I Remember The Day – A Poem About Love, Life, and Loss

This is a poem I began writing a few months ago, and worked on for a while. It was something I’d look at every day for a while, and change ever so slightly. While I’m incapable of ever being completely happy with anything I write, I am quite happy with this.

It’s entirely a work of fiction, a sort of short story in poem form. I don’t really know what my thoughts were when I started writing it, but now it’s a sort of study of the way love changes throughout life, and the way we grow and learn to love differently. Of course, a large portion of it is are things I haven’t experienced, and so I’m only going by observation, but I like to think this is a relatively realistic, although perhaps overly dramatic, kind of life to be led. Who knows? This is a poem, about love, and the different sorts we come across. I hope you enjoy it, even if it is kinda long.

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A Love Letter To My ‘Teen Years

To my teen years,

You are full of emotion. You have been, and you will continue to be, for all the time I have left with you. Emotion of all sorts – good emotion, the positive, happy kind, that fills up your heart with goodness to burst, but also bad emotion – the kind that cuts right through our souls and smiles and leaves marks for years to come, but sometimes just for weeks. There is joy, and excitement, and whimsy, and euphoria, and anger, and sadness, and heartbreak, and loneliness. Because that’s just the way it is, and that’s the way it’s meant to be, because we are people, and this is our youth, and you are our teen years. We love you, and we hate you, and we enjoy you, and we wish that you were over, but ultimately, we’re so grateful for you, and all that you give us.

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Art and Me

Art is a magical, revealing, and highly personal form of expression. What a person makes of a piece of art tells so much about them, and their experiences, and their mind. A piece of art, whichever form it might take, can never mean the same thing to different people, and no two people can ever make the exact same piece of art. Sure, people with similar experiences, similar feelings, and similar thoughts will appreciate art in a more similar way, but it can never be the same. Every human has a slightly different outlook on the world, pieced together, second by second, by all the experiences they have had over their life. This, in my opinion, is what makes something art – the individuality behind its creation and interpretation – the individual beauty that people find in things, maybe that no one else could ever find.

But art is different for everyone, and we all connect differently to different forms of art, to different ways of expressing ourselves. We find it easier to engage with some, and easier to create some, and easier to identify with others.

Here is me, and art. Art and me, and the ways that I choose to create, and feel inspired by.

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These Are Restless Times

A few days ago, I was just going about my daily business, reading posts, listening to music, trying to stop my cat from leaving me, etcetera etcetera. It was a mediocre day, and I was feeling thoroughly mediocre myself. How uninteresting and boring my life seems.
I came across posts about politics, of course. Mainly Trump and his stupid freaking wall. Posts about people’s personal lives – their birthdays and boyfriends and best friends and demons. Posts about projects and things people are doing, challenges they’re undertaking, mistakes they’re making. Posts about life, how to do it and do it well, how to ensure you get good grades and good hair and good everything.
It was all very unremarkable, as I said. Very mediocre.
Not that the posts weren’t great, I’m sure, but nothing really caught my eye, you know? As I said, I was feeling very mediocre.

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