Deep-diving into the culprits of my self-deprecation, "Discount Shakespeare" showcases all 50 of my poems, originally posted on Twitter, which I had written from my high school years to this day (whenever this gets published, I guess).
Teeming with...
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Discount Shakespeare An anthology of musings Poetry by seomins
━━━ ❦ ━━━
Breath. Beats. Battlestar Galactica.
I'll let you in on a little secret of mine: I can't breathe to keep my life in its rhythm. I've read somewhere that patterns line the air, But I just can't see them, was I born different? To breathe is to see, to touch, to feel, to savor— To treat space like an equal, a noble companion, To hear music in the frail gusts of noontime wind That is the force behind every leaf's little trickle. But I can't, you see, I can't become all these wonders, I can't let my mind rest and set it free from its bothers. I can't bring my poor senses to their sweet serenity, And I definitely can't show them even a bit of pity. Pity for what, you say? And I say sheer misery back, For I just can't breathe properly, even under attack. I can't befriend my space like it won't be my traitor, Nor can I hear anything when wind speaks its truth. I can't bend and break science like it's my own body, Like it's my own system to burn, crash, or shoot. All these wondrous deeds of magic aren't up my alley. To do so much as breathing well would end tragically. But I guess it's worth saving myself from its pitfall, Because it's better to have gasped for air Than to never have breathed at all.
