Star Wars Poetry, Thoughts, and Art

A physical documentation of my Star Wars brainrot. hope you enjoy! (Follow me on AO3 or TikTok as Melwa_Rat)

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A poem I wrote extending Bendu's deleted line from Rebels, "my dear, by change I mean death", from when Ahsoka asked about her fate if she was to face Vader <3 A view on her relationship with life/death.

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I keep thinking about Cal's younger self watching him use the dark side of the Force in Survivor, confused and horrified. Anyway, here's an edit about Cal Kestis and his life in three parts.

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I think that it is very brave of me to battle pop-up ads on Soap2day just to make an edit that TikTok will ruin the quality of. Very brave indeed.

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A repost of my Padmé poem. About her life growing up in the public eye, learning how to disguise herself amongst her handmaidens. How the secrecy of her relationship with Anakin drew her to him, and she let her guard down, only for the appeal of that secrecy to slowly turn into an element of horror. Her funeral. How naboo watched her even in the end.

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A poem I wrote after reading Rebel Rising. Here is my take on Jyn's pre-rebellion stance on war and how she does not see a point to it, and hates both sides for what they had done to her life.

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The Hero of Today's Century

(a poem about Anakin from Ahsoka's perspective)

You are a hot air balloon filled with angelic bravado

a modern symbol of righteous power,

Yet your flesh still bleeds red when tested by the blade,

You're human, maybe more than the rest.

You wear your heart on your sleeve,

for it is too big for your body.

I used to wonder where you fit all your ambition,

or where your tears go when you cry,

but there are some things about you

I guess I'll never know.

You were sculpted in the shape of pride

and loudness,

the lines of your face are hard and definite,

bold, sharp lines drawing great walls across your cheek,

although you are made still from such a softness,

a tender surface that aches like a wound

you scream like a child's scraped knee.

It is hard to know if you get angry,

or if you are angry,

if it's a state you've never left,

But your fire is not that that ravages cities

or ruins priceless art,

but the kind that you find in hot water bottles

and press against your face when it gets cold

I guess when I met you I was tired

I think I should get some sleep.

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A poem I wrote about Maul's death, and the way his rivalry with Obi-Wan, filled with such hatred and pain ended in understanding that came too late.

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Padmé actually makes me so heartbroken guys.