The Wax Poetic's Soapbox

Don't show this to my therapist 🇨🇴🇺🇸

[814519]

rhaenyra's judge and jury

[a-atlas-s]

Back on my rhaenient obsession

[alysmond]

That's almost large enough to saddle two. It is odd to be here with you.

[spilled-ink-drops]

I was forced to make an impossible choice- pursue my passion or keep my job

I got let go today in probably one of the most embarrassing ways I can think of. Yes, I do permit you to laugh or cry, or send me good vibes, or wish me good luck. I sure as hell will need it, but please don’t feel bad or say you’re sorry. I feel sorry enough, and I’m looking forward to redirection. 

This incident began in February 2026, when applications opened for Florida International University’s Student Government Association. As an International Relations major, I was restless. I wanted to change the world and make an impact, but faced rejection after rejection for internships. So when I saw that the applications for the Senate were open, I jumped at the opportunity.

As a writer for Panther Now, I covered events hosted by the SGA. I wrote about policies and things that would affect students and the SGA. I thought I had the election thing in the bag. I could be a writer and be in SGA. 

I spent a month campaigning, a week of canvassing, and two days hoping and praying that I would get it. I had run for a seat in the School of International and Public Affairs (SIPA)- I was running against people who saw FIU’s school senate as a training ground for the Florida Senate- and apparently, the list of people who were running was long. I made it a point not to look at who my competitors were and just focused on myself. 

On March 13th, just two days later, I joined the rest of my competitors and the people who were running on my slate in FIU’s Panther Pit at the Graham Center. It felt like ants were crawling around my stomach as students, faculty, and candidates filed into the packed cafeteria. They called name after name, and I waited in bated breath for the elections committee to call SIPA… and they did.

Alicia Bolton was at the top of the list. That was my name, I had come to realize after fellow slate members rushed to congratulate me. I was sworn in the next month.

May rolled in with the Florida summer heat. SGA started up, and I took my place among my fellow senators. I was assigned to a potentially huge story for FIU. Things were looking up spectacularly.

An engineering student came to Panther Now with a damning story about an alleged asbestos outbreak on the engineering campus. They alleged that the school was simply painting over the (alleged) asbestos, and that all engineering clubs were forced to find sponsorships to fund club expenses because SGA would not. Furthermore, they said that everything else the sponsorships would not cover, students would pay for out of pocket.

I saw the damage myself when I went with the student who pitched the article. It was worse than what they described: the (alleged) asbestos was in every single stairwell and in the entire student parking garage,  there was exposed wiring, and cracks in the foundation in a stairwell on the third floor. I asked for more contacts immediately to write the story, and was directed to more students. What these students alleged went far deeper than what the initial pitch had, and suddenly, my editor needed me to present these findings to our board. 

Our board was skeptical about the article, rightfully so; we had yet to confirm the asbestos, and the other topics they alleged were hearsay. There was no way to prove what these students alleged without substantial evidence, which they did not have, and I could not prove. Then one of the advisors brought up a point about the lack of SGA funding, and I told the board what I advised the clubs to do as a senator. 

As a senator, what I had come to learn during this board meeting was that I could not be a senator and a writer at the same time. It was a conflict of interest, especially if the article I was writing was going to critique SGA. Moreover, SGA had downsized Panther Now’s funding significantly since last year; it was definitely more than just a conflict of interest.

I was presented with a choice: stay with the Panther Now and be a writer, or stay in SGA and be a senator.

I made my choice in front of the entire board and my editor during that meeting. I graciously thanked them for the opportunity to be a writer and left with little fanfare, with my editor racing behind me. I was not only let go from my job, but from my story.

As entry-level workers in this job market, we all will face this at some point. There will be a time when we will have to choose between two things in our lives- and it’ll seem like some impossible choice of one thing over another. It will be the most heartbreaking pain, but only for a second before time eats away at the feeling. You’ll grieve for however long before picking yourself up, dusting yourself off, and applying to more jobs before you know what to do with yourself. 

Or, that at least, is what I’m telling myself.

So here’s to everyone who found a way to have their cake and eat it too. I’m extremely jealous of you, but may you go on to pursue great heights and always manage to eat your cake too. And here’s to everyone who didn’t or couldn’t. I’m still proud of you- as they say, and as I hate to hear- rejection is just redirection. There is something better out there waiting for us.

[spilled-ink-drops]

Love Me in the Mornings

Love me again in the mornings,

Please don’t go,

I hate when I’m left cold under the sheets,

Even if you did not want me,

Just stay until I can make you a coffee,

I’ll make it warm, steaming hot.

You don’t have to look at me in the eyes when you leave,

I won’t judge you,

All I ask is that you press the mug to your lips,

So I can pretend that they’re mine,

Searing kisses on cold lips,

Tattooing the evidence of my affection onto you.

When you spend the rest of the day alone,

The cup will be there,

As a reminder of what you could have,

Maybe you can come by for a refill,

I have no ulterior motives I swear,

I’ll even pinky promise.

It’s all I need to stay awake,

Just so I can come home back to the thought of you,

Even if you’re only here for coffee,

I won’t mind,

If I can still fill your cup,

Maybe I can find satisfaction in that.

[yearofbluehaze]

gloomy morning, gloomy scent

Woke up in the morning

Can’t find you, can't find me

Unresolved thoughts

Looking for the scent you left on me

Painted me until you don’t want me

I need to admit that i still don’t understand

Your behavior and how you couldn’t read the silence in my stare

How you left and how I still feel the yearning pain

[spilled-ink-drops]

Ravenous

I guess you were right in the end,

Perhaps you and I were too different,

Me too loud, and you too quiet.

Maybe I scared you off when I reared my ugly head,

When I bore to you my desires,

You shrank away and left me in the night.

And sometimes when I’m alone in the dark, 

When the quiet’s pressing in,

I talk to the monster that crawls beneath my skin.

I hate to loathe the shameful parts of me,

But she’s kept me company on those cold nights,

Even if she’s too hideous to look in the eye.

I don’t blame you for flying out,

I’d do the same,

But it’s hard to separate the two versions of me.

[spilled-ink-drops]

Sometimes, it should be celebrated to give up on something, like, yeah, I deserve a pat on the back for letting go of an obsession that was wasting my self-worth away.

[spilled-ink-drops]

Child of the Flowers

I remember the first time I knew what love felt like,

Nestled in my mother's bosom as she read me our people's history,

I hung onto every line, every twist, turn and tragedy.

I remember walking down the capital's streets,

Soldiers on every street corner feeding me candies when I'd ask,

The sweets melted on my tongue faster than my innocence.

I remember walking past the canyon,

Looking down to see brown water,

A mother bathing her own child in that river.

I can't remember exactly when my eyes opened,

I grew up sheltered in a gilded Catholic cage,

But slowly I pieced togther.

Why I remember Mami can't stand the sound of fireworks,

Why she gets so quiet when Dad brings over his "God-fearing" friends,

Why she cries every time she hangs up the phone on my ailing grandfather.

I know why she mourns her home,

She, a child of the flowers,

I can't keep her here.

[spilled-ink-drops]

Prodigal

Listen I ain’t got much to say,

My life blurred around the lines,

Somewhere in the middle of it I stumbled,

Fumbled, really.

Fucked up, Washed up, no good biddie,

Got curb stomped so hard my head split,

And in it I saw kaleidoscopes, rainbows,

Refracted sort of shit.

Saw double, even triple,

Double headed fiends chasing, nipping at my heels,

Ran so fast so the bleeding had to catch up,

‘Wise up, girl.”

Is what one of them snapped,

Smoking his pipe as if he was alright,

Lips smacking pink smoke billowing,

Looking at the nutzo as if he was God.

He spat on my eyes,

Breathed in my face and I swear,

In that moment of clarity I could see for real,

Saw the world for what it was.

For the pathetic kid that I was,

And I smoked his pipe and learned his ways,

In some ways the smoke set me free,

I’ve come round the long way.

[spilled-ink-drops]

Completely unrelated to poetry— I got my friends to finally participate in a tend. So here’s the very cursed ‘hear-me-out’ cake completed with some honorable mentions that didn't make the list.

*Fun fact: there are 39 characters there excluding slope intercept form*

[spilled-ink-drops]

A Little Dream

I had a dream that we were friends yet again,

It slipped into my mind last night,

One where we took refuge from the rain under the roof of my car,

Where we laughed about our unfortunate circumstances,

You fed me sour grapes and watched as the juice dribbled down my chin,

Wiping it away with your thumb.

I dreamt of your kiss and soft touch,

Of your flirting jokes,

Eyelashes brushing against mine in our most intimate moments,

Listening to you harp on and on about the intricacies of our tiny universe,

In this dream of mine, we were still friends,

And it slipped from my fingers by morning’s first gasp.

[spilled-ink-drops]

Eurydice's Song

I don't believe in God, but I think I saw him in you.

When your lithe fingers pluck those strings,

And it's haunting melody sprouts forth,

I see heaven here.

Where your music held me fast,

Bathed in its golden glow,

You played a song that made the earth weep,

Even the death stopped to listen to our song.

Orpheus, my beloved, listen to my plea,

Play me a song that will bring us eternal spring,

One where you and I can bathe in its warmth,

Where we lay together in a bed of clovers.

That we may remain forever young,

Clinging to your shirt as we melt into each other,

Tasting the ambrosia off your lips,

And embracing under the sun's golden light.

Stay right here with me,

My love, my sweet, sweet Orpheus,

Look at me,

I beg.

[spilled-ink-drops]

This is a little out of place, but I think people should be more confrontational. That's just my controversial opinion. Take it or leave it.

[spilled-ink-drops]

A Letter to My Father

That day under the water, I remember you calling out my name; Your frantic voice nearly drowned by the pounding of the waves. “Come to me,” you screamed voice breaking from the salty spray. “Come back to me!”

I feel that you should know that even now, your pleas haunt my dreams. Your voice bounding through the corridors of my mind, finding purchase in the recesses there. Only for them to come out from hiding once I close my eyes. 

My other memories of you are painted gold with that childhood gaze. The smiles over breakfast where you poured over the stove. A steaming hot plate of hickory-smoked bacon and orange slices waiting for me. 

Even as I got older the golden man still remained, glittering and true. When was it that the tarnishing began? How did you lose that brilliant luster? Midas when did you lose that magical touch?

Was it when I found the cheap perfume in your car? Or that wadded-up thong in your gym bag that you kept in your locker? Ogling my friends or staring at my professors? Or when I found that app on your phone, the flame of fury licking my soul.

At some point that fury had my heart firm in its grasp. Its gnarled claws around it, wringing my sopping, bleeding heart like a rag. Twisting and turning them into something I didn’t recognize, choking out the grief until nothing remained.

You murdered my love for you. My rage was the one who killed it, and the final blow was a knife into the back. A knife which you provided- golden hilted and studded with the stars you dragged down from the heavens.

Tears have ceased in their wells and the levees have run dry. There be not a funeral for my poor heart, only scorn for misplaced affection. And to you, my dear old Dad, I offer you this one consolation: that it went quick and did not suffer, the anguish vanished the second it had come.

Yours in flesh, daughter of your blood and bone,

Your eldest child, whom you claimed to love. 

[spilled-ink-drops]

The Wax Poetic

I don’t do fucking flowery language,

I don’t like it,

My nature is one-dimensional,

Not much to it.

I wish I could write like Poe, Shakespeare, and Dickonson,

Be one of the greats,

Creating castles out of syllables,

Worlds out of words.

But I’m just Plain Jane,

Nothing much to me,

I lay my truth bare,

Stripped of any embellishments that distract from its core.

They say that poetry reflects the soul,

I guess mine is grey and dull,

I really couldn’t care less, honestly,

But maybe one day I’ll do something different.

I’ll add in some color,

Hell, maybe I’d even slap on a bow,

Cause maybe it’ll teach me how to write gud,

And I’ll make my first million.

But I’m good where I’m at,

At least for now.

[spilled-ink-drops]

Lull the Tide

A bit of me died that day under the waves. Maybe it was when the stranger clamored atop me- holding me under those murky depths. Baptizing me in rage, rage as my lungs burned in my chest.

I did not go gentle as the dark tried to lull me to follow. I went kicking and thrashing in its steel grasp. And somehow escaped, breaching the surface in its light.

Today would not be the day that I went. Salty air filled my lungs by the mouthful like a glutton.

And I was left to face the stranger who I deigned to save. He who saw fit to use my life in exchange for his. He, who now was a torrent of limbs floundering in the current.

For a moment I just watched. Watched as he coughed and sputtered. Begging me to save him, as if he hadn’t tried to drown me before.

And listened as something crawled into my heart. Let him go, it seemed to whisper, is his life worth more than yours?

In the split second that I faltered, his figure dipped under the waves. Was his life worth more than mine? Did a man whose only sin was wanting to survive deserve to be left in the gulf to his watery grave?

Did I as his savior, deserve to hold his soul in my hands like a god? Did I have the right to deny him the rest of his life for simply wanting to live? No, I suppose I do not.

Against my better judgment, I threw my dreams to the wind. I scattered my every ambition I ever had into the water, hoping that I would not go today.

I swam to him and brought him to his salvation. The boat that came to us plucked the shaking man from out of the water—pointing towards the shoreline where dozens had witnessed what I’d done. I prayed they hadn’t seen me hesitate.

When I was brought to shore people swarmed me. Hero, they called me. The word weighed on my head, the laurels of glory more like a crown of thorns.

Today was not the day I went, yet as my father drove our boat back to the marina, I felt that familiar darkness linger. And it lingers yet.