Masquerading As A Poet

Ink and pen are mine Though when mind and hand align The Poet gives lines. @songofsutarima if you’d like to follow on instagram, It simply applies pictures to the words here I already am.

[songofsutarima]

The Poet Beyond

I’m sorry I’m not a poet

Though I masquerade; I flow it

My pen moves too often when it is not my hand.

Indeed it is my fingers, but those lines were not my land.

There is a writer, beyond my view.

And they supply me with poems that are new.

I wish to pen, wish to spill

But my mind sits empty, despite my will.

And in moments as such, when I have the need, but not the ink

The Poet beyond my eyes offers me his drink.

And so he lets me steal from him a rhyme or two

In hopes it unlocks one of mine, in time, or a few.

But often I walk away with the whole work, and he knows it.

Because though I may want to be, I’m sorry, I’m not a poet.

_______________________________________

Hello! Welcome to the blog!

If you want to know more about me, I answer some questions here:

https://songofsutarima.tumblr.com/post/693031916326273024/sorry-this-is-a-long-one

If you want to know more, ask. I don’t shy away from questions, as much as it might sting.

Sorry, This Is A Long One.

Greetings hello, there is something I think I must do. But I figured I’d give warning, not just do it right out of the blue. I’ve been her

[songofsutarima]

Unread Email

To Whom It May Concern,

To Him Who May Discern,

It occurs to me my tongue’s been still,

And I’m not sure why it’s been stopped up.

Even so, if it’s within the will,

There might be something coughed up…

I…I hate the way you made me strong.

I hate the way I had to carve out my song.

I hate the way you pulled your hand,

When I asked to protect them in their stand.

I hate the way you let me bleed

And their faith in you never paused it.

I hate the way them loving you

Honestly probably caused it.

I hate the way that I cried to you

Hours upon hours.

And I hate the way that that’s true,

Because I still believe in your power.

I hate the way you let me starve

And in it I learned compassion.

I hate a heart of flesh was carved

And pulled from this trash bin.

I hate you made me so broken

But made me to believe.

I hate over my life you’ve spoken

And I can’t get reprieve.

Mostly though, let me just say this:

I…I hate that you don’t hate me, after all that I’ve done.

I hate that you don’t hate a bloodied, calloused, irretrievable son.

I hate that when I ran away, you chased after.

I hate that when I fell, grace did from the rafters.

I hate that when I all I have is fear, you remind me to breathe.

I hate that when I’m screaming at you, you just won’t leave.

I hate that I can’t understand how it makes sense or why it would be.

I hate that there’s no justice if you…

why don’t you hate me…?

Sincerely,

A SussurantMind

[songofsutarima]

What if I was happy?

Hey, Nate. It’s a good query.

But it’s something I parry

I can’t take the direct hit

Because of all the shit

I choose to carry

Even though day to day it may vary

It doesn’t change

The depth and range

Of what makes me

Feel mad and strange

I didn’t miss the point

Of the song and vid

But me and the joint

Don’t remember the kid

Because I can’twon’tdon’t

Want to.

Because what I was “shown’t”

Not to.

I wrote about raptors

And their dancing

To not speak of booming rafters

And my fear of chancing

Going and asking an angry man

To calm and quiet if he can.

I wrote about drowning

And the peace I found

To not speak of downing

Any elixir from the ground

And the sound

When pound turns to pound.

These follow moments of joy

Which seems to be a trick

That life might employ.

Simply to get in a lick

And to destroy

The happy that ticks

In this hopeful boy.

Even so, I try,

To let bad parts die,

To heal the bloodline

With every bled line.

Forgetting to fight

Forgetting “right”

Because I remember love

And the grip of a glove

That keeps me safe and encased

When I just want erased.

But it doesn’t change.

When I feel the calm

How I need the range.

And when I find the peace

How I need to go back to strange.

It doesn’t change

It doesn’t change

[songofsutarima]

The apple falls in the forest to waste and rot.

The milk sours and spoils if the calf wants not.

The leaves take the wind and find the earth.

And the warmth of the day is stolen by clouds’ birth.

In every shadow

Breath and beat work silently

And light shines brighter.

[songofsutarima]

I Guess I’ll Be A Critic…

I hold my tongue when it comes to cuisine

Lest I speak truth explicit obscene.

It’s fine, it’s good, it’s food.

Calm down.

It’s just a cook guys, you can put the

Palm down.

I love food, truly,

So much it wounds my soul.

And most is…fine. Okay.

At least it’s in my bowl.

There are places

Who can claim some boast.

Butcher & The Boar, 5 stars!

The Rabbit Hole deserves a toast.

For a top spot; they make their cases.

But friends, gather, and listen closely.

There is something you must learn

And I’ll not tell it verbosely.

This altar I ate at…

5 Stars? Only?

I would pull down the moon!

Light applause?

I would deafen the room!

@jordantaproom houses one who loves his art.

Señor Chef pours in the whole love of his heart.

Honey Sriracha, “of course.” No. Not like this.

Diablo sauce that’s just…*mwah* devil’s kiss.

Steak that left me empty.

Because I *NEEDED* more.

A filling that left me craving.

And realizing what teeth are for.

The only insult this eatery did offer me.

Was that the Brussels sprouts. Happened to be.

Something too divine to bless my tongue.

Too high on a ladder where there is no rung.

I like my veggies, don’t get me wrong.

But THESE. SPROUTS.

Oh…taste and you will sing their song.

Jordan Taproom.

Holy. Goodness sakes.

Real drinks.

Real food.

Come.

You must try.

And understand.

How, even full,

Emptiness aches.

[songofsutarima]

Thirsty

Once, when I was untethered

To hope or home.

I found myself requiring deeply

Sustenance like that of dairy foam.

Seeing, perhaps, a place

Where I might quell hunger and thirst

I poured for myself a pitcher

And binged my curse.

To this concealment

I returned nightly

And greedily

Drank a scene unsightly.

I knew not, nor cared not,

Only that I was not hungered.

I cared not to know

How my greed creates a suffered.

A farmer I had never met

One day laid in the place I thought hidden.

Ribs plain, lips cracked, eyes empty.

Raising no alarm. I left.

[songofsutarima]

CONFESSION TIME

I know you think you know me.

I let you see what you see.

But it’s confession time

And for a hard real truth to be.

To be brought forth in a way

I don’t necessarily like

Because I’ve offered my head

But this is my heart on a pike.

I don’t know who needs to hear this,

but I feel it in my drumming.

Someone needs to know.

Lies of Every Color is coming.

[songofsutarima]

Here, Have A Spiral

Cool beans

Fool beans

Fool means

Stool leans

Pool screens

School scenes

Teen dreams

Esteemed memes

Regime schemes

[songofsutarima]

When I Die

An altar holds me,

The dagger aloft.

All that can be

When sharp meets soft.

A field will cradle a poet

And the breeze will be his breath.

The sky will mourn it,

And his tears will swell seeds.

A river will carry a phoenix

Too tired to fly.

And bring him to a shore

Of white by and by.

The vast expanse

Of sweet romance

Will be the chance

Of bitter penance

For a broken and completed mans.

[songofsutarima]

And He Was Called Abislea Gersarta

When the ancients were young

And the earth still new.

Egoi and Herensuge roamed and played

Dust and dirt kicked up in their joy.

Until Egoi felt the voice of the lakes

And Herensuge, the flame of ice.

Befuddled and bewildered

They went to report to the Great Mother.

“Great Mother! Great Mother! Something most severe, most foul grows under your completeness and balance! Shall we seek it out to devour?”

“No no, dear ones. Let us see, in time.”

So she sent them away, to their dismay.

Despite the grumblings and warnings

Of wind and wings.

Mari went to where they had played,

Seeing the traces where her children had run and wrestled.

She filled the veins with her love

And the depths with her beauty.

And she heard from a cave, a cry.

A whisper of a sniffle.

Upon entrance to the cave,

She saw a stone, balanced on an edge,

Balanced to the ledge.

“Fail me not, let me not fall.”

She could finally hear the call.

Yet, Mari turned and instead of reaching her hand,

Returned to her home.

In her own recesses

She began forming eyes

Burning to use the coals of her own.

She fashioned a tongue,

And poured into the cool oceans.

She fastened feet to an earth,

And made wings on a soul.

Listen, she did, every eve

To the stone, weeping in loneliness.

“Maju! Maju. I have a favor I must ask my love.”

“Anything anything.”

“There is a stone, waiting. You will know him. Please, bring him to us.”

“It shall be done!” He declared and shook foundations with his declaration.

And for centuries he searched.

Bringing her the stones he could find.

Never were they the right

Never did he complain.

“I have been searching for thousands of years, My Love. Perhaps a word of whereabouts?”

“You have searched everywhere?”

She whispered.

“The light knows no corner away from my gaze!” Maju thundered.

“Then look in the night!

“Then look in the night!

For the pierced, but living.

For the silent yet screaming.

For the broken, yet whole.

For our child untold.”

Upon hearing for whom he was searching,

He increased his efforts a hundred fold.

[songofsutarima]

————-

Part 2

———

He brought to her a stone he found;

Lost in the winter,

Lost to the ground.

She held it to her chest and listened

Listened for that voice once more.

As she tossed it to aside,

Once again knowing this is not her desired

She felt the absence.

And the wind whispered.

And the fire grew cool.

And the ice grew hot.

“My love, have we found it? The stone for which you sought?”

“Come come, Maju. See what you have done.”

She lifted the stone,

No more than a pebble any longer,

To her lips.

“Come, my love. It has been millennia since I’ve seen you.”

And Maju kissed her through the stone.

Their passions have never been more fierce.

Their beauty never shown more clearly.

But the world would never know.

For the stone stole The Thunder.

The stone drank The Oceans.

The stone ate the eternal flame.

And the stone, forged in crushing darkness, displayed all light.

“The world is not gone? We needn’t make another?” Questioned Maju, knowing what they can leave in their wake.

But Mari noticed the stone. Now shining, glistening. And she took it to her dwelling. To where she has been fashioning a home for this stone.

She placed this orb into his stomach and breathed.

This form rose;

new in its life, ancient in essence.

And wailed.

[songofsutarima]

And He Was Called Abislea Gersarta

When the ancients were young

And the earth still new.

Egoi and Herensuge roamed and played

Dust and dirt kicked up in their joy.

Until Egoi felt the voice of the lakes

And Herensuge, the flame of ice.

Befuddled and bewildered

They went to report to the Great Mother.

“Great Mother! Great Mother! Something most severe, most foul grows under your completeness and balance! Shall we seek it out to devour?”

“No no, dear ones. Let us see, in time.”

So she sent them away, to their dismay.

Despite the grumblings and warnings

Of wind and wings.

Mari went to where they had played,

Seeing the traces where her children had run and wrestled.

She filled the veins with her love

And the depths with her beauty.

And she heard from a cave, a cry.

A whisper of a sniffle.

Upon entrance to the cave,

She saw a stone, balanced on an edge,

Balanced to the ledge.

“Fail me not, let me not fall.”

She could finally hear the call.

Yet, Mari turned and instead of reaching her hand,

Returned to her home.

In her own recesses

She began forming eyes

Burning to use the coals of her own.

She fashioned a tongue,

And poured into the cool oceans.

She fastened feet to an earth,

And made wings on a soul.

Listen, she did, every eve

To the stone, weeping in loneliness.

“Maju! Maju. I have a favor I must ask my love.”

“Anything anything.”

“There is a stone, waiting. You will know him. Please, bring him to us.”

“It shall be done!” He declared and shook foundations with his declaration.

And for centuries he searched.

Bringing her the stones he could find.

Never were they the right

Never did he complain.

“I have been searching for thousands of years, My Love. Perhaps a word of whereabouts?”

“You have searched everywhere?”

She whispered.

“The light knows no corner away from my gaze!” Maju thundered.

“Then look in the night!

“Then look in the night!

For the pierced, but living.

For the silent yet screaming.

For the broken, yet whole.

For our child untold.”

Upon hearing for whom he was searching,

He increased his efforts a hundred fold.

[songofsutarima]

All I’m Not

Father once again,

I find myself out of place

Unclean in the throne room of beauty and grace.

My head stays bowed to hide my shame

And my lips unmoving as I fear your name.

Hands covered in all the iron and earth one can

With no words to say before the great I AM.

But He who tells the oceans how far they may go

He who placed the heavens and told the stars to glow

He who laid foundations, and told rivers how to flow,

He who used a cross for love to show

Saw me broken and my heart covered in scars,

He brought me home from running far

And I know that for all I am not, Father God,

You Are.

——————————————

This is entirely incomplete. But the rest of it is supposed to be a song I’m pretty sure. So I’ve gotta go find that….somehow?

[songofsutarima]

I AM TIRED OF BEING NICE

I am tired.

Usually in a “life has sapped itself out”

But that isn’t what this is about.

I. Am. Tired.

Of my stupid styrofoam smile

Squeaking under pressure all the while.

I am tired.

Of being walkedranmoppedraked overthroughon.

And of being treated as dumb spawn or clueless pawn.

I am calm, patient, quiet, KIND.

In the midst of grossness others spew against and on my mind.

However. My still hand does NOT mean

That I don’t find your way of existing obscene.

I may not lift my finger,

But damn does wavering will barely linger.

I am so tired of tulips and fields and eggshells.

I am ready for mortars, more ammo, some bombshells.

I am so tired of being the go-to-friend.

You know I’ll be there in the end.

I am so tired of “can I, may I, if it’s not too much”

After a while, doesn’t tired become the crutch?

Tired, exhausted, drained, and used.

Perhaps from the next I must recuse

Myself not because interests conflicted,

But rather because you don’t deserve a finger lifted.

I am so tired of being my warmth of fiery nice.

I’m so tempted to just let it all go.

Be discompassionate ice.

[quietwidow]

Eternal Glance

In a fleeting moment, my error laid bare,

Its impact eternal, beyond all repair.

As their eyes turned to me with judgment severe,

The weight of my actions brought nothing but fear.

The past set in stone, yet future untold,

My chance to reshape what time will unfold.

My soul springs from excess, a wellspring of pain,

Your absence the source of this endless refrain.

When near you, I blushed with a crimson-hued glow,

A signal perhaps you were not meant to know.

Without your presence, I'd surely be lost,

A ship without anchor on tempestuous seas tossed.

I dreamed of our future, together as one,

Now left here wondering if such thoughts you'd shun.

You could have offered another chance clear,

A sign unmistakable, brutally sincere.

Maybe just by saying, "I don't love you,"

But you seemed unwilling to bid me adieu.

As if I were simply a toy to be kept,

While silently, secretly, alone I wept.

Perhaps I could've changed how our story was penned,

Now trapped in this anguish that never will end.

Your vision seemed clouded, but I know full well,

Nothing escaped you, more than words can tell.

The truth I acknowledged deep down all along,

My composure gone.

All I ever wanted was you in my arms.

Forever, forced to pick apart these shards,

Palms laid about, with needs and wants.

Tears start to fall in response…

[bodgaljuice]

58. jaguar heart

i became a jaguar

of a mother.

sharp-teethed.

soft-eyed.

protective in ways

only pain could teach.

we had just gotten remarried.

a last attempt

to salvage the ruins.

but i filed for divorce

before the ink had dried.

fourteen days later,

i walked out.

the courts are still

chasing shadows—

assets owed,

promises broken

with legal bindings.

but the real debt

was the years

she took from my joy.

and i don’t need

a courtroom to claim

what i’ve already won back.

because when i walked

out of something

that nearly killed me,

i didn’t leave broken.

i didn’t leave bleeding.

i left healed.

same way i entered—

whole,

just hidden beneath

the rubble.

this time,

i didn’t run.

i didn’t cry.

i didn’t ask to be held.

i closed the door

with hands steady

and heart ready.

there was nothing left

to hold onto.

no more

gaslighted “forevers,”

no more

scraping love from

a dry well.

and when i stepped out,

there was nothing—

and no one—

i wished to turn back for.

no desire left ungrieved.

no scar left untended.

i had already moved on

in spirit.

and soon,

my body followed.

then—

as if fate had been

waiting for my freedom

to ripen—

passion met me

in the ruins.

not loud.

not rushed.

but with a heat

that felt like

a second sun.

and in that warmth,

a spark.

not a rescue.

not a rebound.

but a beginning.

and this—

this is where

you’ll want to keep reading.

- Dr. Adonis Jade Fox 2025

[bodgaljuice]

i know why the caged bird sings

(because she remembers she is free)

i have known the cage.

its cold metal pressed against my spirit,

its shadows stretching long into my dreams.

i have felt the weight of clipped wings,

the ache of songs unsung.

but even in the deepest night,

a melody stirred within me—

soft, persistent, unyielding.

a hymn of hope,

a testament to the freedom etched in my soul.

for the cage is not my home.

it is a passage, a lesson,

a crucible forging strength from sorrow.

and my song?

it is the key that unlocks the door.

so to you, dear reader,

who feels the confines of your own cage,

know this:

your song matters.

sing it loud, sing it true.

for in your voice lies the power to break free.

and as maya would say,

“you may encounter many defeats, but you must not be defeated.”

rise, sing, that bird still sings.

you may have woken

in a life that tried to convince you

your wings were myths—

just bone and burden.

you may have sat in silence

behind bars they built with names

you never chose,

histories you did not write,

wounds you were never meant to carry.

but let me tell you this:

freedom is not something they give you—

it is something you already have.

pressed beneath your ribs

like a pulse.

like breath.

like the fire your grandmother carried in her teeth

and your mother bore in her spine.

you were born holy.

born whole.

even in pieces.

the cage is only steel to those who forget

how loud a bird can sing

when her truth is louder than her fear.

so sing.

even if your voice shakes,

even if no one listens.

sing because the sky is listening.

and when you are tired,

and aching,

and you feel like you will break—

remember me.

the daughter maya never had.

the one who rose anyway.

the one who kept singing

until the sky opened its arms.

you will make it.

because i did.

and because somewhere inside you,

you already know

you can.

[songofsutarima]

Hi I hope you’re doing well! (=

Thanks Anon, I hope so too.

It’s something I’m trying to do.

I wish for well, but who can tell?

Healthier in each and every cell,

But stress and anxiety swell.

I live and breathe,

And this heart beats still.

So I guess that should count enough,

Life, breath, and my free will.

Thanks for sending good vibes my way,

Or asked, on my behalf, if you pray.

I hope the same for you,

Health, happiness, and stress free days too.

Strength for whatever pressure you may face

And that you can handle it with most impressive grace.

I hope you’re having a wonderful day,

And got some sort of rest.

I don’t know what else to say,

Except to end with wishing you all the best!