poet of the lilac sea

call me lilac. just a little poet on a big ocean. GenAI users DNI

[poetofthelilacsea]

the soul has only one shoulder

who is the spider on your shoulder telling you to never stop aching? and how many legs does the devil have- (arms galore to hold you down, but i don't think it needs to walk) (it can do all the harm it wants from an armchair) and who is on your other arm pushing you forward- turn and see only your hand, only your hand.

[poetofthelilacsea]

nobody has to believe me

and nobody does. not about the dark river running/rising on my skin. not about the dark river rotting/moulding within. Nobody has to and

nobody should. not about the pale tree sprouting/growing in the wood. not about the pale tree falling/burning in the green. nobody

knows and nobody sees. not the dimming of the light. not the dimming of the sight. nobody has to believe me and I pray

i lose that faith.

[poetofthelilacsea]

headlines

I Tested Five Ways to Shuck Corn, and Police Stepped Up Security in Atlanta as a 66-foot asteroid exploded in Russia. The Evidence is Still Catching up, But, Who's Voting? We all Cheered as we die together. If we die, Disney's Live-Action Remake Dies at the Box Office. If we die, According to Gardening Pros, it could change the search for life. I Tried Thirteen Brands of Canned Biscuits- and If a star explodes close to Earth, this is what happens.

[poetofthelilacsea]

if we wanted to

we could have ruined our lives, or you could have ruined mine. a long time ago. A long time ago we would not have been standing here, on opposite sides of the coast, re- specting each others' respective waste lands. I don't waste time anymore. You said you're happy for me. I could have been happy for you, back before you ruined your life. If i wanted to, i could ruin mine. Maybe I did already, the moment we started to stand on opposite coasts, a long time ago

[poetofthelilacsea]

a list of things i think i could live on

black tea and like, two priorities (making my mother laugh and washing my sheets) a breath of fresh air (or two, or three) and combing my hair (while watching the sea).

[poetofthelilacsea]

another reason to live

if misery loves company than you should stay away from me. but maybe staying away is how I landed on this island, adrift in the unsoft sea. if misery is loved by me then should i stay away from it? this love affair helps me survive. to ache i need to be alive. to ache i need to be alive.

[poetofthelilacsea]

shor/n

you will not be standing on the shore when the tide turns. when you were ten, your friend's turquoise sandals were swept away by the shore. but nothing comes back. and nothing comes back. you were not standing on the shore when the tide turned. when you were as you are now, your friend was swept away by the shore. but nothing comes back. and no one comes back.

[poetofthelilacsea]

if there is nothing to tear you apart

you invent it. set the bread in the trap/tie your hands behind your back

you build it. sitting in the gutter/gutting apart your part-time lover

you know it never ends/unless you let it

if you left yourself whole

you'd regret it.

[poetofthelilacsea]

if you have no way to float then you

must forge wings from water. buoy them with the noise you can't make. it's good to be alive and it's good to be a wake even if you have no way to swim and must borrow someone else's arms. or forge a raft from fire. Tie it with the words you can't say. if you have no way to make noise, you must forge a mouth from wanting bone.

[poetofthelilacsea]

on growing a spine

the backbone is a teeter-totter, a surfboard on a tidal wave. Rue the day it has to emerge; chive blossom from the bulb in your chest. At best, the backbone is the ever-aching, stable as long as life keeps you swaying instead of spilling over

[poetofthelilacsea]

a list of things that fly

birds and stones tossed from glass houses. and moths. words when thrown the right way. anything when thrown the right way. Here, catch. Planes. the people in them. All their words are flying too, and their clothes, and their dreams. Here, land. chickens, if only for a moment. Paper planes. Your fingerprints in the crease of the wings.

[poetofthelilacsea]

self-diagnosis

the world wide web and its mutant assosiates think i might have visual snow. says i've got maladaptive daydreaming disorder. and calcium deficiency. said i was getting lovebombed. and i'm in need of a strawberry facemask. they swore i am set on the path to dementia. and i might have strawberry legs.

they say

i do, and i do, and i do

but i say

i am, and i am, and i am

[poetofthelilacsea]

there is no such a thing, there

is no such a thing as the thing itself it is only the wait. Waiting for spring. No such thing as spring but such a thing as Waiting for Summer. waiting for spring and summer to end. Waiting for a friend to come home, for a home to become a friend. There is no such thing as a home, only waiting for a house to become one, then waiting for a home to change. Seasons are renovation. Waiting is the world. there is such a thing as the world, but only as waiting for it to become.

good day! i know i havent been active for a while! life happens.

[poetofthelilacsea]

i am standing,

standing at arms length from summer; from you. From You, a town's length away. A town is a season. A season is the change in your weather. your Word getting warmer, the tongue in

your cheek. The chatter or sweat in the back of your

teeth. I am

standing in the back of your mouth, arms length away from your heart, waiting for summer

[poetofthelilacsea]

your page is amazing !! I love your writing style 💗 may I request a poem about a princess if that inspires u?

you are too kind! and creative. I'll have to say Eliza, of Hans Christen Anderson's The Wild Swans.

___

the story is not about a prince, but

a dozen swans like a rack of white eggs: the boys are fragile in a way that makes them feel less than human. the girl is more than human. Quieter. She, too, is less than human. For she knows how to save the boys: not like us. but she knows needles; knows suffering like us, at least.

i have but one brother. and it is his hands, not mine, that are calloused and scratched. By string and key, not needle and nettle. not every day, maybe, but when we are roaring down the HOV lane in the middle of the night, when he sleeps on the floor and cooks beef in the pan; when i remember it, all of it, i know i would save him if i could. i would cover myself in thorns for him, too;

even as he flies away.

[poetofthelilacsea]

hey!! i need to return the favour properly <3

could you write me a poem about a girl who keeps reinventing herself so often that even her past starts to feel fictional? like blurred identities, half-truths, and that quiet fear of not knowing which version of you is real anymore

take it in any direction you want, i trust your vibe completely :)

i'm honoured to ivy :) this was really fun!

---

whatever you are is not what you were then back when you were what you are

not. you are not a mirror. not anymore. Metaphor grown copper with age. less staring into a murky pool, more lying face down in a crowded room. Crowded with who? not you.

you turned over and over leaf rolling glass marble tumbled on the shore. Different from before. when you were

the rain. not the vine reaching out breaching walls (are you the walls?) (are you the thing that keeps you in?) feelers touching the cool air (are you the vine; or the rain again?) (are you the cool air?)

now and then whenever you are waiting the way you did then while wondering if the wandering fog will clear know you might have been that grey

mist.

[poetofthelilacsea]

solitude

crocheting fingers together atop of each other in twisted knots to get this seashell bracelet on. i am a poor knitter. i was never good at being alone.