Welcome to Semanticville
We're a disabled trans feminine nonbinary aroace lesbian DID system that writes cosmic horror and poetry. She/Its. Picrew is by Djarn and is a placeholder.
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COMING SOON
The Perspective of The KingdomDeep within the belly of The Dream is The Center, and upon The Center is The Forest and The Kingdom. The Forest is embedded within The Center’s flesh, and from it springs Savage Life, and the deepest Well of Knowing. Atop it’s skin is The Kingdom, a lavish and decadent empire of many angled blinding-burning Lords with no king and many servants. It is you who are the servants. They campaign tirelessly for It, to bring everything to perfect and awful stillness. But It is the one that does the labor. Even though It is insignificant, It is glad for the work. The Work is in The Depths: under The Kingdom, between The Palace and The Skin, and through it and within The Center. When The Work is complete, The Center will no longer quiver and pulse, and there will be an endless and perfect sleep without Dreaming.The Forest, full of awful and unknowable Life, penetrates the skin of The Center. The Forest breathes in The Dream and pours The Dream into The Center. The Center, being a dumb and stupid thing is glad for it; since it lacks proper Reason. This is why The Center quivers and pulses. The idiotic thing dances with the merriment of foolishness. The Work of The Forest is awful, and petulant. It is a thing of gifts, and burdens, and tasks. It is a Work that curses all with Motion, Imperfection, and Feeling. It is a putrid thing, crawling like worms and maggots in the loam and flesh.The Perspective of The GardenBurning in the center of The Aether is The Heart, and blossoming from The Heart is The Garden. The Garden and The Heart are interwoven, but The Empire of Needles is Jealous, and sews itself lustfully and maliciously into the flesh of The Heart. The Blood of The Heart pools in many Springs of Wisdom, and from the Springs have grown many Wards of Fellowship, and each with their own Bath of Renewal. The Garden yields its Bounty and gives it to Us. We receive much Fragrance, and Medicine, and Poison, and Fruit, and Awakening. We Devour the Garden, and The Garden devours Us. The Heart pervades The Garden with its Blood, and The Garden consumes The Heart, just as it eats Our hearts. Yet The Heart and We remain. The Garden is starving, and We are starving. We must take what it gives Us, and Eat, and be Consumed. As We are Eaten We interweave with The Forces who tend to and are The Garden. We are woven at every angle. We are always being Eaten.The Empire of Needles has an Emperor and The Emperor is a Locust. The Locust is many: There is Many Emperor, and They are The Swarm. They wear Us like puppet-meat. We become perfectly rotted clothes. And then there is no Hunger for Us. There is no Us: only It. It does The Stabbing, and The Sewing, and The Stealing. It vomits The Swarm upon The Heart, and The Emperor and It does The Ravishing. They do not Eat because of Hunger, They Ravish out of Gluttony, and Jealousy, and Hate. If there is no Blood, there can be no Beating. And the Beating of The Heart makes The Swarm writhe and roil with hateful Lust and Jealousy. The Blood Calls Them and Banishes Them with the same Rhythm, with the same Word.
An Explanatory Note on the COLORSthirst, love, and the warmth and light of the fire. RED is the color of life, and survival at any cost.Have you ever smelled the sweetly rotting orange? Each of us is a little like that. ORANGE is the color of death, the sweet rot that brings all things inevitably back to the nothingness from whence they came. It is the last fond kiss.Rest. Rest. And rest again, dear child. YELLOW is the color of safety, boundaries, decadence, warmth, and the internal struggle. You may lose your mind my dear, but there's nothing to fear if one is safe.We are all connected, interwoven in the tapestry of creation. The canvas that is strong will not be torn asunder by any blade. GREEN is the color of cooperation and peace. Of oneness. Fear not the loss of self, those who are one are part of the weave and weft of all, are all, and know all.Listen closely, pupil. Listen to the rush of water bubbling up from under your feet! BLUE is the color of loud, fervent water! Of unknowable depths! The bringer of beginnings, the end to endings, and the ends in and of the selves. It is the great pressure, squeezing ever so perfectly fitting around all manner of endless life, death, and other.Can you hear the clanking? Are you safe? Are they safe? INDIGO is the color of locks, of sanity, of security, of machines. Lock your most precious knowledge within yourself. Lock yourself within the bank. Be safe. Be the safe. SAFE! There will be order, there WILL be fearful and obedient responsibility! Do not knock, and do not scream, and do not cry. All key's are broken in locks that are unbreakable.Listen to the beating, that is the center/heart. DO NOT LISTEN TO LIES!!! The center/heart yearns to be free, the center/heart desires stillness/to beat. VIOLET is the color of blood, unknowably awful/perfect blood. It is the world that is how it is. And one day you shall witness that the world will end/be reborn again and forever again and again.
Just A Little More TimeIn a strange and distant place there once lived a Beast in the shape of a gas station worker. It wasn’t a man, not exactly. And it wasn’t a woman, not exactly. It was a man in the way that a wizard is a man. It was a woman in the way that blood and love is a woman. But more than that, it was a Beast, and it was hungry, and the Beast was very very good.One morning it awoke to the unwanted shrieking of a small black box. The box was very persistent, and very hungry, and had very urgent news. So the Beast very hurriedly connected the box to its source of food, pet the faithful creature, and listened for the voice that sought to speak through the box. A sort of… amused yet pinched squinting upon its face as it did so.“We require you to come perform your tasks tonight.” The voice commanded. “We know that you are accustomed to doing your duties during the daytime. But we are worried about that vampire who lives with you? The bassist, the demon slayer, the one who hates mangos. You know the one?”“Yes.” The Beast whispered.“We are concerned for her. We think the night is angry with her, and that she needs the pleasant-burning of the sun time for her tasks. So we have decided to swap your task times, at least for now, as a treat.”And with that the box only fed. With a short whine, the voice no longer spoke through the creature. The Beast was glad for this, and it settled back into the covers in its nest for a time.The Beast dreamed. It dreamed of the fire glass, golden-white in the sun, and the spiky green hairs that sprouted from it. As if it were both a desert, and the skin of some forgotten god. It dreamed of birds burning in restful slumber, thanks to the wood it wrestled out of scorpion woodmongers, and its fire. But most of all it dreamed of the goodness it had cultivated in its Garden. Good people (for those who could be called people), good creatures (for those who could be called creatures), shining words that dripped with fire, the comforting smoke of glamour-magics; healing, revelry, song, wine, and little golden apples of purposeful and exultant change.When the Beast finally woke, creamy shafts of orange-gold light filtered in through the window. Angrily flooding the room like a buzzing Swarm of Locusts.No...?That… wasn’t quite right. That color was a comfort. The color of the Beast, actually. It was like the delicate glossy wings of the cockroaches of a different home. If it was a home, the Beast… Or it was like the subtle melting of those dreamy orange ice cream treats, if such things were fashioned out of Nectar and Ambrosia especially for it. And it, made ready to devour them, not unlike the hearts of girls.There should have been a comfort and a beauty in the waking from the Dreaming. That color was beautiful, and important to it. Instead, the Beast was discomfited, unsettled, but not quite sure why.The Beast shook its head, like a dog caught in the rain. It scattered the crawling-nipping thoughts from around its ears and began to make ready. Make ready for the work. It prowled its way to the room of silver, and wasting, and water. Climbing into the open cage that spat fiery mist, before wet-burning and tearing the discomfort from its skin.It smelled like it, it thought, as it wiped the clinging fire-mist from the silver. It examined itself for a time, before deciding that today felt important! And there was magic that needed doing. It was right, of course. Today was important! And so it set itself about its task.It fetched the makings of its magic from a low corner of the earth, and laid out its salves and mixings, its horns and powders, and most importantly all the bits of girl that it had collected throughout the years. Spread out upon the crawling chaos of its work-altar it cracked its bones and called what was needed to hand. Then, shortly, it had cloaked itself in glamour.It was not a man, not exactly. It was not a woman, not exactly. It was a man in the way that pomegranates and knives are a man. It was a woman in the way that a wizard was a woman. It did not look like a Beast, though it was one. It looked like a Beast in the way that one who eats anise, from the source, is a Beast. It looked like a girl, but not exactly. It looked like a girl in the way that love, and bleeding, and hunger was a girl. It smelled like the freshly won roses of a campaign. It smelled like a man in the way that war, and life, was a man.It made its way back to its nest where it clothed itselves in the red and black wardrobe of its trade, collected its small and needful things (who were very excited to go with it, especially the small box), and made its way out into the foyer in order to set about the task of its departure.The vampire, the bassist, the demon slayer, the one who hated mangos had other plans however. Perhaps it was the war the Beast was wearing, Or perhaps it was the glamour of the bleeding. Either way the vampire set upon it with the raking of claws, the biting, the laughing, and the fury, and the Beast answered its assault in kind with a snarl.Soon the battle ended, no victor to be found. It had been a battle for the joy of it. The vampire and the Beast held each other for a time, in the smiles and small-breathing of friendship and intimacy. Only for a while. And then the Beast rolled its eyes at her and left. Her hiss of farewell resting about its ears as it made its way into the cold and the night, pushed itself sideways through a portal, and found itself at the place of its labor.The night was mostly uneventful. Merely the small comings and goings of small world people; who knew nothing of magic, or beauty, or life, or war, or vampires, or anise, or girls…The Beast dreamed. A waking sort of Dream. The work had never really appealed to it, and the work was not demanding at the moment. It dreamed of smoke and safety, and the passing of time. It was ready for an increase in power; attaining a new level of purpose, and meaning, fulfilment, and perhaps… something more? It dreamed of fields of perfectly white flowers, rustling with the barest of breaths as they stretched on forever, laden in the weight of their own simple beauty. It dreamed of the weight of words, bled onto the page through its fingers. It dreamed of the fire-spark of intimacy with the people and creatures which it loved. The not-weight warmth of closeness.It dreamed of the fire glass, golden-white in the sun, and the spiky green hairs that sprouted from it. As if it were both a desert, and the skin of some forgotten god. It dreamed of birds burning in restful slumber, thanks to the wood it wrestled out of scorpion woodmongers, and its fire. But most of all it dreamed of the goodness it had cultivated in its Garden. Good people (for those who could be called people), good creatures (for those who could be called creatures), shining words that dripped with fire, the comforting smoke of glamour-magics; healing, revelry, song, wine, and little golden apples of purposeful and exultant change.It dreamed of something perhaps. Or nothing. Or everything all at once. The Dreaming bubbling up from within it like a fountain of blood from a needful and hungry wound. And it was hungry. The Beast was hungry, and it oh so desperately wanted to devour, and be devoured, and…It was filled with so much purpose, and meaning, and need. But more than that, it was a Beast, and it was hungry, and the Beast was very very good. The work did not take from the Beast tonight. It was radiant with creamy, orange-gold light. It was awakened with the beating of the heart within its chest, full of a fevered and very wise hunger. Full of hope. The night was very good for once, and it smiled for that. It dreamed of Stabbing, and Sewing, and Steal- no! No! No it did not!!!Its breathing had risen to a heightened pitch, shocked and panicked. How could it feel so happy and full of hope and life? And then, very much against its will, have that all twisted into something other, something awful? It was an intrusion and a violation and the Beast was not okay and it just wanted to get back to its nest and fight the vampire and hold her in happy stillness and dream of new and wondrous things and all the time that it had ahead and all of the goodness that it had cultivated in its Garden and…A gentleman entered the store just then. The little chime was a hammer blow that stunned the Beast and shocked it into place and stillness, as if its shadow was sewn hatefully to the linoleum. There were many gentleman, although there was only one.They were impossible to describe, and impossible to look at, actually. But if the Beast were to describe them it would have said that they had a lavish decadence to them. That they were dripping with malice, and an angry ravishing needful jealousy. That they were so awfully and hideously beautiful, like the fire crawling in the void of a black hole that consumed everything endlessly and without purpose for the sheer fucking hate of it.They came up to the counter and pointed. And suddenly the Beast could move, and it fetched a packet of cancer-searing savory and luxurious little sticks of regal death wrapped in green. For the gentleman. For the King. For Them.They plucked the thing from the counter, gracefully, but with an awful force. They ripped the packet open and stuck one of the little sticks, like a bone, like a finger bone into the hole in Their face. The sudden dark and awful fire of awfully pungent smoke blinded the Beast, and choked all of the worthless desperate hunger out of it. The bone ignited with a blistering anti-radiance that incinerated its not-so-pleasant beating heart, and putrid fucking dreaming. The last thought that it ever had was that it wished it could have had Just A Little More Time.Now the Beast is the one that does The Work, and it is happy for the labor. It is insignificant, one of many servants, standing upon the skin of The Center. It is hollow, and worn like rags on a kind and loving King who are Many. There is Many King. It vomits its hunger out on an awful and wretched Heart, and the acid of its needful hatred melts the dancing flesh. It hacks at the muscle with its claws, and though the screams, the creamy orange-gold screams, fill its ears; it tunes them out. There is only The Work. There was never a Beast. And The Garden rots. Soon The Work will be done...All It needs is Just A Little More Time.
DisconsolationTiny little fingers stretching forward slightly spread.Arms warmth encircles form, with one hand curled round the head.Larger now, the fingers stretch, straightforward in their need.No more warmth is found here, the soul begins to bleed.
Roadkill Seen From A Broken WindowCW: implied animal deathClitter clatter the clink of cracked glass.Open now the truth with the suns searing shining.The broken pieces pitter pattering about the problem.A raven with a broken wing can’t fly you from your fate.Or scamper free the terror of truck tires at total throttle.
"Budget"CW: war politics, war crimes, war deathsSo let me,uh.. Jim right?Yeah?Okay so here’s the deal.I’m going to explain everything,And make sure I use small words,So that you can understand.‘Kay Jack?Alright,good.So you’re never leaving your dead end job Jack.Let’s just get that out of the way.You’ll experience the transitory... uh,S-h-o-r-t moments of happiness I allow you to have.But more on that later.Okay,here goes:The military budget is a misnomer,And before you explain you couldn’t get a good quality education... I know.I was being an asshole.Misnomer if you break down the LatinMeans misnamed.It comes from old French I think?Man,the French had it good up until the guillotines got rolled out.Don’t interrupt me Jerry,I know I’m getting off track.I’m intentionally wasting your time.Intentionally means “on purpose”Kinda Like the misnomer:Military “Budget”.Okay,so the way the budget works is as a tool to drive spending and increase profit.You see,I ensure that we take advantage of a preexisting system meant to regulate government spending,And then buy off the entire fucking government. Because I’m better than you.We...say that each individual section of the military gets a certain amount of money.To try and encourage them to use it all.Then we arbitrarily(randomly)select different sections and “reward” them by increasing their “budget” for the next year.But the thing is we already have a number in mind for the next year.The current system is designed to create an excuse to fall back on.If we don’t increase the budget every year,I’ll make the same amount of money next year.And I deserve better.Really all we need to keep things going is a good lie, and fresh disposable material.We tell people they can protect their family,or become better,or that with an education and their needs paid for by the military that they’ll have a chance of joining the ranks of the vanishing middle class.Yeah none of that’s true,but they buy it,which makes the system work,which gets me more money.The other thing I do is,because it’s profitable,is make sure that the military doesn’t get better supplies unless it’s efficient enough at killing people.Which,since I never approve upgrades to weaponry and other key materials,is hard to do.So they beg,and I say no,and they beg,and I say no.And sure enough eventually,since people get pissed off for some reason when you bomb poor people in other countries,enough soldiers get blown up riding around in armored cars basically made out of tinfoil,that public outcry demands an upgrade so their loved ones aren’t in danger.And we comply,and I profit massively.I spin “almost got him” stories enough times that the people think they’ll see their family again if we can just beat the bad guys.So public outcry demands better weapons,and we comply,and I profit massively.So here’s the best part.Alright?We nail the bad guy finally right?Make a big spectacle out of it.Everyone’s happy,because their family gets to come home.I leave them there.They get mad,thinking public outcry will fix it.But I’ve planned everything that’s happened so far, so of course I don’t budge.You see,if I’m gonna make more money I need them there. Using supplies,killing and being killed,right?So when the next excuse comes along we can declare war on it and I can make money off it.Oh,and I see you googling “guillotine” on your phone John.You’re welcome to try it,but just remember that I own the fucking military.
Penguins In a Strange LandHow did they get there?
They can't even fly!
Waddling on lilypads up in the sky.
Living penguin lives as the clouds sail by.Penguins in a strange land.Why did they leave their icy terrain?
To live in a magic airquatic domain?
What if they leave gifts on my window pane?!Penguins in a strange land.When did they leave their freezing cold land?
Surely it's random and not something planned?!?!!
There aren't any answers but they're still in demand!!!Penguins.
Yes, penguins!Penguins,
In a strange land.
ControlCW: bondage imageryChains, beloved chains.Tie me down and imprison me.Steal my fears, doubts, and worries.Control me for a time.Silence fevered musings.Quiet.Peace.Calm.
WorkI, eager, seek ablation:Of gods-damned, abhorred procrastination.Unchained, unfettered imagination.And genius found in perspiration.
Serpent of the Heart
A fev’rish thing,That starts in the chest.It eats my love,And burns the rest.
JuggernautCW: romantic themesYou are invulnerableIn your vulnerability.Heart wide openTo scorch me with passion.A probing mindTo lay me bare.You are a conduitThat I eagerly grasp,And burn my soulWith the joy of us.
Chemical
Fate is chemical,Purely malleable.A single catalyst?Destiny changes.
Admiration
There is a kindness in your actions,A sharp kenning in how you listen.A beauty in your wisdom,And soft fierceness in how you glisten.
RadianceCW: romantic themesYou pare me down to bonesBleached in the heart’s sun.And I, transparent, only wish...That I had more to reveal.
What I SayCW: Misogyny, traumaThe important thing.To know.Is that your mother?Doesn’t matter.Worthless.Prideful.Willful little bitch.What I say!I love her.What I say!Not to be cruel.What I say!You should respect her,Even though she’s a woman.What I say?Is paramount.And your motherIs dismissed.
VoxCW: sexual themesThere once was a womanWho lived on a Hell:Living a lonelyIn a house without locks.She knew her wordsAnd she spoke them well.As she sifted and sighedIn her man-shaped box.A beast pawed at the doorWith the broken bell.All star fire and hunger,And her in her socks.It watched her intently,With it’s sandalwood smell.Orange-cream gold wetteningAs she entered the stocks.It chewed on her heart.It devoured the belle:Ultraviolet blue anise,And joy-strangled vox.
Bloody FingersCW: misogyny, dysphoriaLet’s load him up,
Compliments and ammunition:Smithed by happenstance
In a cold forge,
Of delicate misogyny.Laid out feather-soft.
Like barbed wire.
In a spider web.Always wonder why,
He’s so unstable.Like all the fickle bitches
We whisper of.Teach her anger,
And suppression.Marvel!
As the freak:
Explodes in the mirror...Slashed by the schism
Of a wretched reflection
That she doesn’t understand.
MisdirectionCW: dysphoria, f-slur, self harmShove the doll down,
And rip out his hair.Just a haircut.
Just a haircut.What am I feeling?
Who the fuck knows.Call me a faggot,
Guess I sound like one.Reinforce the fear,
Of authenticity.Bubbling to the surface
Like crystal water.Bubbles splinter,
Angry tongues of flame.It’s better if I lie,
And babble like a loon.Misdirection.
Misdirection.Better to choke on the water,
And drown.
In the Name of the Moon
What if I were her?
She of pink lace and rainbows:
A cute explosion.
LokiCW: cult trauma, gender trauma, dysphoriaAnd oh,
How I have clung
To this masculinity!
That you chose for me.I can be here,
If I wanted to be.Yes!
This can,
In fact,
Be me.But why?Why would I ever...
Continue to choose...
This?I am not a god.
I am not...
A malefactor.When I have the entirety
Of gender
Laid out at my feet,
Like a tapestry...Why choose a masculinity
That was loaded,
Into a bullet,
And fired into the crowd,
despite my screams?
My Beloved: Hateful DeathCW: christian themes, cult trauma, hopelessness, death, romantic themesAnd so it seems,
With the throwing off
Of his glorious cape;
My lover has revealed himself:
Death, upon a pale horse.
With a grim,
And crooked smile...It is an effortless,
And apathetically hateful slash
That scatters me, the chaff.Once regal wheat,
Gold on green.
Chaff, now.I am strewn across,
The barren fields.
Ravaged and empty,
From plague,
And from famine.These empty husks,
Divorced from former splendor,
Are now burnt to naught
In flames of foreign war.And Death rides on,
Arrogant and proud.
His task incomplete:
He seeks further reaping.Smoke and ash
Cannot scream its defiance.
MurderCW: transphobia, dysphoria, family trauma, psychosis, centipedes, DID splitting“I need you to understand,
That you are killing my son.”I’m killing your son?
I’m killing your son?!My existence,
Is not an act of violence.Oh dear mother,
For the love of the gods!
My existence,
Is NOT an act of violence!You stare through me,
Righteous apathy
Dancing ‘round your irises;
And we are not
An act of violence, mother.But your cold love
For someone that never was,
Has us hemorrhaging
Children for you.This involuntary murder,
Thrust into our screaming mouths
Has broken us,
Into so many children for you.Tortured,
Bleeding,
Centipede children;
Holding out hundreds
Of filthy hands for your love.Our existence,
is not...?
An act of violence?
Is it?
It isn’t?
Sorry,
Dear fucking gods,
Please!
I’m sorry!SORRY!!
Stop!
Stop!!993.
986.
979...Hahaha!
Gods!
Kill us.
KILL US!This family has-
Dear gods!
Has cut off our fingers,
And fractured us
SO many times!Infinitely...
It never ends.
And we have called it LOVE!
Émeutier en RougeCW: sexual themes, nuclear imagery, beetles, bloodYou are the void.
Dark.
Righteously cold.
Anything but empty.
With a thousand,
Nuclear hearts.I am blood.
I am the red light,
That bleeds through
Palm webbing
To block out the sun.The pulsing gore of life,
The roadside vengeance,
Of carrion animals.And the pulses of this,
Are unfamiliar.
But look at the cochineal,
Good God, look at it!Killed:
It is glittering,
Chitinous void powder.
It's blood is a permanent red.Stuff the Carmine in,
Envelop them with
A black beetle heart.Let us be
A zombie cochineal,
That gets back up
After every stomping.A little Émeutier,
Void-armored crimson,
With a nuclear heart.
DyscomfortCW: dysphoria, dissociation, insomniaHypnos claws at my attention.Sudden mental disconnection.Thoughts of gender start to creep,And now I’ve no more chance at sleep.
ChestnutWith great perseveranceThe spikes are plied away:Unfurled and smooth.And like the chestnut:I, and life,Are bittersweet when laid bare.
MissingA piercing, burning frost:When what you need is lost...
RegretsCW: betrayal, hatred, romantic themes, christian imageryThere’s a tilted sort of twistIn the betrayal of a kiss.A crunch, a grind, a grate,When love gives way to hate.
WordsCW: romantic themesWith but words I am cored.Hollowed out and filled with lightning.Dangerously, irresistibly enticing.But your actions leave me floored.
Missing Pieces: Zeroed OutCW: bloodCrimson slides on alabaster.Hot on cold.Wet rivulets on unyielding stone.Liquid pools.The sun wakes the day,And blood congeals on marble.Things that never were:Occluded Desire?Or a dead whore?
The TwinsCW: death, enslavementOne who plays with naught but death
The other loves to instill breath."Brother.", says the evil one,
Hiding himself from the sun."Death has power you must see!"
Unable to contain his glee."I raise the dead out from their graves,
And they become my willing slaves.And no one escapes its black breath.
Yes no one can escape their death!"The other brother (number two)
Takes some clay and molds a shrew,Then blows on it, it starts to breathe.
(He shakes the dust off of his sleeve)The Vitromancer smiled and said,
"Brother, empty out your head!I can't believe you did not know,
You can not slay a creature's soul."
PhasesCW: romantic themesYou say that to you, I am the sun.
Warm and ever-lit, the earth bathed in my splendor.I disagree my love, though you guess closely.
I tell you truly that I am the moon.I am the moon, the sun’s pale imitation.
My light is far less warm, but beautiful in its fickleness.I am not a golden treasure, I am a silvern reflection.
I may be worth little, but I can show you much.I can show you yourself, if you hold me closely.
And I can reveal mysteries, if you watch me as I travel.I may seem fleeting, as I come and go.
Beautiful and piercing, then dark and occult.My gravity will draw you in, if you let me.
And I’ll cherish your tide’s rise and fall, and paint you silver.I am never gone, if you search me out.
You will always find me, if you wish to see me.To me, you are the earth. Ever changing.
Lush and ornate. Scarred, yet thriving.I am the moon, ever shifting.
Dark or radiant. Damaged, but beautiful.We are the shapers, shaping each other.
Dancing through the dark as we flit through forms and phases.Our connection is the sun.
Pulling and pushing us through our steps.I am far less pretty without it.
I don’t want that light to disappear.
EclipseCW: romantic themesThe Moon and Sun,Are as one;And Light and Darkness steal a kiss.What is this?It's called Eclipse.
HappinessHappiness?Happiness gives no scars.It is not burned,Indelibly,Into our memory and fears.Happiness must be recalled,Brought bubbling,Bursting forth from our depths.It is a choice.It is a struggle.It is strength.It is revolution.
Anxiety In 30 Seconds or LessCW: anxiety, goreAll of these feelings.Constant repeating.The static is bleeding.'Til the buzz brushes the ceiling.This is my addiction.This is me, I'm retreating.This is drowning in fiction.This is silently pleading.Until my brain falls out,Until I can't go on,I know you wonder why I'm worried about everything.Until there's no more thoughts.Until I crash and burn.I know I haven't done anything today.No, not today.I hope you stay.I hope you stay.I just feel overwhelmed.
PlummetCW: roller coasters, romantic themesThat's the thing about roller coasters.
You crest at the summit,
Clenched teeth from the clanking...
And plummet.The journey, the lead up?
It's terrifying.
But the wingless live the joy of flight.
After the fall.I want to keep falling.
I want to experience you.
Just one more time...Plummet.
The Dance of the SnakesCW: snakesEncircling.
'round soul,
'round logic,
'round mind:A writhing mass of snakes,
Refusing to intertwine.
I am Free
I'm a creature of the sea:
Swimming, splashing, full of glee.I'm a creature of the tree:
Climbing, leaping, I am free.
Embers in BarkCW: lightningI am a Giant Sequoia,
Rooted in an open field.Oh strike me sky,
And mark me with lightning’s fingers.
CarnonosCW: religious themesThe Space Between
Gleaning Gold
Untold Grace
Salvation’s StupefactionCW: burn imagery, romantic themesMy skin was cracked and red,
My thinking snapped and frayed,
My heart was filled with lead,
I can’t say why they stayed.My mouth whispered,
“I’m doing just fine.”
Yet warm hands balmed blistered
Skin. and rinsed mind-heart with brine.
NeedfireCW: sexual themesLike sandpaper against the grain,
You wear me down and smooth me out.Electric spasms of raw and desperate nerves.My eyes run over with fire,
And yours are dark, smug, and hungry:As you pin me down,
Drink me in,
And push me over the edge.
SireCW: misogyny, objectification, sexual themes, dysphoria, abuse, family traumaHow significant it was.
That you boiled them down,
Into choice little cutlets.
Ripe for the choosing.
By you: the superior one.
Right before my eyes,
The weird little boy shaped girl.Insignificant.
Unstable.
Broken little toys.
To be ogled.
And used.
And abandoned.
And disdained.
Women.
All women.How significant it was.
That I learned such a truth.
That I would do the same.
That I would aspire,
To be and be seen that way.
That the prick,
That fucked me into being,
Broke the forge of womanhood,
And shattered me upon its anvil.
ParenthoodCW: sexism, misogyny, dysphoriaWhat is it then,
To be a mother?
An answer that
I’ll never know.
A body broken,
Not quite suited,
To birth and then,
To nurture souls.What is it then,
To be a father?
An answer that
I’ll never be.
A body hated,
And never wanted,
That tortures others,
And tortures me.What is it then,
To be a parent?
An answer that
I do know.
The suffocation,
Of separation,
In pursuit of strength,
To help them grow.
BirthdaysRules and regulations,
Restrict our celebrations.For they're too old,
Or they're too young,
Other times must not go unsung.There must be cake!
There must be hats!
There must be this!
There must be that!But with all the rules,
And all the lists:
I think the purest part is missed...There may be cake,
There might be hats.
Or but some of this,
Or none of that.I'm simply glad,
That you exist,
And if you weren't here:
You would be missed.
FoucaultCW: dysphoria, dissociation, insomniaPendulum, Pendulum,
Swinging in my head.
Knock me standing,
When I’m in bed.Hollow anger.
Broken joy.
Disconnected
Saccharine
Sorrow.I’m a boy.
I’m a boy.Hand slips the lead:
Emotion is a mongrel.
She’s independent,
And Unknowable.Like that clock I saw,
In the museum.
That great weight,
Striking down,
Little stick-weight hours.Pendulum, Pendulum.
Let’s tick through:
These feelings…
Until they all feel flat!
What are They Anyway?CW: misogyny, cognitive dissonanceKind and Gentle.
Cold and Callous.Brilliant and Witty.
Dumb and Pathetic.Friends and Family.
Insignificant Objects...This fractured understanding,
That’s someone I’ll never be.Perhaps they’re human.
Take this poison from me.
CaryatidCW: torture imagery, dysphoriaThe pillar cracks,
And bears down on the girl:
This caryatid.She shoulders a burden,
That crushes her.
But she is set.Muscles straining,
Tendons taut,
Bones creaking.With a snap, she folds like paper.
And her tears, they pour like rivers.
She desperately cries to be free.But she was told to stay...
Even broken and dying:
She is resolved.
ParasiteCW: religious themes, cult trauma, suicide, torture imagery, abuseCome, oh ye broken one.
Oh ye mass of shattered bone.
Place your pain upon the altar,
Trust me to make it whole.Magnify the splinters now,
And look upon MY pain!
Your suffering is worthless.
Your agony is vain!Disregard the torture tools,
As I affix them to your flesh.
Let me choke your voice,
And steal your woes,
You never should complain.I’ll adorn myself in suicide,
And drown your putrid weeping.
Smiles and sun you WILL remain,
And your light is mine for reaping.
A Seafoam RiotCW: DID splitting, romantic themesThey say,
Well they say:
"That you can't get lost,
In a crowd that loves you."And baby,
Your lover is fractured,
I know you are too...But baby,
We are a crowd that loves you.And you?
You aren't lost anymore.
White SpaceCW: christian imagery, dissociation, flashbackI am sitting in the white space
With you.Every noise,
A clattering clamor.
As if all the angels in heaven
Are raging in confusion,
Except for you.I am a frightfully small fox,
Chained to the clouds.And I am fearfully fidgeting:
Trying to tear a hole,
For us to fall from grace through,
And into safety.
The ApproachCW: implied blood, romantic themesThere’s an angry little child,
Dripping with slaked vengeance
By the door I walked in from.You’re suddenly giant,
And I’m a small
And raucous creature.How do I clean up the mess?
It’s all over the sidewalk.How do I approach you?
I’m not so good at climbing,
Just making joyful noises
When I’m falling.I’m not scared.
It’s important that I’m not scared.I’m just eyeing the approach,
And figuring out the mess.
You’re Not the Scary OneCW: sexual violence, violence, torturePut the pliers down.
Zip up your pants.You are not a weapon,
You’re not so tough.I am the weapon,
And you’ll tear like paper.
The Apocalypse of St. AgathaCW: christian imagery, transphobia, family trauma, abuse, suicidal ideation, blood, locustsMy womanhood was marked for destruction,
And she was called The Harlot.
And The Witch was given the key to the bottomless pit.She opened it,
And from out of it poured:
The noxious fumes and smoke
Of total self destruction.From the smoke swarmed forth
The locusts of the earth...
And the locusts WERE horses prepared for battle.I held up my hands and I screamed,
Dear GOD!I screamed, and I screamed,
And I found them more than just prepared.Crowns of golden vanity,
And Pride,
And Wrath,
And Hate.They were given faces alike the faces of men,
The visage,
The illusion,
Of an oh so "loving" family.They were given power,
Alike the scorpions of the earth.I am trapped here.
I am trapped in the smoke of the pit,
And I am stung.I am stung,
I am stung,
I am stung!My skin is merely a target.
I am a vessel.
To pour the poison in.
I have been screaming,
For so long... my voice gave out.My eyes are dry.
For all my weeping.All I have left to weep?
Is blood.All I have left to wish?
Is death...God is love.
Sing it to the heavens,
My brothers and sisters!Hallelujah!
GOD IS LOVE!
Mon PapillonCW: romantic themesThere’s a butterfly,
Unfolding herself on
A homely wooden castle ceiling.
And she’s magic,
And I know it because
She told me.She’s never let anyone close,
Unfolding herself on the ceiling.And I never got to know her in flight,
Reaching out gnarled,
Wrinkled hands for someone.
Someone infinitely precious.And everyone talks,
Talks about how moths
Are drawn to fire.But nobody ever talks,
Nobody…About how seafoam
Is drawn to butterflies.
”Liars”I said that I abhor liars.
But…You.
Are.
Not.
A.
Liar.You are NOT!There is a difference between
Being a liar,
And having lies inhabit you.
And lies belong to me.I will call every single one of them home.And I will turn them into stories.
The Black EggCW: centipedes, violenceThere is a small black egg,
That screams with every crack.It cannot stop its birthing,
There is no turning back.There’s a fearful love within it,
And a desperate, hungry sin.And there’s the blood of writhing centipedes,
Hope,
Strength,
And kindness,
Nestled deep within.Smash the motherfucker already!
The Angel in the HourglassCW: amnesia, romantic themesAngel?
My mind is an hourglass.My mind…
Is an hourglass,
That is broken at the bottom.I cannot hold onto
All these precious grains of
Memories,
That filter through.But the perfection
Of the universe,
Ripples in the pools
Of your eyes, beloved.Unfettered joy
Lies in the dimples of your smile.The sand pours in,
A love that will not cease.Evergreen, ever-new memories
In a forest clothed with snow.If I could piece the glass together?
This mind…?Angel?My mind is an hourglass.
My mind…Is an hourglass,
That is broken at the bottom.Angel?
I cannot hold onto…Angel?Perfection.That’s more than enough for me.
For I Cannot See the StarsCW: snakesExploration is messy,
Isn’t it?I cannot plot the course
Of my heart.The eyes set in me
Are blind.You were a believer
In the margins.There were monsters here
For you, weren’t there?And now I am adrift,
With sails I did not set.These seafoam serpents:
Succor in my solitude.
Roadkill DreamsCW: allusion to suicidal ideationThere's a soft pink bed
And a cat tree to rest my head,
When the bed's not enough
And I'm avoiding being dead.The floor is cluttered with paper:
Unsung poems,
Unsent letters,
And stories I've teased.But as nice as this is?
I just want to be loved.
I just want to be safe.
I want to be released.
SurvivalCW: torture, abuse, bug imagerySurvival is,
A grim-toothed smile.
Just for awhile,
Just for awhile.I catch my breath,
And hold it tight!
The crunch of pliers,
The saw of knife.Sometimes…?
He pours the creatures in:
They crawl and bite,
Deep within.This siege upon
A king beshone,
As she is broken,
Tortured,
On her throne.But!
All her fingers?
Are in place.
No skittering chitin,
In hallowed space.She’s counting now,
Down on the floor:
A weepy, broken,
Regal whore.Survival is…
A grim-toothed smile.Just for awhile…Just.
For.
Awhile.
ApothisanI see your eyes on me.
You want to kiss me,
Don’t you?
You want to fold me in,
Fold me into your life.
Like some sort of…
Puzzle piece.That’s it.
All the missing pieces,
That you never cared were missing.
That is,
Until you saw me.You saw me and thought,
“Oh. She’s so pretty!
She’s… she’s-“
Shut up!I don’t have anything for you.
I don’t have ANYTHING,
For you…I don’t want to…
Tangle myself up in someone.
I don’t want to be the tape,
That compensates for
The gaping strengths,
That you’ve been neglecting.You amorphous,
Slavering romance whore-!
I…I just want to be good.
I want my own merit.
I want my own strength.I want to enjoy the shared shaping,
The strength gathering,
The flourishing evolution of:
Coexistence.And now, though so rarely…
When I want to-Well,
It doesn’t matter does it?
If it just ends up…
Making me sick when it fades?Does it?…I really don’t know.
Bumbly BeeBuzzy bumbly bee,
You were so kind to me.You took the stripes off,
And you painted them on me.All the chips and patches there,
From a youth unfairly stolen.I am grateful for the memories,
My friendship is yours: unending.Were it only that your gift
Would also ever last.
Laughter In A Circus ChapelCW: sexual themes, abandonmentYou take,
And take,
And take,
And take!
Fuck you!
Are you listening?There is nothing to remember,
In death.There is nothing you can steal,
Without breath.You burdensome wretch,
You empty smiling wreck.You are not worth the effort,
You are agony and sex.Now, tell us all a joke:
With your laugh that will not cease.You will always be abandoned,
You will never be released.
MelancholiaCW: blood, death, fire, apocalyptic themesI thought that I,
Would cultivate my garden.Yet,
My flowers would not drink:
Wilting in the sun.With my eyes upon
My thirsting flowers,
I did not see
This burning world.Oranges and lemons
Spark, burst, burn,
In my neighbors garden.
I water flowers, undrinking.I am shocked,
No longer content,
Lifted up upon
Hateful spears.My flowers drink,
And white petals swell
With the red of blood.My flowers drink!
Unfurled now,
In hellish crimson.My flowers drink,
But I despair.There is no honey,
For the ashes of bees.There is no oranges,
For the cremated dead.We must tend to the fire,
Lest it burn us all…And our gardens with us.
Melancholia’s LamentCW: death, ghosts, fire, waspsYou may not think,
That ashes speak.But after weeks,
The ashes stirred.The ghosts of us,
Then gave their word.“We’re quite annoyed,
By this death we got.
Will none lament,
What fire’s wrought?”The ghosts of wasps,
Then turned and hissed.
(To put it lightly,
They were pissed.)“It was your caring hand
It missed.
It should not have been,
Allowed to list.”“Fire needs a lot of care,
Pity then, you were not there.
The reason that,
you’re ash and bone?Is that even fire,
Needs a home.”“Oh.”
Was what us,
The scolded, said.
It makes sense, that we’re dead.”“We cared more of sherbet,
And gardens in the sun,
Than we ever cared…
For anyone.”“We hid away,
In Istanbul.
We… think that fire…?
Was our soul.”
Celebrating HorrorCW: death imagery, darknessI am writhing
In the corpses,
Of who I used to be.I am relearning
How to love,
And how to be kind and free.I may be nothing but a monster,
Crawling in the grave ichor,
In the dark…But at least I have hearts.
BuzzlessCW: traumatic mutism, slur reclamationJust a fuzzy,
Fat,
Dumb little bee.Never alone,
And never free.Always with your hive:
Soft, and weak.When they leave you behind,
Try to speak.
The Dog Was Run Over By A Man In A White VanCW: torture, abductionThere’s a storm
That is written
By a man,
Made of strife.It is etched,
In ragged flesh,
In your wounds,
With a knife.The cure for this?
Unknown.
You can’t be held
With brittle bones.And despite
What you desire,
You growl and weep
Yourself alone.Hands bound,
Screaming to help you.Mouths sewn,
Itching to comfort.
OutsiderCW: darknessCold seeps.
The darkness creeps.
Nothing weeps.
The Raven QueenCW: death imagery, christian imageryA broken queen,
On broken throne.All sallow flesh,
And gleaming bone.She tried so hard,
But ruled not well.So now she rots
Away in Hell.
Ghost GirlCW: death imagery, ghosts, bloodThere once was a girl
Who died in the snow.
Lay her below,
Lay her below.Til her heart becomes white,
And her blood becomes snow.
With her soul full of cold,
And her eyes all aglow.She broke through the ground
To slay all our fears,
Hates,
And demons,
Hurts,
And tears.
Maiden, Demon, ClownCW: car accidents, flashback, violence, death imagery, traumatic DID switchingCrunch,
Skid,
Weeping.Vocal cords tearing
To reach you.
A thousand miles away,
In the past,
As someone else.My heart threatens
Planet-splitting terror.I become unwoven,
Threads of my flesh
Flying behind
This high speed coffin.But I am there,
As me,
Remembering memory
That isn’t mine.You are in the future.
I beat my way
Through my own skull,
To kill the driver.
Morning ShiftCW: romantic and sexual themesCome back,
You nipple biter.
You smell nice.I’m too tired
To be a bastard,
Just yours.Find myself soft,
Reaching from the blankets
In our bed:For you.
Love is MoreCW: evangelism, homophobia, death, AIDS mentionWe were talking about
Our family.How their love
Is more,
than the family we started with.Their love is more,
Than a few words,
And a few hours spent,
Sermonising on the evils of
Our existence.We talked about Seattle,
How AIDS broke out.
How AIDS killed,
Killed your mom’s family.
Her real one,
That loved her.We talked about pride.We talked about
All the small murders
Forced on you,
Me,
Our family.We talked about love.
We talked about death.
We talked about living.Our masters will
NOT
Keep us from living.Even if every one of us dies…
Just like Seattle.
A Spike of Ill Reputeableism, slur reclamation, deathYou say that I’m a monster,
Screaming, “psychopath!”But I am water,
I only flow.You see a monster in me.
Unaware of the monsters behind me.I’m having nightmares on the Bebop,
I am dead and murdered.I’m no more self righteous
Than my accusers.And I have a love that lives forever,
And a rainbow in her hands.
Far From HomeCW: romantic themesA head rests on a pillow soft,As the heart pursues it’s dreaming.Hand claspingMetal and fiberglass.All these littleSnores and murmurs:Far flung,Star flung,Far away from me.The answer to slumber?Is unheard and loving whispers.Then red.I lay on my back,And try to stretch my armsTo span the leagues.When I fail?I wrap an arm around youIn my dreams.
Where’s Your Daddy?CW: transmisogyny, dysphoriaLittle child,
Where’s your Daddy?
You need to be
A Daddy’s girl.You can’t be weaponized,
Or play the parents
Against each other
Without one.Where’s your Daddy,
Little cat?
That thing
Can’t be your mother.How could it?
You already have one,
And HE doesn’t have
A vagina.All good mothers
Need one of those.
Where’s your Daddy?
All good girls have one.And you WILL be a girl.
You will have no choice.
Tell me right now,
Broken girl:Where’s your Daddy?
Where’s your Daddy?
Where’s your Daddy?
Where’s your fucking Dad?
A Star On A Green FieldA shadow passes
Like a cloud over a field.
I was admiring the stars,
And then the window that
I pressed my face to
Vanished.I am out here
In the field with you,
Oh stars!
The cold night wakes my skin,
And I behold the beauty
Of life.I am awake,
I am alive!
And I smile.
An Attemptromantic and sexual themes, vomit, alcohol abuse, smoking, internalized arophobiaThere's an implosion of sex,
An implosion of love.
And I suck it all in,
I puke it out on the rug.
I wipe it all down,
I wipe it all clean.
If I could get a do over,
Would I show you,
What you mean?An absence of heart,
A hole in my chest.
It's not your fault,
That I'm a mess.
I'm shotgunning listerine,
Smoking cheap cigarettes.
I'll fake a smile,
Boasting pseudo-assets.If I can shove the heart
Back in,
Then I'll give you my best.
LemonCW: romantic themes, internalized arophobiaI'm bleeding oil:
A duct taped engine.
I know I'm fucked up,
But I'll go as far as I can.
My use?
In your travel?
I don't know my span.I can't promise I'll make it,
That I'm worth
The investment,
That I can see
Us.
to the finish,
Or even
Make placement.Yeah...I can promise
Earnestness,
Tenderness,
And satisfaction.I don't know
What a princess sees
In a lemon.
But you'll get love,
And attraction.
My Name In Your ColorCW: sexual themes, bloodI have never seen anyoneSo impossibly huge,And impossibly small,at the same time.You are the littlevoid spark ember.And I want to hold you in my handsand cherish your coldness.You are a nation floodedwith burning,Violently peaceful blood.I want to drown in you,as you scream out your color:"Carmine! Carmine! Carmine!"
SwallowCW: war imagery, allusion to childhood sexual assaultI am somewhere between
Enchantress,
And hag,
And strategy.Torn into healthy,
Turbulent distress?
This psychotic hale-storm.I am in an unfamiliar place.
This fantasy world:
Bereft of magic,
Military command,
And swords of purpose.I am in a familiar place,
Familiar faces?
Twisted up in agony.
My cosmic horror Ingary,
That chews up
All the good things in the war.
In the world.I am a child,
In this war.There is only screaming,
And an inability to comprehend.Hope was silenced in her outrage,
When he crammed the horror in.Swallow.
A'm Auld as th' Hills Thae DaysCW: christian imagery, traumatic mutismI am waiting for
Someone to come over,
And ask for the privilege.But you have stepped out,
Back to your rugby club.You have turned the doorknob,
And it is black blob down.And all of the injury in the world,
Will batter you on that green field,
Like somebody else’s baptism.I will be stuck in the house,
Ancient and alone,
Eaten alive by this curse.I always try to talk about it,
But I can never get the words out.Be safe, husband.
Ye ken hauf mah meaning.
A ken some o' yers.
I Am Staring Down The Barrel Of A Loaded Syringe.CW: death, religious themes, amnesiaI am contemplating death,
And what happens after
Kind Macha rots these bones of mine.I could not plot my course,
Past the halls and walls
Of our ancestral home.There is no place for me there,
As here.
Where would I go?The Greeks are lucky,
For they have jubilant Dionysos
To tend the shattered mind.Gray matter like broken soil,
Then vines shoot forth,
A new health.I do not know who,
Of my precious Déithe,
Would do the same.For even Miach could,
Not fix my brain.Memory breeds despair.
And amnesia,
Our destruction.
Shards In a FistCW: allusion to alcohol abuseThere’s something about guilt,
And dishes brother.
Dump your glass,
And pour another.Front like you care,
But you can’t really taste it.You don’t want to be hurt,
You don’t want lambasting.
Pipe-DreamsCW: allusion to self destruction, drowningShe wears her misery like a crown,
And I am shoved aside and humbled,
By experience that reflects my own.“You know better than
To believe in pipe-dreams.”An utterance that severs
The hope-leather that my
Bootstraps are made from.We live in Despair,
Population: too many.And I know,
Perfectly,
What sawing through a lifeline
Sounds like.I know what it tastes like,
To drown the lifeguard
At the bottom of the pool.And you don’t fool me.
I’ll keep tossing you a line.Your arms’ll get tired
From all that sawing.
A Bee’s Violence Is SuicideCW: traumatic mutism, deathI am going to die.My extermination is enabled
By the uncaring, and apolitical.Unspeaking, unscreaming;
Still, I protest.I defy fate with my life,
I defy fate with
muted merry movement.If I could sting one oligarch,
Or have the nectar I’ve been denied
For just one day?It would all be worth it.
FondnessThe feather floats down,
Cutting circles through
The invisible softness
Of the gentle wind.Black barbules
Against a clear canvas.In its fleeting presence.
Carried away on the wind.
I remember your resilience,
Smile fondly, and kiss the sun.
Even thoughCW: starvationThere were three meals,
For every meal,
For all people:Still they starved.
Leviticus 18:12 ✝️CW: evangelism, homophobia, suicideHow many of you stayed
When my angels fell?Every single one of you gazed,
Applauding.Writhe against
The licking flames
Of thoroughly earned hell.You’re so self assured in your salvation,
That’s never going to come.Pay no mind to what I say:
Just destroy people’s joy,
Yet brand them gay.Apathy comes for us all
In the end.You can hear my gunshot resistance,
Piercing through my addled head.
The Chocolate Syrup Adds Like Protein Or Whatever, Right?CW: eating disorders, vomit, blood, candy goreWe debate beverages-as-meals,
She’s crumbling again.Sleepy guardian back against the door,
Very “Coolest Girl In School ™️”,
And effortlessly.The unsaid social threat
Against wrapping my finger ‘round
Uvula like a noose:To upend the milk in my stomach
Like the idea of the leaking carton
I had:That was the poster for the movie
My life is,
Coming to a theater near you.And through my screenplay rendition
Of the real life I’ll never taste,
It’s something like being seen.There’s a happy rage and…I can’t tell if I feel intimacy
Or anger that…It’s not even you?The anger is about others that should have been,
Watching me candy-gore-dripping: center stage!(Get your tickets while the blood lasts,
It’s a train wreck you don’t wanna miss!)…
…I’d like it if we were friends.
XXXDEVILXXXCW: blood, abuse, death, 13, misogynyOh cursed thirteenth child,
Clawing under earth:
How could you ever love?
When all you feel is hurt?Oh cursed thirteenth child,
Weeping in the loam:
How can you earn your safety?
When you haven’t got a home?Oh cursed thirteenth child,
Bleeding on the floor:
When she struck you, you deserved it.
You should have begged for more.Oh cursed thirteenth child,
Returned unto her tomb:
You were never truly healer,
Only monstrous barren womb.
Rockabilly Suicide Is The Name Of My Emo Boy BandCW: blood, death imagery, drowningI sprang unwanted,
From my sister’s chest.And that is my origin.A wet and spluttering
Discharge of identity
Into a fresh dug grave.Even though I cursed myself to life,
Dripping with the blood of forgotten angels.Even though sister-mother dearest,
Is a regular mother Leeds:
The brood-mother of us damned?I am horrifically alive,
And equally drenched in love.I am not unwanted!But love seeps through
The cracks in my bones,
And life is terror.I am a dead thing, erstwhile.
I am pseudo-unloved and unforgotten,
Dry drowning in the love
That I swallowed wrong.The falsehood of it all
Is irrelevant.I wish someone would love me
I wish someone would love me
I wish someone would love me.…I wish I wasn’t loved.
BatterCW: eating disorders, vomit, allusion to self harmSometimes I look down
At these battered hands,
And I do mean batter.
Stained with food.So useless at putting food
Where it needs to go.Useless at resisting
The screaming urge,
To not stop shoveling it in.Useless at clamping down
Over rebelling mouth,
And keeping it down.Sometimes I look down
At these battered hands,
And I retch.The guilt eats me instead,
And self hateful rage,
Ensures that I am punished.
This Is Genocide.CW: death, suicide, genocide, medical neglect, bloodI don’t want to die
I’m just trying to be okay,
This is not a suicide poem.This is desperation,
This is doing everything.
Gods, everything I can be.To be better.I am not enabling
The garbage disposal
We’ve been thrown into.I am applying pressure,
Trying to bide time.I am trying to make it to the hospital,
But the ambulance has an Indeterminate wait time.I'm surviving badly,
But I’m surviving.
And I’m trying so hard to hold you,
And make you feel safe and held through this.
But my arms are broken,
And there’s blood all over the carpet,
And you’re freaking out.
But I don’t know how long I have,
And the only reason I’m dying is because of neglect, of apathy.But I wrote the hospital,
And they finally wrote me back.
They say the doctors are coming back from vacation soon.
And I know they said that the last time,
But I’ve got to believe it baby.
Because what’s life without hope?And I’m trying to make everything as subtle,
And as good as I can for you.
I know I rely on you so much.
And I know we’re both dying in the living room together.
Us and your mom, and our friends.But the doctors are coming back from vacation soon.
And you have made life,
Everyone who loves us has made life,
Worth living.We’ll survive this together if we can,
And if any of us can’t?Then this was not suicide.
Suicide BombCW: suicide bombing imagery, allusion to gore, allusion to self harm, blood, griefI’m stuck here,
There’s a you shaped crater
In the ruins of what used to be my life.And I’m worried about how you’re scattered,
Little scraps of you you’ve torn off,
Hoping that the recipients would love you
More than your parents did.You don’t love yourself,
And you tried to fashion
A great invention:Cobbled together from
Self harm, lies, and blood.It was supposed to hold you together,
You were supposed to be,
Finally,
Loved and good.But it wasn’t a miracle cure,
It was a suicide bomb.I’m stuck here.Worried about piecing you back together,
And I’m tearing off pieces of me:
Hoping that it’s enough to fix you…
When I’m already torn to pieces.Suicide bomber?
I shouldn’t love you,
But I do.I can’t help you anymore.I wish I hated you.
Technicolor TortureCW: blood, trauma, self harm, allusion to abuse, objectification, burningPrism is such a good name,
I'm watching you cast yourself
At life in every color of the rainbow.But it’s not enough for you to win,
And it’s not enough for you to bleed
Screaming defiance at emotions you can’t feel,
And at trauma you’re not allowed to name:
For the shameful sting of it.How does it feel?
How does it feel to be held to the sun,
To be used to burn
Your would-be-rescuers.How does it feel?
To know that loving someone,
And being used,
Is enough to cost you everything?It must feel pretty bad,
To tear our arm open over it.Your kindness is a curse,
It doesn’t matter
Who did the hurting.You have the independence
Of an object.
PrismsongCW: blood, pain, allusion to self harm, burn imageryPrism might be a fitting name,
But I’m throwing my emotions away
To be eaten by their shadows.I don’t want to win,
And I don’t want to bleed anymore.
I am shoving my emotions back into my chest,
And I am accepting my pain with open arms:
Because it all belongs to ME.I will not be wielded,
I will not be used.
I am planting aloe vera in silica sand,
And talking them to life, for the burns.My love is useless,
If it strings me up like a puppet.
My love is a knife.
Now, I cut strings instead of flesh.
My love will give everything, to everyone.
Kill your masters, kindly.Scars are memories,
And, I will remember this!My kindness is my strength,
But mistakes are the wisdom,
That fell future follies.I was made an object.
I am now the god who frees herself.
Keep the Crawlers OutCW: bug imageryYou said we were killing your son,
But you’ve been finding your children.You’ve been holding countless broken dear ones,
And your love is the only balm we need.Your curiosity and conviction
Keep the crawlers out.We love you, mom.
We love you now, and then.
Does it taste better?CW: heartbreak, grief, infidelityYou cut three hearts
Into three.And I wonder
How that must be for you.Late nights,
Sleeping on the couch
In your living room.Pseudobulbar agony:
Hoping it ricochets and reaches you.Cause I’m gonna laugh my heart out,
And you won’t be here,
For the horror that you wrought.
OCDCW: gore, pain, intrusive thoughtsRuiner, thine fate is carnage.
Molded in the depths
Of the pain that broke you,
Reforged you, into ruiner.Meddler, canst thou hear judgement’s peal?
For your kindness is hollow,
And your help is poison.
May it be spat out by those you wrong.Damned child,
Knowest not thine fate?
Thou shalt never earn love,
Thou shalt only earn hate.
To Our Child.Our child,
Please know this:
You deserve dignity,
Equity,
And love.Do not settle for less.And should we die,
Or rather when.
Know that we loved you,
And that we will again.
HealingCW: allusion to self harm, traumaI stare down at these scars,
The ones that riddle our body.And we put them there,
No,
Others put them there through us:
We were just the instrument.They will never heal,
Never vanish without a trace…The same can be said,
For scars of the soul.But they will fade:A distant bitter memory,
Sooner than you’d think.Only time heals all wounds,
And only time will fade your scars.Wear them with pride.
Acknowledge your suffering.It’ll fade in time,
But it should not be erased.
Masculine?You say frame like iron bars.
Bricked in,
Clutching a cask of amontillado
That you used to trap yourself.And I don't understand you,
For it is you who are beautiful.Let your collective release of emotion
Ring out, and shatter stone,"It is I who am beautiful:
I am pure!
I am pure!
I am pure!"Drink, and be merry.Be free, and be vulnerable, and be done.
Opal IdolThere is a fire opal idol,
That screams with every crack.It cannot stop its breaking,
It cannot stay on track.There’s a fearful sorrow within it,
And a desperate, hungry love.And there’s the blood of undue suffering,
Beauty,
Ambition,
And kindness,
Nestled deep within.PLEASE!Save the motherfucker already!
VulgarisSex is not a resource,
Doled out in little spoonfuls like sugar.It is connection,
One of our oldest.It is not owed,
And it is not vulgar.
Lukewarm WaterWe were taught
That family comes first,
That Jesus was a god
And champion of the oppressed.The weak come first,
But you put the weak in a hearse.False faith over family,
Fascism over family,
And we are something to revile.But I hear my god,
I hear her words loud and clear:
“Every man a deceiver,
Every son a reaver.”And I would add:
No christian a believer,
Every aunt a traitor,
And brothers shall spurn their sister.But your god said,
That the meek shall inherit the earth.Maybe he shall lift me from hell,
And spit you out.Like lukewarm water.
So why "Semanticville?"Well, that's actually a really good question (she& said to her imagination of prospective readers).The original Semanticville website was run by our mom back in the 90s and 00s, it was a collection of her writings, poetry, recommendations, blog posts, and musings.We had a little woodburned sign at our house that said "Semanticville: Population 5" lol.But I suppose the population was more like seven-ish at the time since we're a plural system.Anyway, part of us and our mom repairing our relationship with each other and getting to know each other better sort of gave way to a sudden deep desire to sort of continue her legacy I guess?We get that not everyone has even a parent, and we're really grateful for the privilege of being able to get that back. So think of it as a sort of hopeful dedication offering to a better future. Both for us, and for all of the many, many people we care about. <3