#notes app poetry

notes app poetry of things ive been told to try

land of the free a vast expansion, wings stretch and flap pushing forward a journey, cut short sharp pain, life ending pain, blood pooling wings slowing slowing down she went with the culprit a penalty of 6 months, 11 years of crime one year, one hundred thousand dollars one Nation, under God indivisible with Liberty and Justice for All. Avian destruction harsher than the crime of being harmed as a woman, the very symbol of freedom is policed harsher than the stolen freedom of our own bodies criminalized the commissioner becomes the judge, the officer, the guard the father, the brother, the friend. stolen valor, freedom dripping blood spilling pooling at the feet of the one who shot it. A vast expansion, heaven comes down on wings like Eagles. judgement day is here

I genuinely can’t tell if this is good or not Also WHAT?? Grace poetry that isn’t about depression??? Is this legal?

I’m a self proclaimed writer who struggles with words What a pitiful existence that must be, Maybe But what is a farmer than someone who struggles with their hands, their tools What is an artist than someone who struggles with paints and pens, their tools What is a person who does something if they do not struggle with how they do it Content Maybe But I, i do not think I am capable of being Content -April 18th, 2025

i was seven the first time i learned that i was sinful sure, i had the Lord in my heart because we are all Born Sinners damned from the start but i had yet to learn that I was sinful. a mistake something to be tired of. i was found guilty of the crime of existence the age of reason. legality pushed onto me, reason with unreasonable requests, i was seven years old when you first told me that you didn’t love me that i was old enough to know better old enough to be better know better be better be different i was seven years old when i learned the serenity prayer. something i was forced to recite in the face of addicts in the face of their judgement judgement day, something i knew i needed to fear. not for hell, but for the list of atonement i would need to recite to answer for the lies i didn’t tell the violence i didn’t commit i was seven years old when you told me it didn’t matter that i had Jesus in my heart because i didn’t love him enough anyways i didn’t love you enough. i didn’t love enough. i was never enough. i was seven. grubby hands, chubby cheeked, pot bellied seven. one month without my mother. first grade seven. how could i have been anything but a cherub faced child seeking a love i had ripped away from me completely and utterly transformed by loss burnt bridges and ash filled water left me stranded seven years six with her five conscious for my mind learned how to betray itself, stray from the godhead three in one two parents one child— abandoned, alone full of a sin i never could wash away.

the poem that started it all

i was never a poet and the more i write the less poetic it sounds

bus ride home my eyes glittery, the man missing teeth smells of cancer filled vices funny how it comforts me as he takes a seat in front of me i see the greenery in the wind, waving at me all day my eyes are glittery and the world is glittering right back at me acknowledging my existence

Humanity i guess. I am on an four hour train ride home from the best four days of my life and there is a woman in front of me sharing sweets with the person in the seat beside her. I’m fairly sure they do not know each other yet they are laughing like good friends. Two young boys walked carefully past before we began moving, both of them with a box of plants each. They garnered many smiles from the passengers and many blessings for the plants. There’s a young girl, no older than six, playing rock, paper, scissors with that man behind her. He grins at her and she grins back. The women a few rows ahead are avidly talking with the two young men in front of them about Halloween costumes. They are from opposite ends of my state and are holding conversation like they were born beside each other. Whenever an empty seat pops up people are quickly beckoned to ‘come sit down, rest your legs’. Smiles are exchanged and luggage stowed away. A young boy, travelling alone has been tugged under the wing of an old lady. She is making sure that he is fed and has good conversation and gets off the right stop. People are helping eachother put there bags in the overhead, sharing laughter, food and joy. it fills me with so much hope. we will overcome the shit in the world through love and community. be kind. love deeply. and above all, stand with each other. you are not your neighbours enemy. Woke up at my final stop (at this point i had been on buses and trains for nine hours that day) and checked my phone. found this poem? in my notes app. i have no recollection of writing it and thought i would share. (should i post more poetry?)

We’re friends despite who we were as children We grew We knew that one day it might all fade away But we stayed And we grew Together -April 18th, 2025

The only way for me to see stars Is to shut my eyes so hard That when I regain my vision It’s filled with their illusion Is the only way for me to be happy To not see whats right in front of me I wish I was ignorant It’s hard to be ignorant When you’re your own problem I'm the problem -July 14th, 2025

Good Luck I will always take good luck not because I am unconfident, not out of any lack or belief in myself, Because on April 1st we launched to the moon and that day gave us all the luck to see a total eclipse of the sun from the far side of the moon. Because a cell divides and replicates and a nucleus protects the precious cargo that is information and that is such good luck. Because from earth the disc of the moon in the sky is the self same size as the sun and glitters diamonds once in a lifetime when I saw the Great American Eclipse. I will always take good luck because I am here, let my Goldilocks zone expand exponentially, multiplying with every wish: good luck.

The sun hit my window in just the right way And I saw an old man, in his bed he lay dying, and turned to his daughter to say If there’s one thing of me you remember, let it be this Don’t let the days go by, don’t let there be one thing you miss Remember you’re alive, he said, and she sealed the promise with a kiss Suddenly the daughter was old, in this vision of mine And it wasn’t long before she grew tired from time Days, hours, minutes spent to exhaustion, well fine. But I saw her lips tremble and her eyes sag Bones heavy with her promise to dear old dad To stay in constant conscious, living like that had to drag I watched her sit and think, just as I, For a better way to spend her life So that I could hear her answer and make it mine But her answer didn’t come, my vision at an end When I realized I was lost in my imagination again making up sad little stories of dying men I am 23 years old and trying to imitate Wisdom only told after lifetimes, great. All I want is to control my fate None of us know how to live, and I only get one go I fear I won’t do it right, and I won’t know Everything I could have been, all I could have done, though dying without regrets also seems unnatural, I fear I’ll be far too focused on that to find what I’ll hold dear. I still wonder what wisdom the dying man’s daughter couldn’t hear Maybe we need to let some things go, her and I In living like that she lost her life A moment is just a moment, and though I may hold it dear I shouldn’t waste the next one living in fear

Exhausting the Topic And I know it’s still bad because everything I do leads back to thoughts of you. When I write a song I wonder how you’d feel about it. When I daydream of myself becoming famous and playing on a stage to hundreds and thousands, I picture you in the audience, having to witness what I’ve become for yourself and watch you regret ever having broken me. When I wear an outfit that I’m finally so confident in, I imagine you seeing me out in public and realizing what you gave up, only for me to give you the bird and run away laughing with my friends like we’re twelve. I can’t heal because the only motivation I have is for you to see me living my best life and feeling miserable about your own, having lost me. When I cry, I feel you holding me.