just something i wrote for an assignment in 9th grade English. also if you recognize the mitski quote hidden in the poem don't tell my school I plagiarized pretty please
i.
I am to be born anew in ten days.
I can feel it
In my skin.
It pulses under the flesh
Like a river, rushing through my veins.
A change is fast approaching and I am not strong enough to withstand it.
ii.
I am too vulnerable, too fragile to change.
I am one to be crushed under a boot, I cannot endure this change that will come in 9 days' time.
I am afraid.
Afraid.
iii.
My mother changed only weeks ago. She is as young as I soon will be.
Her children, my siblings, are many. I am one in one thousand and I will be lost in a haze of orange when we change. It will be brilliant, it will be,
Fleeting.
Our beauty will last only seconds in the eyes of those who look upon us.
Mother, I am to be young again.
Mother, were you scared? Were you scared mother?
I am scared of the change to come.
iv.
My hunger grows with each passing day, as does my fear.
Some of my siblings have already started to settle. They seek out the places closer to the sky, as if, even in this life before the next, they long to be weightless, held only by the cold wind that I feel on my back.
They do not seem afraid, as I am. They turn their heads to the sky, facing down the wide expanse of blue like the ant faces a hurricane. They do not cower, only waiting for the change they know is coming. They are resilient in ways I am not.
I am not, I am not, I am not.
Please, I am not them, please, I cannot withstand this.
I am afraid, do you hear?
I, who make no sound, am screaming
I am afraid of the change to come.
v.
Today, I reflect.
My life, as short as it is, is coming to an end. In five days, I will become someone else.
In five days, I am to live a new life in a new body.
Mother, you are dying soon. Soon, my new body will replace yours in the kaleidoscope.
Soon, mother, soon. I do not want to leave the ground, I do not want to take flight like I am intended to. Mother, soon, too soon.
vi.
I have begun the change.
Soon, mother. Soon.
ix.
This barrier between me and my new world has begun to crack. I push at the walls of my chrysalis with new arms, new legs.
This new body has not seen the outside world but it is unafraid. How? How did something so sensitive become a rock in a river? I had thought, before my new mind settled in my head, that my fear would remain.
Even if my body had changed, my mind would remain.
But it has not, and I am just like my siblings. Their resilience which I had only witnessed when I had looked into their dark eyes, and seen the look on their faces, has become mine.
Oh mother, is this how you felt? Was I wrong to ask if you were afraid? You were, weren’t you? Just like me, my mother, like me. And like me you weathered your storm, you were born anew and unafraid.
i.
I am different.
I feel it, in a way unlike any other. My body has changed but my mind as well. Before, I was guided by the will to survive. Before, I was not looking to the skies because there was nothing in them for me to look at, but now, now my weary head turns to the sky as almost second nature. It calls to me, to my newborn wings and my young resolve to conquer it.
I am finally living.
Mother, is this what you felt like? Did you live as well?
This change, this change,
I am alive, for the first time, I live.
Oh, mother, I am not afraid. I will face the skies,
Unafraid.
And the wind will push my frail body
but I will not fall, no,
These new wings,
they will take flight and I will rise,
Do you hear? Mother?
I will rise, just like you.
I am born anew.
May 13, 2024
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In threefold lives and twofold tears I hold my breath but I can’t pretend it’s not happening anymore. I keep finding myself saying “we’re graduating” again and again with no intonation because I truly don’t know what to feel. Maybe it’s a manifestation or maybe it’s just a recognition of the eventual, the eventuality of the end of the various hues I’ve been painted with at scad. In my minds eye lives a collage of all of the people whom I’ve cherished for four, (or five years if you count dual enrollment), to say I love them is an egregious understatement. To say I will miss them is simply diminishing an actuality. With me I carry this collage of love it keeps me warm when I am cold, and tender when I am stone. I helped me grow into my bones. Seen me and shone, people I’ve adored. I leave this place adorn with knowledge and love and a want for more. Chest heave practical in armor, holding onto the alternate dream of me, hoping, hoping for an offer, offering a life I am to live, if I just turn and run, if I just turn and run this time, lime green coconut leaves, spotted bedroom sheets, but the change is making me feel like i’ve already tried to hold myself a million little times, I try again, felicity in the way I falter, tell you endlessly, screaming colors of the ocean, push me in I adore it, let me live, I pour it out, strangers color me in the night, pieces of each of our mind, in a way we see each other demise each time, turn in, torn into sequins, sequential nightmares, its going to just end, in a way that I sink through the sun, into I construe again, I was just eighteen when I started this, made some friends I cherish, even, even if I lose them, I’ll still have a memory, of my beloveds smiling back at me, seen me grow, seen me weak, bleeding in through my knees, crying on their shoulders, painful hollow little laughter, walking through a tunnel, holding onto each other, I’ll love them like no other like a dream, no other could it be, in my perfect dream, many lifetimes lived with thee.
May 4, 2025
⭐
As my answer to the two latest posts by @KLORIZZA_XPLAINZ_ALL
(I)
Unsay the pieties. No mother, this.
No altar for your filial tears.
This Earth:
furnace heart, blind alchemist.
Suns to sediment. Silence to screams.
(Value: your brief, fevered invention.)
Did the Permian scream?
Did Chicxulub weep?
Energy. Eruption.
Our equation: more complex. Same indifferent sum.
(II)
Not pathogen.
But Earth's OWN mind, ignited.
A fever-dream of magma, now self-aware.
Cities: new crystals.
Webs: planetary nerve, raw, sparking.
This is not un-nature.
This is nature, waking up inside one of its compounds.
Geode cracked:
not amethyst.
A thinking void.
We are nature run its course.
(III)
Then, the refrain, stage-whispered:
“Oh, the children! Won't somebody PLEASE think of the children!”
Ancient code. Gene-song. Echo-lust.
Not for Earth, this future-fret.
For your own face, reflected.
The planet absorbs suns. And dynasties.
Our care? For our continuance.
This too, this fierce, specific love—
we are nature run its course.
(IV)
Temples to the devoured.
Anthems fueled by the very fire that consumed.
Hypocrisy? Or the engine hum
of consciousness wrestling instinct?
The jaguar: clean kill. No manifesto.
Our shame: a novel organ, grown too large.
Too late.
(V)
The truth: a detonation.
We are nature run its course.
Not its gardeners. Not its curse.
The thinking wildfire.
The accelerated continental plate.
Universe: no ethics. Only transformation.
Our "destruction"—
its metabolic rate.
This experiment in sentience.
Through us.
We are nature run its course.
(VI)
Mother Nature's son, daughter, and other—
you, charting ephemeral borders
under manufactured constellations.
Your kin:
earthquake. Glacier. Virus.
The storm, not the meadow.
The jellyfish, brainless, endures.
Five apocalypses. No future tense.
Our gift, our agony: to know.
And knowing, burn.
(VII)
Earth will take our steel. Our stories.
Grind them to silence.
Not justice. Chemistry.
Time.
The question isn't "save."
The planet saves itself. Or doesn't.
The question is:
a conscious geological force—
what does it do?
The mountain, knowing it is mountain,
and will erode?
No solace from the void.
Only the arena.
Our reign: brief. Incandescent. Terrifying.
Through our eyes, the void, for one breath,
sees.
The next act?
Ours.
(For we are, and can be nothing else but,
nature run its course.)
5d ago
🌾
Soon I'm starting college and leaving my home. My parents, my family, the houses I grew up in, the towns I know, they all will shrink in the rearview as the roads become unfamiliar. Outisde the window, the budding fields will flower, then grow sparse, then livestock will graze until on all sides surrounds a desertscape split by a lonely road.
Im not scared of the sand or what lies at the horizon line. I'm just anxious about meeting this chrysalis. Will I remember the green hue of my catapillar skin? What about the grasses that keep me safe?
I know my childhood isn't lost; the butterfly or moth I become will have the same guts. It's just honestly hard for me to accept how much childhood I've already spent. Hard to lay rest to the virtues and aspirations a young larva once held so tightly.
We're always crysalizing, constantly cocooning; simultaneously one thousand larva one thousand cacoons one thousand moths. I guess I just convinced myself to enjoy it.
May 8, 2025
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something abt zoning out while staring at a lake just hits different
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no idea what sparked this but i just had a random meltdown over baseball. the next note after this one was also abt baseball so i think i was just going thru something
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