liv does poetry

just a place for me to put all my poems outside of my docs.

[livdoespoetry]

mother, please believe me.

mother, please believe me.

i am trying my hardest,

not only to reach you,

but to hold on.

not only to teach you,

but to hold you.

i wanted to sit with you until my face went pale, mother.

to cling to your hand as a child would,

as if i was still her,

that child you adore.

i see her sometimes. in my face.

that sweet little girl who you could see as the face of nothing but innocence.

stupidity wrinkles my face now, mother.

i am no longer as pure as I thought I was.

did you cry when you watched it happen?

the naiveté slip from my face as the tears did from your eyes.

aging does not affect me, mother, but this.

this sickness. does.

i am sick, mother.

i believe the only cure to be my death, mother.

or maybe it’s just a symptom.

mother, do you still love me?

though my face is older now,

and my personality has changed?

could one ever love a creature to shallow,

with the unique ability to be everything you need

and nothing you want,

all at once?

i only wanted to come home.

mother, please believe me.

[livdoespoetry]

eventuality?

there’s only so much that can be done.

the irony is so palpable it’s almost physical,

a beast in the corner of all rooms,

everlasting.

because what are we here for if not to do?

we create distraction upon distraction to take away from the inevitability of an eventual demise.

we’ve created so much that there is too much to do.

we’ve made it worse for ourselves,

because now we will always die wanting.

so much to do, so little time,

in a box of our own creation.

always wishing for a way

to die fulfilled.

is God laughing?

did we cross an invisible line one day,

and push ourselves over the edge?

the point of no return.

the lengths we go to to feel.

ridiculousness at its peak,

savagery at its core.

[livdoespoetry]

09/10/25

i think i still have a lot i want to do.

that scares me. just a little.

sometimes, i forget that looking to the future is an option. i’m so set on obstacles that could affect my future, but there are ways to overcome those.

i saw a video about bringing a child into the world, and doing their hair. sitting and eating strawberries in the sun. i want that.

my ability to have that isn’t defined by grades or exams. i just have to do well. no pressure.

someone told me today that asking questions is how humans learn, and i think i forgot that momentarily. i was, and still am, very wrapped up in the idea that questions make someone stupid.

i think i am stupid. but i have the capability to learn, and do more. i think i can stop what’s going on if i try hard enough.

i don’t want to fail, because i still have a lot left to do. now is just building the foundations of that. if i want to have everything i want, i need to make sure i’m working for it now. not just leaving everything until later.

because the sad truth is, i don’t have any special talents. i’m not a musician who will go on to perform for the masses, or an athlete who will sign the backs of children who look up to them like God. i am human and i am woefully average. i just need to catch up to the future. no pressure.

[livdoespoetry]

man vs car

i walked past a drunk man today,

swaying in the middle of a busy intersection.

he stopped cars,

laughing as he put up his hands,

walked over to the bars separating passer-by from inebriated,

and slapped his hands against them,

vigorously, passionately,

in a way that expressed pure hilarity at his situation.

we locked eyes.

i thought he was crazy.

he saw it.

walked away from the bars,

and went back to his game,

giggling as he halted cars with his shaking hands.

now i realise that that man was not drunk,

and the convulsions that shuddered through him were not laughter.

[livdoespoetry]

yearning?

how long can you love someone before you realise its love?

how long can you spend tracing the lines of someone's face, the imperfections that are not so imperfect to you, before you realise that this, this, the ache of longing in your chest and the burn of your heart yearning for more, is love?

how long can you sit beside a person, listening to them talk, and breathe, before you realise that if they ever stopped, you’re sure you would too?

how long can you remain oblivious to the sinking feeling in your chest that is telling you, simply, to act. To do something? that this stillness will not last forever, and that some day, one of you will shift, and it will no longer be ‘right time, right place’, but instead the complete opposite?

how long will you sit there, and reminisce? do you remember how that feels? powerless in your own situation, and it's all your fault, because you just didn't act?

how long are you going to take before you realise that right here, right now, you are avoiding your problems, by reading this poem?

[livdoespoetry]

hello. i write poetry. i just want to put it out there. maybe you’ll relate to it.

blue sovereign

what does comfort mean to you?

does it mean the food your mother used to make for you when you were sad - that you’d do anything to taste, just one last time?

does it mean the feel of a blanket you’ve had since you were young? faded and worn, but loved beyond belief - by a child as young as 3, colouring pictures at the table, or an adult as old as 30, filing taxes at the same surface?

does it mean a site you visit when you need guidance? perhaps a church, where you look to God to set you on the right path again, or the grave of a loved one who loved you more than you could ever possibly love yourself - or somewhere a tragedy happened, and you just can’t stop coming back?

for me, it’s the smell of a specific type of cigarette.

there is comfort, and there are things associated with comfort -

I love my grandparents so much,

sometimes I wake up, crying and scared

having dreamt they were gone.

they smoke blue sovereign cigarettes

and when I visit,

the smoke clings to me like glue.

sometimes, in public,

someone will walk past with a cigarette between their fingers

and as they walk past, I’ll inhale -

not because I’m addicted,

and not because there’s something wrong with me,

but because sometimes

just sometimes

it’s the same sovereign blues that my nanna smokes

and it’s like she’s with me -

a mix of her perfume and gaseous death that makes her so wholly her in my mind.

she’s not dead and gone yet

but sometimes I wonder,

lying in bed at night,

how I’ll cope when she is.

maybe I’ll turn to the restaurants we visited together,

order what she ordered

remember her eating delicately,

because she never had much of an apetite.

maybe I’ll find that shirt of hers,

the one I drew on as a kid without realising what it was -

and she never washed it, because she wanted to preserve my drawing for when I was older

so I’d remember what a troublemaker I was.

or maybe I’ll return to the place where she lived,

where the smell of sovereign blue cigarettes will probably linger forever,

the smell of comfort,

stuck to the carpets,

and the very fibres of the structure.