A collection of poems attempting to capture my life at the moment, just trying to take a photo through poetry.
Sometimes it aches
My past stands to be a familiar long standing pain, a soreness in my chest.
I can ignore the feeling that my heart is aching like it always does,
I can enjoy the feeling of being with those I love who haven't hurt me like he did.
I sometimes am able to live in the moment of all that is and what could be.
But each night when the lights turn off, my heart hurts for all that has been.
I got used to it
I've spent most of my life viewing from a distance,
I am an active participant in the world, but on some level I am watching from miles away.
I watch people as they do things, I listen to them with fascination, I love them, I want to be like them, but I am not like them.
Every moment I spend with another is a moment of looking through foggy glass.
I do everything I can think of to get past the glass just for today.
I go to every party I'm invited to, I talk, I listen, I share and listen to secrets,
But the glass stays a divide between me and all those I wish to be close with.
I've grown accustomed to the glass, I think the day it breaks, if it ever does, will be a strange one at that.
A life lived many days ago
In my first collection of poems I wrote many words about the dysphoria that haunted me like a ghost.
I wrote about the life I missed out on, the wrong I felt in my body, and how my voice didn't feel like my own.
When I finished the book that chapter of my life ended as well.
That part of myself was replaced by a new found sense of home in my body and my life.
I may have missed out, but that doesn't mean there is much life ahead of me that I can spend enjoying the boyhood I never got to have.
My face looks like the man I always wanted to be.
My voice sounds exactly how I wanted it to, it's all come together the best way I could have imagined.
So that life, that life of being trapped and alone, is a life lived many days ago.
Kiki and Lala
I spent much of my time online admiring my favorite artists,
I looked at their work every chance I got,
I grew with it, and felt more understood by every drawing and line of poetry I saw.
If only I knew that one day they'd see my art and say it was lovely.
Light in the dark
There is nothing I cherish more in life than when the day comes to an end, and for myself, the day begins.
I love nothing more than a dim room on a late night, nothing more at all.
During the hours between sunset and sunrise I am entirely free to be myself and do what I please.
I can be my most authentic and free in the dark.
I can write poetry for hours, fill up pages in my sketchbook, or do anything really.
It's a time of true freedom, and true peace.
Time goes by
Time goes by, the sun nearly sets, and I realize I've barely gotten out of bed today.
I realize I haven't done much of anything, and enjoyed even less of it.
Time goes by and as the day comes to an end, I begin writing a journal entry, only to realize I don't remember the days past, the hours even.
I don't remember what I got up to or who I spoke to, if anyone.
I sit there staring at my page, what am I to write about if nothing is remembered.
Time goes by and I realize I haven't been enjoying myself quite like I used to.
My poems have all turned gray, my mood mellow, my life tirig.
I know that time will go by, and these moments will pass, the sense that things are as happy as they used to be will move along just as they always do.
YOU ARE READING
Letters from sixteen
PoetryA poetry book I wrote during periods of my life with many different facets. I wrote about happy moments, addiction, and trauma, the book becomes more depressing as it goes on. I choose the title "letters from sixteen" to capture how I wanted to capt...
