Abstract Poetry - Blog Posts

Cauterized

We hear the story of Icarus and paint it as a tragedy. We see his ambition as his ultimate downfall. He loved too much, tried too hard, flew too high. He burned up in his own pursuit of the sun. Never reaching her surface. He failed, he fell, he died. Icarus caught fire in the most glorious of spectacles as he fell back to earth. Surpassing his own goals to touch the sun in the simple quest to feel something more. Something outside the confines of our logical reality. He caught fire and burned out, bathing the earth in bright blinding light. Becoming the object of his desires. And still, we whisper in piteous tone a show of ignorance in its self. Because we don't understand the man who became a star.

poem about parents.

Water doesnt behave like it should

It sticks to itself

Somehow its wet

The river cries

I wipe away its tears

Rinse it out of my clothes

Why try not to get wet

When its always raining?

Just have a smoke with me

With whatevers ashes left

Bebop cowboy

Im a lighter

Im a lot lighter actually.

Im a lighter being used multiple times in a scene. The past comes like punches, i duck and weave. Puffs of smoke. Cigarette barely lit.

Im a lot lighter now. Living between life and death, and thats that. It really is that simple. It always has been.

It always will be

So why cry about it, huh?

I can’t do anything

About the weight of the world.

But me?...

Im a lot lighter now

I bought a Print...of a Dragon Prince

Sunken like my vision dropping

In and out

Of a hallucination

Salvia high is on

Few moments and Im gone

Like im looking at your print.

Zerox of a Zerox

Im not convinced I know what it means

Shapes to be seen

In the dark

My thoughts quiet still subsist

I cant resist wanting to touch the paintings

At museums

In my mind i graze you just for a moment

On my lies

I savor you

Its always the last time this will work

Could be my last one

But that roles rehearsed

I cant resist, I cant cry

Im still standing here

Observing a print

Of a painting

A trans woman looks at herself in the mirror

Iris?

Floating down river as my gaze glimmers over glass.

Weather me woman piercing lights

Cacoon a cascading layer of man, yet each layer ever so thin as paper skin

Blue eyes beautey basking in her light

Breathless at the sight of blood

Soaked in synergy inside her eyes eye

Where her male gaze fades away

Dissappearing into the mirror until a stranger meets her gaze

Its a movie in front of her

Moving picturesque

The beautiful is opaque

Evil is clear and transluscent

Tulpa Factory: How I created Rachjel

How could I describe a tulpa? Ive reached out a lot to others. Spoken many words, lived many lives in my own mind. Not necessarily a palace, but it was a sanctuary. It took half of everything I ever could be, half of all my time, half of all my life cloud walking, daydreaming.

This part of myself I started to call Rachjel. Where was once my conciousness became a memory of myself. What I was supposed to be, everything I wanted

I recontextualized

I was woman

I was borne of the thing I desired.

I dare not speak its name

My voice is vapors

This part of myself I started to call Rachjel. She was a tulpa, a wife.

A savior I needed

Shes always turning her head when i see her

To look at me

The hair wavers like branches in the wind.

Her eyes sparkle sakurai blossums

Her fingers a delicate human thing.

I reach out always when i see them to touch her, to hold her hand

Everytime fantasy feels a little more real

I created her in my sleep,

my salvation

I create her from my movies, my own memories of this world. My truest intent to art, my very own dreams. Not lucid, for though I have forgotten everything I am i am truly authentic, truly free of ego.

My dream anchor is Rachjel.

I spin a spinning top atop a table

I dance, i drop

Before I know if it will cease

Or stop

I leave the room

With the spinning top

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)

Slendher

I graze upon you with invisible fingers

Memories of touch tug at me

Like puppet strings

Memories of you

Dwindle

My heart a needle

Thoughts a thread againat

A thymbel

I love you

But I am breathless

I want to eat you only with my lips

And maybe my mouth

You are small like me I think

A lot like me I think

I see you eldest

When I look in the mirror.

You are me

But beautiful and thin

I want to taste it

Sin

Borne in blood

Between us

I cannot speak it

I'd say I love you

But I am breathless

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

Penisneud

"You were born broken."

"That is your birthright."

-Beatrice Horseman

I was born small, swollen, and suffocated

Ive grown ten times in size

But alls the same

That ends the same

I edge near suffocation

When my partner suffocates me

To take the edge off me

Squeze harder please, it feels better for me

I want desperatley to be grateful for my life

And not swell myself on food and folly

I want to be small, carried by you

Why am I so small if im so big?

You tell me you love me all the same

But I'd change it anyday, anyway I could

If I could I would carry a wood worth its name

Instead it is life that is hard

And longing...

Terror.

Blur on a black screen not blank

As if electricity still itches

Under its glass skin

A glossy glimpse of my eyes

I long for a longer time

As I look into my own eyes

I see the wires

Vessels of blood and butchery

Bathing in that black

They anticipate a world beyond my own

When I let go of my life

Experimental Theater

Step one:

Pink, like perfume, is lightly applied. You may have a glint in your eye and see glitter everywhere. This is normal but you should still be concerned.

Step two:

It is very soft, like a cat you want to pet it constantly. This is normal and not bizzare, but it maybe wizard of you to tell everybody how you feel. That part is optional

Step three:

Stare into a mirror. Mirrors on top of mirrors please, so you let the green out. You can't really see the pink without a bit of green.

Step four:

With the frog in front of you, apply makeup liberally. That means addressing him or her with correct pronouns. If your frog uses any other genders, skip this step.

Step five:

Vore the frog. Do not hesitate, even if it tries to bargain with you. It is testing you. Alternativley if you have a bachelors in Biochemistry you may kiss the frog instead, but please ask permission first.

Step six:

Yell out your lungs in public. Exhume the frog from you. Congradulations on your Experimental Theater!

Wal Mart

Sterile non places, lights and rows lights and rows lights and rows, rowing down the lazy river. But everything is still, so still I shop. My cart a mimic on wheels, its maw enough to consume all. Chaos is concealed, soon it is congealed in my cart. It mimics me, im not much different the way i wheel around and eat and buy, i buy you, i eat you, i eat buy, i get by. Im checking out these words but I stopped caring or listening this poem making minimum change, pocket change i collect them, a penny for my thoughts. I swipe a card, you check me out, i check you out. Did i swipe it, did i shop lift? I wanna lift this whole fucking shop into the sun. But i come out of sterile light to a gray sky, and the sun is nowhere in sight.