#new poets corner
With freedom, flowers, books, and the moon, who could not be perfectly happy?
— Oscar Wilde, De Profundis
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20 things i learned in 2020
(inspired by shannon barry)
at a moment’s notice, in the blink of an eye, from one second to another, everything can change. there’s no preparing for it sometimes. just accepting it.
being apart doesn’t mean we lack togetherness; there are a multitude of ways to forge connection with someone aside from physically being with them.
it really is the little things -- never underestimate just how healing a warm walk or reading a good book can be.
empathy is still a foreign concept to many so surround yourself with people who care about more than just themselves.
just because the world stopped spinning for a few months, doesn’t mean time stopped moving; the months may have bled into each other but that doesn’t mean we were living in an endless march - october still came and it blessed us with orange leaves and crisp skies. july brought the fireworks it promised it would. december still came with christmas. it may have felt different, but it was still there.
don’t be afraid to stand up when others are telling you to sit down; don’t be afraid to shout when others are telling you to be quiet.
the people in your corner will save you in more ways than one and maybe, just maybe, you’ll be saving them too.
you don’t need a reason to do your makeup or wear a fancy dress. look like you’re going to prom in your backyard, eat mcdonald’s with your face beat. who cares? “just because” is always reason enough.
that thing you’ve always wanted to try? do it. instead of starting your thoughts with “what if i” or “i could just” -- do it. nothing’s holding you back except for you.
the world will turn upside down in more ways than one and you are going to turn with it; all you can do is hold on tight and go with the flow.
it’s okay to be scared, it’d be scarier if you weren’t.
injustice doesn’t stop because the world stopped; hatred will always be loud and ugly and it’s up to us to turn that pain into promise through education and action.
being alone doesn’t have to be lonely. learn to fall in love with spending time with yourself.
we’re all connected in ways we never realized and we affect each other’s lives in more ways than we’ll ever truly understand. we’re all connected someway, somehow.
just because it seems like everyone else is hustling, doesn’t mean you have to as well. move at you’re own pace.
don’t stop taking pictures just because things are ugly now; one day, you’ll look back and be glad you did.
we haven’t lived through a chapter of a US history textbook -- we are still living through one. just because the page is turning doesn’t mean everything is changing. be patient.
you’re allowed to just be. you’re allowed to just exist.
don’t stop chasing happiness just because it’s harder to get a hold of.
keep trying. keep fighting. keep loving. keep living.
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I am not a chemist who is also a poet, or a mathematician who is also a poet, or an architect or a doctor. I'm just a poet's poet, maybe i'll draw something, build something from the trash in my room, a friend. I will never do something remarkable of intelligence, only of soul.
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not like other girls
was a title i coveted
but never earned.
i wrote off makeup,
i stopped talking about fairies and mermaids
to research superheroes.
i quit ballet in favor of taekwondo
but even in a plain white dobok and a brown tti,
dripping sweat and exhaustion
i was not enough.
i was vengeful in my frustration
notorious for the blood on my gloves—
we weren’t supposed to aim for the nose
but i was smaller and younger
and a good actress.
deep down i think i knew
i would never be like the girls
who weren’t like other girls,
and that made me wonder
what about other girls was so bad,
and why there were no boys
who weren’t like other boys.
i expected other girls to be what i’d seen on tv
and read in books,
but instead i was met with compliments,
kind eyes and genuine voices,
proclaiming boys were to be seen and not heard.
i learned that i was pretty
and i looked cute in pink
and the school confiscates pocketknives
but keys fit between your fingers.
i fell in love with other girls
when they took his sneer as a declaration of war,
unleashed their tongues like rabid dogs
in defense of girls they’d never spoken to
and flashed sharp grins
when their words bit hard enough
to reward them with tears.
i watched in awe
as other girls filed their nails into claws,
drove needles through their ears and noses
and lined their eyes with intimidation.
the judgement of their fathers
weighed down their bare shoulders
and adorned their short skirts
but every time he voiced it
their scissors took another inch off the bottom.
they were feral, and territorial,
they were disobedient and wanted blood,
they dressed how they wanted
and if you looked and didn’t like it
that was your problem.
i failed at not like other girls
because i met other girls
and i remembered my breath was fire
and my teeth dripped venom,
my hair was a nest of snakes
and my gaze was stone;
they knew i was a gorgon
years before i did
and now i’ve finally
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Some parts of us are only for us,
We never share them with anyone.
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Grime Prophet Magazine Issue One is out now! Check it out!
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we’re a free verse poem that never rhymed
syllables batten on different pages;
I was one step forward
you were two steps back
always on a waltz on crumpled paper.
we were two lines that thrived
through broken stanzas
and in crashed out letters we came to close;
but though I was a morning sigh
to your seeking sunset
though I loved you too soon
and you loved me too late
though we were a ballad
of unsynchronized heartbeats,
darling, we were poetry—
if only tragic.
— kirstie mae kate
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I look at doodles and modest works
Filled with youthful pain and hurt
Tear stained drawings
To the pain that's gnawing
I forget myself
Forget, I am real and so are you
I forget what a hell
It is to feel and know the truth
But in those moments
I feel nothing but ease
I try to postpone it
But it comes as it please
Sometimes when I look at simple doodles
And modest works
So free and youthful
Like the pain that lurks
Note: this is a big bag of emotion so it might not make sense, hope you like it though❤
Illustration not mine, copyright not intentional😶
Beautiful thinking; a well mind
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There was no way around it, I've come to realise. You caught my eye from across every room and we frequented all the same ones; violent neon ones, dimly lit ones. Did you know that you made everyone else look smaller? I can't remember any of their faces but I recall every freckle on yours.
I chased you all across London. Nobody ever writes about Avery Hill so you dated a poet and you took her home. Now I can’t set foot in the East End without being bombarded with flashes of you. And Greenwich just doesn’t feel the same without your fingers brushing my thighs in a cafe.
I don’t often blush. I don’t often find myself in love with a memory, despite romanticising every single one that I have. Sometimes I still spot you on the underground, but you’re never there.
You chased me like a bullet train every time that I left. Maybe I took it for granted, the head rush I’d get from the way you’d call my name. You haven’t called since September and I have been dying like the leaves. So where does that leave us?
Ghost Town/Ghosting — Delilah K.
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We got wine drunk and ran home from that restaurant in the rain
I hope you still remember that and it makes you feel the same
And I wonder if you’ve ever had a better first date.
Do you still make the recipes we invented or listen to that playlist or drink that apple wine
Did you keep that tie dye shirt because I still have mine.
Did you tell people our secrets,
Who else has seen the inside pocket of your jacket, those tickets in your car
I know it’s been so long since then and the thought of me might make you mad
But you have to admit that as far as stupid careless love goes,
no one did it better than us.
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I'm tired of being celebrated for surviving traumas I didn't deserve in the first place. I want to drive and drive and drive away until I no longer feel the sunlight digging its nails on my bruised legs, until I fall to my knees and melt in the shadows, and all traces of struggling are swallowed whole by the ground. I long for the quiet: a Brontë girl dying before the ending. I long to no longer be visible. I long to be long gone.
— Fray Narte
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Autumn carries more gold in its pocket than all the other seasons. -Jim Bishop
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One of those nights
when the music is just right
and you could live forever
in that one line.
– discovery of a song!
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is a tragedy
of the highest
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I Was Lying When I Said I Was Afraid
i was lying when i said i was afraid. i couldnt admit that i just wasnt ready. sometimes those arent the same thing. i see the future in filtered frames and it looks so picture perfect. i want to get it right the first time because we dont have that much time. have you watched the news recently? there are these reports of bizarre aircrafts hovering outside people's windows after the sun goes down. im afraid this is the end for us. for free people. for freedom, goddammit. were we ever free?
life has no guard rails. this isnt the bowling alley. nor does it have handles. you have to install them on your own. this is something more grand. there is more power writhing like an eager worm in the creases of our palms than the electricity surging through the circuits.
turn the lights off. pull down the shades. the drones can't see that you way. here, take this mask. your name is [classified]. get a haircut. learn a new language. move to a new address.
★ Black Star Rising ★
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my relationship with my body changes with the seasons
summer brings obsession
my days bleed into one another
and my anxieties rise and crash like waves
but they all close in around a single thought:
“am i getting bad again?”
i drink coffee until the afternoon sun burns like the white hot eyes of anyone who glances my way
i feed my mother lies when she stops by the house on her lunch break
i promise myself i’ll make something to eat after she’s gone
i promise myself i won’t go for a run on an empty stomach
but then i blink and it’s six pm and i can’t remember if i lied or not
i just want to be as beautiful and powerful as the ocean
autumn brings comfort
i thrive in skirts and boots and sweaters
and i stop looking out of place in my comfort sweatshirts and hoodies
i’m back at work so i’m walking again, walking more
being on the move helps me feel better about myself
until thanksgiving finds me like the ex i should’ve blocked but never did
and suddenly i’m wishing i was anyone but me; which is to say i’m wishing i was someone with a normal relationship with food
which is to say i wish to be as beautiful and bold as the changing leaves
winter brings apathy
the world is as cold as the chill in my bones—
too cold to go for long walks around the neighborhood
too cold for anything but the pants that are too tight on me now—
and i want to hide under piles of blankets
i want the world to pass me by until i am ready to thaw into a person again
instead of living as a walking greyscale existence
instead of longing to be as beautiful and delicate as snow
spring brings hope
the days grow longer, the sun brighter
and i may not like my body any more than i did last season but
at least now it’s warmer outside
and i see dogs and flowers blooming on my walks
and i can take off my sweatshirt like a snake shedding it’s skin
my bare shoulders being kissed by the sun feels like a rebirth
i still dream to be as beautiful and lovely as my favorite flowers
but these days, sometimes i believe i can be
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There is nothing complicated about it: I don't want to do this without you. I'm simply not going to try and find peace in your absence, I'm not going to try to move on. No. I'm going to watch my own body eat itself alive from the inside out so nobody else can ever touch it. I'm going to scream myself hoarse so nobody else can ever hear me sing, listen to me whisper sweet nothings into their ears. I'm going to become unrecognisable so that when I look into the mirror, I don't see the woman that you loved, the face you cherished, the body you held so close to yours. There is nothing complicated about it: I'm going to kill her because the sight of her hurts too much.
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Talking to a wall
I'm at the court,
I'm the youngest one there
I'd rather be building a fort
Than be questioned here
Forced to eat the blame handed to me
In a silver plate
Before I'm faced
With silver bars
They won't listen to my please
Handing me deaf ears
As they do as they please
Without a single care
While I sit
Innocent but guilty
I have to admit
A crime like it's my duty
When I'm sure
I did nothing wrong
My actions are pure
Yet they insist that I belong
In this court
Where I'm forced to take the fall
I try to plead my cause
But it's like talking to a wall
Note: Hi Loves❤!! It's been a while since I posted. Hope you like the umm poem
Word of the day: Dysania
The state of finding it hard to get out of bed in the morning
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There's a lively chill to the air,
I wish I'd thought to bring a scarf.
The leaves have changed to a fiery red;
The scenery is beautiful.
I love this weather.
I usually am bursting with excitement.
This time of year used to be so enchanting,
The decor and the extravagance and the costumes...
Now I only feel apathetic and detached.
Caring only seems to be a luxury I will not allow myself.
Like the leaves, I too have changed.
The only differences are that my spark has gone out
And the crumbling landscape that is my being
Is not a pretty sight to see.
I hate what I have become.
Looking out at the trees,
I am reminded that at one point in my past,
I would have been overwhelmed by the splendor of the colors,
And studied the view with an unspoken promise
to one day recreate it with acrylics and a brush.
It has been months since I have created.
I no longer see the world so vividly;
All that breaks the fog is an assortment of dull gray tones.
I am unfeeling of anything but regret and shame.
Sometimes I think that to feel this bad must be an art itself.
I don't remember much from my childhood,
But often I find myself contemplating the things I do recall.
The anxiety of not knowing what I did wrong or how to fix it,
The anger at myself for being a bad daughter.
My parents were perfect and they deserved better.
There was a period of time not long ago
That I realized I'd not lost a personal item in months.
You may not care, but to me that is a victory.
So I relaxed at the thought that I was doing good,
But I was a fool for thinking it would be that easy.
I have realized that my parents were not perfect,
My trauma is a stalker that I can ignore but cannot shake.
They meant well, but they did harm.
I love them but have not found it in myself
The means to forgive them.
The last October of any significance in my family
Is the month in which I made a decision to stop existing.
After I'd been sent away and deemed well enough to return,
The shame that I felt so desperate to leave
Was the very thing made me stay.
Now I feel a gaping hole in chest and it scares me
Because I feel I owe oceans to the people around me
When they would not cross a puddle for me.
As I beat my fist against me in an effort to distract myself,
I realize that I do not want to die but I do not want to live.
Oh, the dramatics that I would include,
The irony of the situation would be palpable.
If only I wasn't such a coward,
or perhaps if I didn't care as much as I do,
I could cease to exist in the very same month I chose before.
I won't do it though.
Because I am not worth people shedding tears over,
And I deserve to struggle and hurt.
Maybe if I stopped being such a failure I would do it,
But I am not a well-functioning person.
I hate October.
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I want to scream.
Will you listen? Will you?
I want to scream too.
Will you listen? Will you?
We both want to scream.
Who will listen? Will anyone?
I want to rest my head.
Will you lend me your shoulder? Will you?
I want to rest my head too.
Will you lend me your shoulder? Will you?
We both want to rest our heads.
Shall we lend us our shoulders? Shall we?
— A hesitant "I love you".
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