Atlas The poet

a place where the tears become words and the cries become songs ☕️🌑🖋🌹

[atlaswritespoetry]

Maybe I am tired of having the ones with the words

Maybe I am tired of being the one to know

Maybe I am tired of being falsley rational

A dam has broken

Because someone else finally gave me the words

Because someone else also knows

Because I am allowed to be emotional

[atlaswritespoetry]

The mind may forget

But i assure you the body never will

As the sinking feeling confuses me

I realize what day it is

As the flinching starts

And the deja vu hits

I remember something else that used to

You see, my mind might forget why

But my body remembers exactly what.

I will never have the choice, the option to forget

Its seared into my bones and the essence of my being

As the hairs on my neck raise

And my heart drops

My mind plays catch up

But dont think that Ive forgotten

You arent that lucky

[atlaswritespoetry]

Who knew an ant would help take atlas' burden

[atlaswritespoetry]

I have nothing to say

For once

There is no

Door breaking, blood pumping, mind shredding

Thing for me to say

I dont feel a need to scream for the rest of this life nor the next

Make no mistake

My mind isnt quiet

But for once

There is nothing I need to say

Yet i write.

Still

I write; on little note pads

As reminders

Quick typed out lines

For inspiration

Sprawling monologues

That finally feel therapeutic

I write to remind myself that there are things I havent said

They cant be forgotten.

They dont pull on the strings of my mind at every moment, waking or not

But they sit there

Content, in a bright shinning room full of sunlight and peace

Able to doodle and color and sing

Yes. There are things i needed to say

But i think the time has said enough for them.

Now they just get to be happy, at peace, living out the ages I was when they become

The things I needed to say

[atlaswritespoetry]

Anchor me

Anchor me to this place

To this moment even

Anchor me until barnacles cover the hard shell ive created for myself

Ill support the ecosystem i promise

I just need to be Here

Anchored

Stuck

Safe

Because i dont know where id be if i wasnt anchored

[atlaswritespoetry]

I wish i could own my own story

Tell it when i want to who i want

Include every graphic detail i wanted

But thats not the story you want to remember

That story doesnt have the right hero

It doesnt have the right message

The right image

My story cant have its own timeline

Its own characters

Its own tone

So now its not my story

Its your story

And i am just the unfortunate bistander

The plotpoint

A motif of difficulty

The victim of someone elses consequences

[atlaswritespoetry]

Use my blood as the paint for war graffiti

I wont make it

They dont want me to

But my name will live on beyond their understanding of existence

With every plant ive grown

Every person ive loved

And every person who loved me

I will live on

So when they decided ive had enough time

Carry my words on your chest plate

Use my blood for your messaging

Because that way they cant pollute it for their own

Let me be a poet

Not a violent extremist

Let me teach the future generations

Dont make me fodder

[atlaswritespoetry]

You may think i am the devil in your bible, but baby, I've written more scripture than you know exists

[atlaswritespoetry]

I have to see the start of every new year of my life

I have to see the clock strike 12

To prove that im still alive

To prove that i age

To prove that i made it

To prove that i won

And maybe that makes me crazy

But that is how i celebrate

Knowing i didnt give up

[atlaswritespoetry]

How did everyone else see it

How did i miss it

Why is it always someone else pointing out

Explaining to me

How much youve broken me

How much youve scarred me

How many of those wounds are still open and bleeding

Why is it always me who has to

Face the consequences

Pay the price

Face the music

Get burned

By your actions

[atlaswritespoetry]

We were once one soul, but we had to be split because the universe thought we'd kend ourselves with all that trauma in one body with nobody to sound board off of. Not unlike Platos symposium, we met, and our souls are reintertwined. We are not lovers because our intimacy goes beyond that of the bodily need. You know the deepest crevices of my being but never expect me to patch them up. I will die with you and our souls will return to one.

[atlaswritespoetry]

I could die happily sleeping with you in my arms, having known that you love me, having felt the touch of your lips, the trailing of your fingers. Please let me taste paradise so i can know why hell is worth it

Yall, im a big fan of flirting with my best friends. This is the kind of text i send them when acting like their lover. So much of my poetry comes from the love i have for my friends. It trascends the idea of platonic and romantic because they are an extension of my soul

[thequeervampiric]

love saying "question mark?" out loud when I'm talking about something i'm unsure of

[atlaswritespoetry]

TW: This short line prose poem comes from a genuine interraction i have had, and i will admit it teeters in some SH territory but this is a place i bring my art so please please please skip the rest of this post if that is uncomfortable for you.

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I won't hide my identity to survive. Because i still wouldn't survive. Its either i die by my hand or theirs. And at least if i die by theirs, i will still be welcome in the afterlife they claim to live by.

[atlaswritespoetry]

I can feel the centipedes in my bones

There are bees in my blood

June bugs in my ears

Everything is crawling

Itching

Scratching

Swarming

And all i can think to do is change everything

New career

New face

New pace

[atlaswritespoetry]

The words i write on my arms

The branches i draw on my shoulders and shins

The stars and hearts on my thighs

Nobody knows why

They dont know the urges

The need to scratch pull and pry

Tearing the layers of my skin away

To scrub at my bones

Purify the marrow of my soul

So i draw

Create art instead of carnage

Because its the best alternate that society agrees is acceptable

[atlaswritespoetry]

“Did you know butterflies’ taste buds aren’t in their mouth? They taste with their feet. And their mouths are these straw-like apparatuses called proboscis. Butterfly Day is not a real holiday, especially because it happens twice a year. And the idea that they only eat nectar is completely false. Once in February, after the last of the winter rains have ended and spring is on its way. And once in July, when it rains so much the desert becomes so green it becomes disorienting. They eat sweat, feces, tears, and blood as well. It’s how they get the majority of their necessary vitamins, nutrients, and energy. Also, did you know that even caterpillars can be omnivorous? One caterpillar can not do much damage but some butterflies can lay up to 700 eggs at a time. If a butterfly lands on a person, they are actually tasting their sweat to see if they are worth a meal. There are records of a monarch butterfly laying 1200 eggs. Papilio Multicaudata, commonly known as The Two-tailed Swallowtail. They are the largest known butterflies in the United States. They have a wingspan of 3.5 to 5.5 inches. They are Arizona’s state butterflies. Danaus Gilippus is the most common butterfly in the Sonoran desert. They are simply known as Queens. They have a smaller wingspan. Only about 3.25 inches. They are known for not migrating out of the area. They can be found year-round, but they have trouble finding food. That’s all I was doing. I was providing my friends with food. How can that be a crime worth death? I was offering them myself too, I just couldn’t continue to provide for them if I offered too much. You know what they say. Kill yourself for the butterflies, and feed them for a couple of weeks. Kill others for the butterflies, feed them and their kids and their grandkids and their great-grandkids and their great-great-grandkids for the rest of your life. And I’m only 27, I have plenty of time left on this Earth.”

Famous Lepidopterist Alexandra Fritillary’s Death Row interview

This was a short story i wrote a a few summers ago for a competition with some friends and was just reminded of it. It is meant to have a manic switch back and forth between trains of thought.