What World Would It Be Without The Gift Of Poetry?

Welcome to my blog! My name is Aristotle- 18 ! I am an aspiring poet, and I’m just trying my best to produce content I like. I’d like to welcome you to my little corner of tumblr, and I hope you enjoy your visit! My best to you in what you do! A Book Soon to come: “The Way Icarus Fell”

[happily-lost-in-words]

Trauma

It wasn’t supposed to happen.

I didn’t deserve it.

There was no reason.

There was no method to madness, or justification of cruelty.

People will tell you

The universe comes around-

You will be stronger and tougher

For what they did to you.

But you didn’t deserve it.

There was no real reason

For the interruption of life

For the disruption of nature

And harming of something small and trusting as yourself.

You’re not obliged to feel owed to your traumas

For the fact you learned to bite before you bark

So no one has the warning when hurting you.

You’re not obliged to what happened

To feel like the universe will work itself out, that justice will strike eventually.

It’s okay to feel angry

When the deepest parts of you are unroofed

When you’re struggling

Because the person you could’ve been

Was killed at an altar

For some strange monster

Seeking your youth.

Most days

It’s blurry

Most days I can’t feel it

It slips through me as I slip through life

It doesn’t hit until my dreams

And it passes when I wake

Leaving numbness in its place.

But today

With help from a little sangria and a little vodka,

And too many memories

I ended up on a bathroom floor

Trying to convince myself I didn’t deserve it

Hoping to god I wouldn’t hear

“The universe has a plan, it was supposed to happen, it made you stronger.”

Instead, I heard

“I know you said no. I know.”

And something inside me

Was terribly unrooted

I was the joykill of the party

Most of it a drunken haze

Lost somewhere on my friends bedroom floor

But what I do remember

Is I didn’t deserve it

Mumbling drunkly about the guilt I felt

For living through it

For not owing my trauma my blood and teeth and barred fangs.

For not owing my traumas for finally being okay with someone else in my bed,

Which would’ve once caused a sobbing terror in the midst of the night.

So all this to say

You don’t owe anything

To your trauma

And you sure as hell didn’t deserve it.

[happily-lost-in-words]

There is a ghost in this house.

There is something missing in my spirit.

There is a burning anger that hides behind prey-like fear.

There is a guilt of surviving,

And a spite to keep going.

There is a human contradiction within me

Apathetically empathetic

Caring too much about nothing.

There is a ghost in my house

That has made perfect company with my bones

It has learned the way my body moves

On a restless night

When I can feel his hands grabbing my

Hair And covering my mouth

In my sleep

And I choke.

There is a hollow graveyard

Of childhood memories

Lost to the static

And expressed through smoke clouds

And Soda cans, and whiskey bottles

There is something awfully unpoetic rotting in my core, demanding to be released and to scream in anger, riot against the years of oppression for fear of confrontation I’ve caged it with,

Something vile and vulgar and rude,

Something so terribly uncaring and so cruel that it bites back the bullet of hunters and comes for their heads on the mantle

And it screams to let me let it go,

To uncage the beast and be more predator than prey

And to let the paranoia subside to the fact that I could be the fucking monster my dreams check under their beds for.

But I feel his hands on me again in places I don’t like

And I flinch, reel back from the fantasy of primality,

And I’m back to sitting on my bed in the dark, nothing but the ghost in my home keeping me company

Most people wait until Halloween

For the haunting to start

But I’m haunted every day

By various spirits and ghosts,

And I can’t seem to get them to vacate.

[happily-lost-in-words]

Caesar and Brutus

“Caesar died surrounded by friends”

That wasn’t quite true.

See the only person who didn’t whisper the sweet nothings of a snakes song

Stabbed the fatal blow,

Caesar was surrounded by wolves

Who knew how to make their bared teeth

Appear as smiles

Conspirators whispering of his endless narcissism

Rather than seeing the sympathizing selflessness he wore as a crown

He refuted being king

He only wanted to be called brother

But his friend only killed him, brought harm upon him

Et tu, Brute?

Brutus only wanted fairness for his people

And his mistake was thinking he was a legend story

Not an allegory,

He thought greatness came in revenge-baring daggers,

Dug into the heart of his brother, his enemy,

The Only true friend of his,

He brought down the empire

By killing their king

Who held a lions heart

Brutus was only blinded by things.

Caesar never died surrounded by friends.

He died facing death until the very end.

[happily-lost-in-words]

Familiarity

I play a good part, don’t I?

I prance around in outfits and stage sets, putting on this performance

Convincing you you know me.

I play these masks like they’re people

I play these parts like these real

But get too close,

Try and make me feel?

Reach for the mask

I’ll push you away

This personality is temporary

Made to suit you,

Passively agree to seem normal

I’ll never let you see beneath

To you I’m as shallow as a shower

As docile as a dog,

Anyone who gets too close,

First glance that someone sees me

I run

Alone is quiet

But not quite lonely

As a room full of people who don’t care.

[happily-lost-in-words]

Voicemails

3:45 am:

Hey, it’s me again

Yeah, we were once friends

It’s 1 am and my hands won’t stop shaking-

But the only panic is in my mind.

I’m running out of time-

I’m running in a line that goes in circles.

Will I ever be enough?

Yes, I’d love to see you.

Hey, can we call again?

I miss who we were back then-

Who you were-

But I grew up-

I’m not the same

And we all change

I’m a man now

Not your boy

Who you can throw around like a toy-

HEY! Wrong person-

Sorry, I just can’t thinking about them

And it makes my stomach sick

I feel like my life has gone to shit-

I want to run and never go back

They know me by my first name

And they call me friend

I want the friendliness to end

I want to disappear from modern life

I want to be a modern prophet

A modern hero

A modern god-

I want to be good enough for me.

Not you and everything you see.

Hey! I’m sorry-

I’m here, I’m spiraling -

Could you pick up,

I really need you now

I want to run and leave these friends behind-

They’re no friends of mine-

I miss you.

And I’m sorry.

[happily-lost-in-words]

Mantra

Never enough seems to be my mantra,

It lies in the lines of everything I do:

Straight A’s

Never enough

Valedictorian

Never enough

Boy genius

Never enough

It seems to be a plague that haunts me:

It is a ghost and I it’s haunted house.

It follows me in every day life.

It’s like a beast that’s never satisfied.

No matter what I do, what I covet, what I earn

There’s an unburnable fire wanting to burn.

It is the fuel that keeps me running every day,

I am never happy with what I have:

I am never content with myself,

And there in itself lies the issue,

Because I will never associate “enough” with “me.”

It seems content is what I will never be

And I will keep running this hamster-wheel

Until I realize I go nowhere

And see the path I set before myself,

A path of happiness,

A path to be free.

Where never enough won’t follow me.

[dimancheetoile]

I should be working on my finals but I can’t. I need to talk about this because the world is looking at us through Notre-Dame, and I need to use this. You want to talk about France? LET’S TALK.

We have been on the brink of civil war since November.

You can’t even begin to imagine what it’s like to live in France right now. Every Saturday, we protest for our rights, our civil, constitutional rights. Some may remember the student protests of last year (if not, here is a chronology of what happened: x, x, x, x). Since then, it’s gone downhill. In my university, the dean faces charges but is still in function, he hired a milicia with bulldogs who patrols the uni and separates any group of student they deem too big. They used to control our id before going in. The police violence is the worst thing I’ve ever seen in my life.

I’m terrified to go outside, but I still go to protests because we are being silenced, slowly, methodically, by the Macron government. I was hurt multiple times during protests, almost always in the face. I was gassed, I was hit by water canons. The police isn’t even caring about the non-protesters. I’ve seen them shoot gas grenades at toddlers, three-year-old choking on lacrymo. Two girls, gassed, and a little nine-year-old who had her arm broken running away.

A mother falling to the ground because a plastic-shrapnel grenade exploded next to her ankle and destroyed her foot. Most of my friends have PTSD, any sharp sound can send every single one of us into a panic attack. We can’t handle fireworks or firecrackers anymore.

The blood. I can’t make you understand how much blood is spilled during the protests. The number of times they scream MEDIC during protests makes me sick.

On record, there are currently three persons who were shot in the eye. One man had his hand ripped off. Multiple men and women got broken ribs from the flashballs. THEY EVEN SHOOT AT REPORTERS from the national television and freelancers, with water canons and flashballs. They’ve beaten minors unconscious, they’ve shot a flashball into someone’s mouth and it exploded his cheek, they’ve thrown a disabled man off his wheelchair.

During the protests, we break things. Of course we do. We break glass, mostly, because it’s the cheapest to repair and it’s what’s the most impacting visually, so it’s our compromise. They break us.

If you carry a camera into a protest, they’ll track you down and target you until either your camera is dead or you’re too beaten up to be able to film. I’ve been there. I never bring my camera anymore. And even then, I wouldn’t film anyway, because the police is on social media, and they look at every video, they identify people’s faces, and then people get in trouble. They block entire streets so you can’t escape them. They make ‘nests’ where they circle around protesters until they’re surrounded, then they throw a gas grenade in the middle and when people run away towards the edges, they catch everyone one by one and beat them bloody.

And the worst is the misinformation. The media have done such a good job at misrepresenting the protests that there is infighting inside my own family, inside most families, at work, at school, between people who think the government is doing its best to control the situation and the protesters are violent anarchists set to destroy the country, and the people who’ve actually been in protests, who’ve peacefully raised their hands up when asked and where shot in the ribs with a flashball in thanks. My own parents didn’t believe me until I came back from a protest with a split eyebrow and sprained wrist.

This is a short documentary a French newsreport/gamer youtuber made. If you speak French, it will give you another inside view. If not, you can just watch the images from March 18th, until now the most violent protest since November.

In Paris, now the army is in the street. They pulled back the anti-terrorism squads soldiers (about 7,000) and put them in the street, against us. They had orders to shoot after three warnings and they are armed to kill. THEY ARE ARMED WITH LETHAL WEAPONS. The last time the army was sent to control a protest was in 1948.

You want to talk about France? Talk about that. We are scared. We feel abandoned by the world. And guess what? If France falls, you’re all coming with us. Right now, it’s easy to forget that the same thing is happening in South-America and all over Middle-East, because Western media doesn’t like talking about anything that isn’t white and pretty. But if they managed to forget to talk about just how bad it is here, then it’s going to happen to you too. So the first step? Is to talk about it. Share this, share other news report. Talk about it with your friends, your families. Contact your local news, ask them why no one is talking about it. Go to social media, tweet people, ask questions. Hell, ask ME questions.

France is heading straight to civil war, and I’m terrified.

[happily-lost-in-words]

Please spread this around.

[happily-lost-in-words]

Philosophical decay

My poetry has deteriorated

Like the soul in which my body protects

My mind has crumpled

Like the ruins of Rome

All great things fall but what if I never rose?

We step into a new world

Full of phone screens and view counts

Where fights get likes

and love gets beaten

Where we fly when we should fight

And fight when we should fly

And as our world falls

From idolizing beauty

To idolizing the beast

This is the hubris feast

The philisophical decay of humanity

And we all sing our odes to sleep

As teens fall out of life

and adults run out of hope

My work is fleeting and failing

Line after line, deleting

Escaping my karma

For a life of regret

For a life of mistakes

[thepersonalquotes]

[happily-lost-in-words]

For the first time in a long time

I found the memories of us running through my head

Lacking their usual bitterness

I remember I used to dread

When not a day went by without you

I constantly ran through memories and blurs

Of you

And I regret it,

What I did to myself

In requiem for “us”

For the bond made from lack of trust

Not that there wasn’t good times.

Most of it was good times.

Yet it lacked the love I thought it held

You flickered a flame in me

And used it to burn down anything I liked about myself

You flickered a flame in me

To bring me to my knees

As what I kept close to me fell

Sometimes I find myself

Typing your username

Deleting

|

Typing again.

I find myself missing the memory of who you used to be

Before we destroyed eachother

Before your lack of love destroyed me

I find myself

Slowly forgiving

Forgiving you

Forgiving myself

I find myself letting go

Of the memory of who I used to know

I feel you slipping from my thoughts

My pain

My ghosts, my regret-

I feel myself forgetting you

And what they did to me

Because of what you claimed

And for the first time in a long time I’m at peace with your haunting

The lingering does not sting anymore

I’ve grown

And for the first time in a long time, I’m glad.

[happily-lost-in-words]

Lover please stay.

I know the morning is cold

Be the nights are below freezing, lover,

Please take my hands in yours like the last grasp at a lifeline,

I’m running out of time,

My life is passing me by and it’s only a matter of years before the bleach catches up with the tears,

Lover, please stay

Because I feel nothing for myself but I see the universe held within your heart,

placed so gently on your sleeve,

I see the way you bleed poetry,

and your hair reflects softly in the morning sunlight,

and how passionately that dull heart beats,

Lover I would write worlds into creation if it meant having you by my side

Even if it’s just for tonight

Feel free to be another shitty lie,

who stays until the morning time

Lover we don’t have to fake this passion for eachother

But maybe just the passion of making out

To feel like we can be loved

Darling I know I am not enough

It’s the reason I see you in my dreams,

Remembering the times we were so happy,

So carefree,

Before the toxic set in and bruises on me,

Darling I know I’m more wolf than sheep.

I know I sound like a hungry predator when I cry myself to sleep.

I know you think I’ll die if anyone leaves,

But I’ve been left alone before,

Hell, my past lovers all walked out the door,

And I’m slowly making my way back to them, the one who sewed my heart back at the hem,

But darling just stay,

Let me make you feel okay,

I’ll do anything to make the pain go away,

Darling I know you don’t love me, but-

Lover, please stay.

[happily-lost-in-words]

Hey! I recently stumbled across your blog and am i glad i did! I love it! All your poems are so beautifully heartbreaking yet healing. Keep writing. Hope you're having a nice day/night.😊

Ahhhh!!! Thank you!!! I really appreciate feedback like this and I’m glad my poetry means something to people.

I also have to apologize for the lack of activity in this blog.

Feel free to message me, anon! 💞

[happily-lost-in-words]

Death/life

I feel so bitterly dead

Cold breaths coming out of a live body

A ghost slipping between states

Not-quite-dead, but not quite alive

Heartbeat is sterilized, flatlining with every beat

The things we will do just to feel alive

We all have these curses we label as a vice

We all crave to be more

More than passing grades

More than a friendly face

More than a warm body and cold heart

More than alone

We all want to feel worth something

And not in that

“I want to be worth something to someone else!”

No lovey dovey suicide fall idealizations

But in the sense of being worth something

To my heart

To be satisfied with grades in flying colors

Graduate college classes at Age fifteen

I want to be satisfied in art

And music

And songs and poems and work

I want to be worth something in my own eyes

I want to be able to be happy. To feel alive

Words keep repeating in my head

“We care”

Oh, they do,

They care so passionately it hurts

Because I once again feel the suffocation

Of their standards

This noose, the noise, the static

I feel the wall up again and how the words fumble around in my throat like Index cards

I have so much to say yet no words leak out

I feel so incredibly empty but overwhelmingly full

I’m a family’s disgrace

A disappointment

I’ll never be enough for them; for friends;

For me?

When will I learn to let myself free

To breathe without counting the lack of pulse?

When will I learned to live

Instead of learning to play pretend

Like puppets strung up

I’m strung out

Exhausted

I’m a ghost in my own life-

The dead boy walking,

The puppet in human skin,

I have become the broken parts of a masterpiece

Of a madman

I feel myself falling-

That was the fitting word.

You don’t slip.

No,

You fall.

Full force,

shatter-against-sidewalks

Sort of fall.

It’s sort of poetic how kids shatter?

That’s what we try to make it

The way kids die at 15

And after a week they’re forgotten

And life goes on

The remembrance of strangers

To kids thinking

“It should’ve been me”

Living

But counting pills

Close to fantasized overdosing

Close to fantasized falling

Fantasized crashing

Fantasized Burning

We are all so close

Tiptoeing on tightropes

We are all so close

We either fly or fall

Either way we risk at all

I’m not alive but I’m living

I’m close to falling,

Close to breaking

But every impulse-risk I’m taking

I try to use the rope

As a savior rather than a hanger

I’m trying to learn how to be alive again

To learn how to live,

and breathe,

and listen to my heart beat

There’s this familiar yet foreign bitterness

To dying when you’re alive

And living when you die

And we need to stop bluring the lines

Between death || and || life

[somuchtowrite]

calling all ~teenage~ writeblrs !!

like/reblog this post if:

you’re 18 or younger

you’re a writer

that’s pretty much it!!

i want to see more people my age on my dash, not just because i love seeing other young writers trying to reach their goals, but also because it’s nice to know that we’re not alone in balancing writing with school, friends, extracurricular activities, jobs, and everything else:)

(feel free to boost this if you want, even if you’re <18!!)

[cupids-poison-blog]

trying to prove a point to the boys at school

reblog this if you believe trans men are real men like this if you dont

[happily-lost-in-words]

Memories (TW!!!)

(Involves implication of child abuse and sexual assault.)

My memories are beaten and bloodied

They are t /or/n apart

Like shredded drawings not good enough

To be placed on the kitchen fridge

They are loaded guns

And every day I play Russian roulette

Hoping not to place

The bullet through my head

But sometimes something else pulls the trigger

Someone sounds like her, or touched me like him

(A grazing hand misplaced)

And suddenly I’m face to face

With my demons and my monsters

Long gone abusers

But I still feel her fingers

Coiled around my neck

And I call out for freedom,

Crying in pain,

Here is where she started to play the game-

“You’re only saying this to hurt me,”

“You’re ungrateful, I could’ve just aborted,” she-

Loves to make me her mouse

As she plays cat

She loves to say

That without me she’d never be this way,

She loves to excuse her actions

On her mother, who loves to be just like her

She loves to find blame

In a being she gave a name

She loves to feel power

For she is helpless under her lies

But the child she strangled lays awake at night

Praying to god to spare him in these times

When someone sounds too fake

Too much like her

His innocence of childhood was hers to break

And she shattered it with hammer swings

Of all of life’s bitter things

And he grew up hating his form

His body- not mine, he’d say-

It always seemed wrong, always ashamed

And when boys and girls all played their games

Running their hands where they didn’t belong

Playing hide and seek with trauma

He went along

Accepted, he said nothing

Because he didn’t mean yes

But he doesn’t know how to say no

For fear of the pain that happened so long ago.

And so he allowed them their fun

And when they were done

He hollows himself empty:

He spills his guts,

He hides in bathroom stalls with

closing in walls

And intrusive thoughts

That tell him he’s better off not

Being happy, being safe

To put himself in harms way,

And he knows it’s wrong.

That recovery is such a sweeter song.

But here he lays bloodied

And bruised

And broken and used

And all he can think

Is how bittersweet

These memories are

He feels like he deserved it-

But he just wants to preserve what little he has left

And to recover from the pain

and their sick little games

And he knows this is a first step

[happily-lost-in-words]

Stuck in Phases (Dear dad)

My dad should’ve raised a better girl,

Because I know the son I am

Will not be his by age 18,

The idea

Of who he wants to me to be

All that he expects from me

It’s suffocating

I am afraid of myself.

I cover all my mirrors

And hide behind facades

I cut my hair

And hope to pray the gay away

But the gay is inside of me.

Dad,

Can’t you see?

It’s not a phase

All the stolen kisses from girls

And the curled hair to make it shorter

The masculine hand-me-downs from a big brother

I will never be

The girl you want to see.

I am a broken thing

A doll masquerading as living

I am the forgotten memories of a person

I am problematic

Twirling out of control

Like a broken ballerina figure

Always one step forward and six steps back.

You were right,

Dad.

I’m never getting over this

Thing,

Inside of me,

This demon clawing from my chest and in my head

SCREAMING

What if I’m never enough

I know when I grow up

I’ll lose your love

Because god hates fags

And you love the lord

More than you love the broken word

Of a heathen

Who whispers “love is love”

And wants a man in the mirror

Not a petite woman

Dad I’m dying,

I’m so afraid to ask if you’ll always love me

Even if I don’t follow the allegory stories, if I’m destined for hell will you leave me lonely?

What if I’m never what you want from me?

What if I fail before I fly?

I’ll never know why

I’m so fucked in the head. Maybe it’s like mom said.

“I’ll never be shit. I was born to quit.”

Dad am I worth it?

If you could get that chance

To pick between what never was and what failed to be?

Would you pick the original baby girl or me?

The one you lost,

Or the one that still disappoints

Reminding you of a monster you married

Dad, what if I die before you?

Dad what if I never go anywhere in life?

Am I worth all the strife?

Should I even be alive?

Why do I always fail to die?

Dad what if I don’t make it? Do you think I can take it?

All your high hopes make me feel like if I fall I’ll crash and burn

And I’ll make you sad

I’m trying, Dad.

I don’t want to lose you,

And if I have to play pretend

To keep this egg-shell dream from the end

Will you still love me,

Even if the me you love dies?

If she gives up her chest and listens to her heart?

That beats “him” from the start?

Dear dad,

I’m sorry.

And I’m terrified

You’ll abandon me.