when I say it.You don’t say anything for a long time and I give up waiting.When you finally speak, the question you ask is not the one I expect.‘Does it make you happy?’Yes, I answer. It’s part of me, it’s right, of course it makes me happy.'Always?’ You ask with knowing eyes.No, not always, but most of the time it does.You nod and ask nothing more.The next time you ask me something we’re on a hike in the woods.'What’s it like to be human when you were an angel before?’It’s wonderful and terrible. I appreciate every second I breathe and every leaf my eyes land on…'But?’But sometimes it’s too much. I say solemnly.You don’t ask me anything else for a very long time.I even wonder if you’ve forgotten entirely,until I see a twinkle in your eye when someone mentions angels.You ask me the question, what feels like a million years later,on a windy cliff as we stare out at the ocean.'What’s it like to fall?’Something in my chest hardens.It’s fine. I answer through gritted teeth.I wait for a rebuke but none comes. I look over and find you watching me, waiting.It’s terrifying, I finally answer, it’s terrifying.
on the question. REMIEL 25/09/2018
What’s the point if you don’t enjoy it?Why are you even here if you’re not having fun?If you’re not experiencing the wonders of life, how can you say you know what it means to be human?Humanity is an adjustment, certainly.But I love it, unironically,unequivocally, I love it.And you should to.angels have all these thoughts about how awful being human is, but we’re wrong, we’re utterly wrong. REMIEL 26/04/2019
Tireness. An endless tiredness. That's what humanity feels like, sometimes.
Humanity feels like a lot of things.
What is my purpose, my mission? I wait for the memory to surface,
But I'm starting to think it never will.
Maybe there isn't one. No instructions or direction.
I'm not trained for this,
But if there's one thing being human has taught me,
- I'll figure it out
i'll figure it out someday. REMIEL 16/09/2019
words, words, words
what are they?
how do you find them?
they escape me, it angers me
but i dig the hole deeper and bury my anger in my coffin
(i think i might be the one in the coffin)
but i am too tired to care
i no longer worry about all the terrible things i can see
all the disasters i watch unfold do not faze me
i am so very tired
i just want to sleep
i just want to rest
words, words. V.V. 18/06/2017
monsters are what we make of them,
and what monster is made when a mother only teachers her son how to die?
if weeds are the only seeds sown are there any flowers to save?
i am often left contemplating my existence,
and what it could mean to be something sharp teeth and fire for blood that has a heart, a fragile, painful, human heart,
i am what they made of me,
but how does one live with two natures?destroy one of them of course,
and forget about the ashes
two natures. V.V. 30/06/2017
i am losing my voice,
no, not from a day of shouting and screaming at the world,maybe from not;
when a life becomes only gritting teeth and enduring pain in silence,
it kills you,
have you ever wondered what it's like to see a heart die?sit back and pay attention,
because is torn asunder,
do you know how much pain a person can take?
as much as they choose to of course.but the cost is high,
and i have watched my kindness evaporate,
and i am tired,
i am tired,
i am tired of silently suffering,
torn asunder. V.V. 01/07/2017
one day i will stop scratching my back raw in the hopes that wings will sprout from the wounds,and stop tugging at the roots that lay at my feet, hoping to break free of this thing that feels like a cage,the storm will settle, i'll stand still without feeling like the world is spinning away from me,the bandages will fall away and the wound will finally have scarred, and it will not hurt to be.
just settle. V.V. 03/07/2017
silence broken only by breathing,
a cold curling, twisting wind, achingly familiar,
a bring night, a sky bleeding stars and stars and stars,and all this means everything and nothing,
the world stops tilting away and everything holds it's breath,in a moment,
in a moment it will all be gone,in a moment the memory will fade,
the world will continue and the moment will be erased in time,this is how i live my life,
on a knife edge, constantly balancing perfect immersed perception and complete detachment,and as always, as everything does, it tires me beyond words
moment. V.V. 12/08/2017
a terrible crack echoes as i pull my ribcage apart, i plunge a hand in, past my lungs drowning in salt water, close around the bleeding, burning centre,
i pull,
rivers form, and then streets,
my veins drink the cold death like as if i am starving for it,
i hold my bruised beating heart bitterly, and let it slip from my hand,
i don't need it, i never have
caged. V.V. 18/09/2017 (edited 03/04/2022)
'I had an instagram account for a time, and for one reason or another uploaded first-draft prose there. Most of these are....well, I'd rather forget them in all honesty.'
'This is, besides my try hard 2016 stuff, what I'm least proud of. I didn't even have it in me to add all of them, but even still there is value is bad first drafts, they just should never have been published.'
there is blood everywhere,
i am crying red streaks permanently into my skin,
i am watching the blood drip from parallel lines across my arms,
there is blood everywhere, but it must be invisible,
no one sees the scars hidden in every corner of my skin,
or the blue underneath my eyes,
or the shake of my hands,
all they see is a boy who doesn't speak as often as a child once did,
a boy who rarely smiles, and who never laughs,
a boy who avoids his family like they are his enemies,
(they are)
all they see is a world collapsing,
they do not see a son dying,
blood. V.V. 30/06/2017
there was a time when i believed there was an end to destruction,
i heard the words 'rock bottom' and lived them,
but pain and death have taught me this;
an end would be a mercy,
and there is no mercy in this world for those whose body betray them,
(often i wonder if there's mercy for any of us)
i am crying,
and begging,
and repeating;
stay soft, stay soft, stay soft,
the world needs more soft,
but i do not know how to be soft with blood that feels like fire,
and aching bones that feel like death
mercy. V.V. 30/06/2017
i am drowning with sealed lips,
not a word capable of inflicting pain escapes them,
and i am slowly going silent,a heart horrified by its own mind is betrayed by itself,
and i am left with ruins of a temple i once called a body,
a lie so perfect it's killing me,
the pain so overflowing my soul drowns,
the quiet so deafening my ears bleed,what is something that can do nothing but hide it's own heart?
can hide it's own death?
can watch it's own soul crumble?i have always been told that the aftermath is a monster,
but the true monster is the one that does nothing to stop their own creation
creation, destruction. V.V. 01/07/2017
digging,
i spent a life digging a grave,
lying there as the rain started to pour,
mud drowning the rot,introspection is healing,
i believed every word as if from god themself,
simply because of a few pieces of paper?i am ripping open, that is good, he saysintrospection is digging,
i am still in my grave,
i do not know how i missed the silence of the dead,
or the rows of stones full of words and words,it was always an illusion,
times ceases, and now it never started
i am a barren wasteland,
i am gone
digging. V.V. 06/07/2017
broken;
something fallen to pieces, glass strewn across the floor in jagged edges. a person lost in pain and despair.i spend days wishing i had a manual, i cut my hands on all the splinters of my bones, i do not know how to cry without eyes,a perfect painting to entertain the fools, an exhaustion for too many tasks at hand,i am tired,picking up the pieces and trying to fit them back together, everyone else sees a puzzle, all i can see is broken glass,a will not be broken a again, i forge myself of iron, of the sly fox's silver, the woman's steel sword, i forge myself of all the unbreakable things,you will never break me again,
try, i dare you,
i'll forge myself again
broken; V.V. 12/08/2017