Wal Mart

Realms of Fantasy

I often lie awake wondering about the time spent escaping. Embodying views of another mind as my life is consumed in fiction. I inevitably wonder whether I am real at all, surrounding my supposedly real life in fantasy and feeling more connected to the dream...maybe I'd prefer things not be real? Even the reality of carnal instinct is intertwined with fetishes bordering on dreams...furry ferocity only emboldened inside my own heart.

I toil and toll, i till my soul until the words come out as such. In this lost lullaby of words I feel more real then reality. Though I have the desire to break free, like many like me I am too socially anxious, disabled, perhaps both, to properly propel my truest self. Besides poetry I am behind...I yearn for a behind worthy of carnal worship...a gaze of its own, like eyes of its own, undressing me as I undress it.

I've been a furry officially for about 10 years now, but the pieces, as unnamable and esoteric as they may be, have always been there. Even something as simple as yearning for a childhood bear, before memories were formed.

(This is a planned opening exerpt for my furry zine "Zoomies". I'm still in the process of looking for local writers and artists but when I have something solid ill post images)

No please I beg you...

Come back...

I love you furry with a basic ass fursona because its what you love, fr.

Analysis:

The first few lines about science and untroubled silence puts me in the headspace of the learned astronomer. I appreciate how small of a moment this poem tries to capture, and how that is emcapsulated by the subject of the poem a snowflake (though the word is unused in the poem). Perhaps the exclusion of the word snowflake or any such name for the object of focus has some relation to the final line, which deals in form as a "...perfect individual shape is lost".

A perfect individual shape being lost in the mass of complexity, which on the surface appears simple as snow often does. Thats whats so perplexing about nature, makes me want to stare at it for long periods of time.

Its somewhat melancholic that something as perfectly indivual as a snowflake is lost in frost, yet still when one looks at fresh frost it is beautiful. This touches my gothic sensibilities as someone whose come to see beautiful in the misery of a quiet untroubled life (perhaps thats hard to explain to most people but maybe poets will understand that).

A perfect individual shape being lost in its collective also put me in mind of platonic forms (ie what is a chair?) Perhaps something as seemingly simple as snow is really quite inexplicable when you view it in its totality of snowflakes, such is humanity in the context of humans. I find such truths overwhelming and depressing particularly in cold winter months.

Snow is suffocating with this reminder yet it is also an escape, as it is profound.

(Reblogged with permission from author)

They crystallize in untroubled silence In this early pause, it's a quiet science When you look up Standing so perfectly still No movement but your Breath billowing up towards the sky One catches your eye Before weaving slowly to the ground Before joining the others in the frost You don't make a sound As its perfect, individual shape is lost

My arms outstretched

Palms on the wall

The mirror, the window, looking at me

Reflecting both of us

And neither of us

At the same time

Me, a trans woman at the resturant wearing a linkin park sweater: please dont call me sir...i hope he doesnt sir me.

Waiter: and for you Linkin Park?

Being too self aware isnt great

I overthink everything. Sometimes it makes me sound smarter, most of the time im miserable from it.

I prefer when things just come to me

When I can just exist

But im addicted to this

My face reflects

My phone screen

Flat

Fading

Ive never really lived at all

A ghost of god on the awnsering machine

Dialed in, wired

Enter a network

Of words, wallowing and weeping

For all

Literate nonsense

A light on a cave

A theater

A soundstage

Im acting out my life and im a C lister

But im trying at least

Nobodies watching

Im alone, depressed, loneley.

The feeling isnt darkness though

The screen is on now

Blues, purples, particles of pink waves...

Im laying down

Lulling out words

Slurring out nerves

My lips curl, caressing

Confessions undressing

From myself

I take off my clothes, im not in them

Somethings buzzing

The screen goes black

Skyrim glitches for the 1000th time

Its gone.

A cold icy river

I dont know from which mod this book came from but it's an excellent addition to the lore, and a wonderful story. Reminds me of the Argonian account insofar as it both builds an less familair elder scrolls setting and tells an interesting funny story to boot.

(It might be Books, Books Books? Its probably that mod)

Me, when im mothman

Hetero, feather her thou

It's okay, I love you straight boy

You only love a woman that you love

That was always a woman

Cis woman love

It's okay its okay its okay

I love your distracted gaze

When you look away

I can admire your face

Its okay its okay its okay

Dnd roleplay

Erotic roleplay

Still fair game

With the bois I am though boy i am not

I love teasin the boys

Aint so stone cold frozen

When we play you

See me as I see me

So what if im a hoe then

Its okay its okay its okay

Dreamin about your hand

Caressin my face

Like you dont know I was a boy

Just know me as one of the bois

A gurl you wanna whisk away

Its okay its okay

Love you bae <3