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writingsbysam · 22 days

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The Blizzard of 2024

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writingsbysam · 22 days

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In the Before

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writingsbysam · 2 months

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St. George and the Lark

You'll find me wherever you seek, Down the stairs, through the hedge, Somewhere in your soul deep and bleak. And the lark will not sing. I crossed out your name, an ink streak, Crying last year’s champagne.

I was just a girl when I fell, huddling in the flare light, Tossed around in that stormy hell, and you saved me, you did, Those carnations I can still smell will haunt the rest of me.

Do you hear me still in the wind? Do I still have to prove, oh, that future you did abscind? Oh my casus belli, There is peace in those who have sinned, Black leaves my fingertips.

And I'll love another, someday, floating down the river, But your specter will haunt my day, Darling, I didn't run. And you will spoil my peace—runaway. I'm trying. I'm trying.

The flowers in my hair are red, I always thought you'd see The olive tree that makes our bed. Was I too young? Were we? And these drinks go straight to my head No, don't make me say it.

In these dreams I fight only you The battlefield glistens O Saint George you are good and true, your hands sticky with blood. I scream at you until I'm blue you scream you love me too.

No, I shouldn't have tolerated your bouts of winter cold And all of those gifts belated. No forgiveness this time. Show me how it was all fated, how down the snow must fall.

I write you letters in my sleep, I think this was one once. And yet under the rug you sweep, they never will forget that it's my soul you came to reap. Sorry, that must be harsh.

In those dreams, I run down the aisle stop the band on the way, claim that it's all just denial, The sparrow you marry says it's just a ruse to beguile, shrieks her song to the night

Remember dancing in the light? Meteors falling around us? Remember that we were a fight? And I put banners down? Remember how it felt like flight? A free fall every day?

And yet the world was not enough, and I was not either, to break through your armor so tough. Remember our last trip? You braided my hair, a bit rough it was knotted for days.

And still yet, it was never right, how it all died so fast, that I just watched the light pass through electric eyes, that I gave up without a fight for what I had loved so

But you will find me in the wind, Singing my songs again And I have peace in having sinned. But we were so much more. Gone is the woman I would've been, for she will always be yours.

(There I ruined it for you.)

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writingsbysam · 2 months

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Music!

Hey guys! I don't know if anyone actually follows what I do on here, but I've been dealing with stuff (going to college etc) so I haven't been writing as much poetry. I've pretty much been writing music exclusively for the last couple months. I'm finally at a point where I like the demos so I'm sharing them here. I'll embed a couple of songs but most of them are on my SoundCloud!

Sam Much · Blond Superman (demo)

Sam Much · The Car (I Won't See You Again) (demo)

Sam Much · Would It Be Enough? (demo)

#writing #poetry #writings #music #new music #demos #indie music #indie rock #indie pop #pop rock #new artist #new musician #soundcloud #my music #songs #tunes #new musik #poets on tumblr

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writingsbysam · 3 months

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Fugitive

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writingsbysam · 6 months

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Asking for a Proof

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writingsbysam · 6 months

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A Turning Point

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writingsbysam · 6 months

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The Marathon

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writingsbysam · 9 months

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An Open Letter to the Box Under My Bed

February.

What’s the worst that can happen?

It’s what you ask when you kiss him the first time. You’re sixteen and in love with your best friend. He knows you, has known every piece of you but this. And when your lips finally meet in the glow of the TV screen, you are his, body and soul, forever. The air from his lungs fills yours.

March to November. You recite poetry to him while he sleeps on your chest. “L'eternelle chanson” always escapes from between the teeth. (“When you are old and I am old…” Will you remember my name?) You tell him of the dreams you have, the ones as clear as future memories. Picket fences and white sundresses, a love measured in decades.

“Young love takes faith.” (You will always be the person I adore.)

(There is that one dream, the one about twenty years from now, that you never get to tell. It was too soon, but not soon enough. That dream could’ve saved this, I know it.)

The months fly by.

December. He forgets your Christmas present and gives it to you in February, but it doesn’t matter. You give him the script he helped write and inspire, and some other assorted things. You create these worlds for him, and the desert looms over all of your sleepless nights. You would be happier there, alone together with the vast sky. The chihuahuan sun cracks your skin, but his fingertips soothe the burns. The script would go to plan.

At a year, February 12th, you have spent more than five percent of your lives together.

This March is the longest month by far, late rehearsals and early mornings. For his birthday you get him a stupid board game, per usual, and a handmade book of everything you’ve ever written him. Your first performance was that night, so you don’t think he ever read it. A shame, because he would’ve truly known how you felt.

The rings he made you stain your fingers green with verdigris.

April. Prom night. Promise night. Spring begins but so does winter. Your last kiss, April 21st. You didn’t think there would be a last kiss—

I have to stop writing this bit. I didn’t intend to cry today.

May, cold. Busy. Suddenly you are only just more than friends. You reach for his hand underneath the table and he takes it, but eventually he pulls away. Senior year ends. This love ends with it. It is too beautiful a day for this. The setting sun frames his curls in a halo. The golden clouds drift by. His feelings changed for the worse. You had fallen more in love with him every day. You would have never seen it coming. He’d been in love with you for years.

June. When he is nothing more than a box under your bed, he comes to your graduation party. He stays until 10:30 and plays games with you and your family. It’s like he never left, for one last day. Your friends ask if you got back together.

You say goodbye from across the room. These may be the last words you ever say to him. Words you thought you would never have to say.

(Some days, I still get up when the dogs bark, expecting his car to crest the hill.)

July, uneventful. You try to move on. You write your first record.

He haunts every melody.

August. Your twin sister leaves for school. You are alone really, without him. It was right person, wrong time. But you want to tell him that’s why you waited so long to kiss him, and this is how.

(I waited so long because I knew I would lose my best friend.)

This is the last thing you may ever write to him. He will never see it. An open letter to the love of your life.

An open letter to the box under your bed.

A sixteen year old asks, “what’s the worst that could happen?”

And soon you’re a grown woman, sitting in your underwear before your bedroom mirror,

hollow eyes searching your body for the place that finally made him walk away.

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writingsbysam · 1 year

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Sea Depths

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writingsbysam · 1 year

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Kitchen Ballad #1

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writingsbysam · 2 years

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A Question For the One Who Wrecked My Life (Nos Contra Mundum)

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writingsbysam · 2 years

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I'll tell you your secret

I made another uquiz , and I love it so you all get to see it, even though it's been in my drafts since March.

#uquiz tag #uquizzes #love #writing #dark academia #poetry #poets on tumblr #poem #poets #writings #prose poetry #greek mythology writing #lucretia #art #uquiz quiz #writer

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writingsbysam · 2 years

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Athena Promachos

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writingsbysam · 2 years

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The Cycle

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writingsbysam · 2 years

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The Painting

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writingsbysam · 2 years

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Warm Days

The green warm days are here again

Through fabled gates, a lark

Though in her stead, a summer wren

So near the thought, we often hark

To make a lady fair

To let her know the arrow’s mark

I’m trying my best, washing my hair

We’re all decaying matter

The meter’s failing, but do I care?

My head belongs on a silver platter.

I miss the warmth that comes with being sadder.

–Para-inferno-diso.

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