Masters of Self-Sabotage

I write a damn good eulogy. This is just the blog where you can find all the poems of mine from all of my blogs. If you have any advice/prompts/requests, don't hesitate to talk to me! I hope you have a lovely day!

[thepoetryarchives]

There is something

that cracks open the ground

to light and color

and pushes up through the frost

claws to the surface

The sun will reach our faces.

The light will come again.

[thepoetryarchives]

This is the year of falling in love with myself

Of the first night in an empty new dorm

Of dancing alone in just a t-shirt

Of watching city lights flicker in the distance

Of hazy pink sunsets

Of buying the dress I was afraid to wear

Of hugging plushies

Of liking my big legs, big hips, big shoulders

Of being unashamed of taking up space

Of lighting candles

Of doing facemasks

Of drinking rosé in pajamas

Of writing love poems for my friends

Of writing love poems for me

Of love

Of love

Of love

[thepoetryarchives]

Everything

Somewhere, you are a

Photograph on someone's wall

And doesn't that mean

Everything?

[thepoetryarchives]

Hey guys! Most of you probably know that I'm affiliated with @writingandmusicandfandoms (this is my side blog, although it's become my favorite if we're being honest. While we're on the topic, it's also why I can't follow you guys back or like your posts, as much as I certainly would love to).

Because of my affiliation, this isn't a true face reveal, but for some of you, this might be, so there it is! This is a photo of me holding the Chanter Literary and Arts Magazine, in which I was just published!

I'm very stoked, and if you guys have any questions or wanna chat, lemme know! I'd love to know you guys better!

[thepoetryarchives]

Guys, I got published!

My poem, "Pondering God and Other Abstractions" is being published in the fall edition of the Chanter Literary Magazine, which will be released on December 8th. I'm so excited! I've wanted to have my work published since middle school, and it's finally happening! Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

[thepoetryarchives]

It wasn't until

I heard the song again

That I realized all that had changed.

The light, pastel yellows

And blooming turquoise blues,

Once bright and swirling,

Are muted and dull,

More memories than senses,

My synesthesia left in my childhood,

And the song,

Like my name,

Lost in translation.

Last night I dreamt I was returning

And my heart called out to you

But I fear I won't be as I left you

Me kealoha ku'u home o Kahaluu

[thepoetryarchives]

The frigid wind smelled like autumn

And I wrapped my coat tighter about me.

The leaves blanketed the pavement,

And for that moment,

Before their disintegration to dust,

They paved the cracked asphalt with gold.

Flags waved in the distance,

The streetlights shone their amber light

Over the sleepy road,

I noticed the dry bouquet of flowers

On the bench beside me,

And I listened

As the mournful voice in my earbuds

Faded to silence.

[thepoetryarchives]

I really like your purple poem. The imagery is great.

Oh my gosh, thank you so much! This made my day, I'm so glad you enjoyed it!💜

[writingandmusicandfandoms]

Another Ashtray Poem

We are the forgotten youth Forced to grow up too fast Watercolors on the wall Now just thoughts written On the inside of cigarette boxes Left to burn With the remnants in an ashtray

Sucking in hot breaths Of nicotine-tar embers Watching the silver smoke float away And the jaded wishes Lost to the night

Of course The world forgets that We were once the kids with watercolors On the wall

Just empty reminders Of a lost kid

And this is another Ashtray poem Left to burn

[thepoetryarchives]

I once saw a painting

Of sunflowers in an airport

Which was no van gogh,

To say the least,

(Not that it was any of my business)

But when I read the description,

I found

That it was a painting of zinnias,

A rather good representation,

In fact.

It reminded me of another time

In which I saw a patch of sunflowers

By the side of the road

And wanted desperately to pick some

But I couldn't pull over due to the traffic.

Upon further consideration,

However,

I realized that I had

Nowhere to put the flowers,

And besides,

It wasn't any of my business

To take them for myself

In the first place.

[thepoetryarchives]

Someday there will be

A time to say goodbye

To bike rides in the summer

To the cat

Melting over the windowsill like Dali's clocks

To ski days

Planned on a whim with friends

To junkyard sculptures

Of dinosaurs, giraffes, and ants

To all my old friends

And family

And the life I knew

But now is not the time for these goodbyes

So I will lie in my bed

And gaze out my window

At the wildfire smoke haze

And pretend

That it is fog in early fall.

[thepoetryarchives]

♡

Sometimes I feel very sad when my poems don't get many notes, but then after I think for a while, it's like, even just one person on here felt affected by my writing, enough so that they were willing to put it on their blog for their followers to see, despite that it isn't necessarily pertinent to their theme and, rather, is a poem very specific to my own experiences. It always feels to me like a brief sharing of experience, and I love that.

This went on for a while, but basically what I'm getting at here is that you shouldn't feel bad if you're not getting all the reblogs you want; if you get any at all, you've made a connection to at least one individual, and that's amazing.

[thepoetryarchives]

One Christmas,

I made scarves

For all of my family members

Because I had made my own loom

Out of a board

And ten corks.

The first time I got one of my scarves back

Was when I helped my father

Clean my grandma's belongings

Out of her house

And the scarf hung by her door

And smelled like her

And the time I wore it

Was the first time her cat didn't run from me.

The second time I got one of my scarves back

Was today

When my mother handed me a bag

Of my aunt's belongings

Which my uncle had brought by

For my sister and me,

And it smelled like her,

And I don't think

That I will make scarves for Christmas

Ever again.

[writingandmusicandfandoms]

Hey guys! I’m going to be taking prompts on my poetry blog @thepoetryarchives. I think it will motivate me to write more frequently, as well as give me more insight into what people want to read. If you have a sec, I would be soooo grateful if you would send me a poetry prompt, and I’ll do my best to fill all prompts ASAP.

My fav prompts are very general, such as “can you do a poem based off of the color _____” or “describe the feeling of airports” or even just words you feel invoke a mood, such as “Chinese Lanterns. Crickets. Goodbyes. ”. Anything’s good, and I’d be ever so grateful if you’d take a sec to send me a prompt. Anon is on for anyone who feels stressed sending asks! Much love!

P.S. if you wouldn’t mind reblogging this so people see it, that’d be great!

[thepoetryarchives]

[thepoetryarchives]

If the crickets ceased their chirping,

Would you walk with me?

-

If the sun hung on fishing line

In the strawberry-lemonade sky,

Would you walk with me?

-

If the river stopped it's running,

If the clocks froze,

If the fan stopped its spinning,

If the roads closed,

Would you walk with me?

-

Through the anesthetized evening air,

Through grass caught mid-breeze,

Through the paths we used to roam,

Through the tall, still pine trees,

Would you walk with me?

-

Before the sun sets,

Before the clocks start,

Before the river runs,

Before we must part,

Would you walk with me

(Just one last time,

Before I leave,

And apostles dine)

Through forgotten trails,

And rocks we climbed,

Marshmallows we roasted,

Golden years of our lives.

-

Time's cruel,

It's all over,

Here's to a new start,

I love you, I miss you,

We're drifting apart.

[thepoetryarchives]

Mottled and pitted

Are the leper's hands.

{🌼}

Cartographers,

One might suppose,

Could traverse their ravaged surfaces,

Place flags

On the tops of anemic,

Bloodless mountain-chains.

{🌼}

They could map the leper's rifts

Like the continents,

Spend years lost

In arid sand dunes

Ever-changing,

Healing and forming again,

While Atlas sits

Atop the leper's knuckles,

Having discarded long ago

The weight of the leper's world.

{🌼}

The leper

Is a damaged thing:

Quentin's faceless,

Hand-less watch,

Ticking nevertheless,

As time beats on.

{🌼}

The leper searches

In the hollows of eye sockets,

In the spaces between words and worlds,

For an end to the exile,

Hands hidden in sleeves

Pulled down like fog

Over titanic mountains.

{🌼}

The leper alone

Bears the weight

Of heavy stares,

The weight of judgement

From a jury of hypocrites

Anubis's ostrich feather

No more than a pigeon

No more than fowl.

The Red Sea has dried to dust

Refilled again

And dried once more

In the leper's ruined hands.

{🌼}

The leper's hands

Have the topography of strong will

And devastating defeat

And irrepressible strength.

{🌼}

The leper

Raises anemic, bloodless hands

Into the snowy air

To grasp at snowflakes

And the stars.

[thepoetryarchives]

The hardest part of being human

Is that our failings hit us

When we least expect them to.

We are moths,

Caught in the headlights of a car

Approaching quickly in the distance,

And all we can think is that finally,

Finally we'll really be able to reach the moon,

Before we're shattered against the windshield

Soundless,

Vanishing like vapors

Identical,

Common,

And utterly meaningless,

As though we never lived at all.

But we drag ourselves up,

Bloody and beaten and bruised,

By our frayed marionette strings

And live to lose another day.