#ourpoetry — Public Fediverse posts

MY BLOG! IT LIVES!!

Have this performance of “Hurricane Lazarus” from Poet’s Monday this week to celebrate:

-Allēna

prompt: royal purple reflections

they say tyrian purple is the noblest burial shroud
but I am not noble, nor is anything I have done
so cover me in cornflower blue and fuchsia
after casting me into the flame –
do not sanitize me by simply

calling me a queen
or a conquering hero, save your pedestals
for a less complicated man with fewer ways
to him, bestow your blossoms upon a son
more fortunate than I

instead of rendering my life a clean, monolithic stroke of heather gray, give me what I’ve always
wanted – know me for all my flaws
for all my ugly sides that never caught the
light quite well enough to photograph

know who I was beyond what I offered you
what I made, know me when I bent,
when I broke at half-right angles,
know the loves that haunted endless 2 AMs
know what made me explode, twisted glass pane

was I, on days when I woke up and wrote about the juicy plum afterlife that was always
close enough to almost taste, know what blessings I ate, not just the sins, know the kings
I broke, not just the kings I made

and know that I bled crimson into the dirt
and into the lake in the process of building
my own once and future lavender throne
not blue – no amount of my father’s blessèd
lunatic foresight and stubbornness could make me

anything more or less than human
anything more or less than flawed
anything more or less than myself
no matter what I did
no matter who I would move into position

-Allēna 7/19/2026

I had my feature at Showcase Onstage today!

It was fucking insaaaaane. I did “guernica I and II” from memory and “A Weapon” and “To Dance With A Cyclone” (also from memory), and then closed out with “hurricane lazarus”, which seems to be my signature piece.

I only posted “to dance with a cyclone” so far, because I started to get a really bad headache and I think I almost passed out during the performance because I went so damn hard.

It is time to crash and do similar things tomorrow.

-Allēna

It is storming outside and Emerson taught me how to play dominos today.

It was pretty fun although he kicked my ass.

I also saw this prompt about small spells to do on your birthday, and half of an enormous poem formed in my head while I was taking my 30 minutes of boredom based on the suggestion to write a letter to yourself a year ago even though it isn’t my birthday. So I’m going to post it here for posterity’s sake.

“annus epilepticus”

you don't know this yet
but the premonitions you've been having of
your own death are true
and a mere few weeks past your 28th birthday 
you will die - just enough - to touch the 
robe of any god you know 
when the subtle fire you've always been 
strikes you back 
and strikes you back again 

you will hang on for just long enough 
for your kind partner to burst into the room
cradle you in his arms 
and guide you, screaming in mortal terror, back into the light 

you have never been good at dying 
but this will take you a hair’s breadth from death
and you will bear the scars on your temporal lobe 
(and speech pattern) long afterwards to prove it

and whether it is by fate or some wild magic 
this will save your life in more ways than you will
know 

for most of July, you will not be able to speak
coherently. you will eventually choke out 
your suspicion that the seizures induced 
Wernicke's aphasia, and everyone who knows 
you will agree with you, a cruel fate for 
you, but more importantly, you will come back…
changed. 

you will start writing better poetry. something 
about the way your brain burned and cracked 
will allow you to see things from a different angle,
to look askance at language in a way you 
never did before. 
the partner that saved your life will convince you 
to start attending a poetry workshop held in a coffeeshop that july. the rhythm of writing and 
performing regularly amongst very talented 
wordsmiths will help break you out of your 
agoraphobia. 
one of them will take notice of the way you
perform, noting its similarity
to Shakespearean acting and encourage you to attend the open mic he runs. 
so you start performing at Linneman's Riverwest Inn again for the first time since 2023 at his 
personal request. 

you will somehow muddle through your divorce 
proceedings on july 23, five years and 13 days 
since leaving your ex husband, and it's a miracle 
you will be able to do that since even getting 
out of bed to use the bathroom still feels like running a marathon, but you're so hell-bound 
and determined to get rid of this man that 
when the judge asks if the marriage fell apart 
due to incompatibility of temperament, you will 
shout ABSOLUTELY loud and clear as day into
the microphone. (you will also show up hours 
early to the hearing. you don't want to miss this
for the world.) when your ex husband replies, it's the most defeated you will ever hear him. 
spite has always been your strong suit. 
the judge will finalize your divorce, and 
then the question arises of who you will
marry next. 

you will leave the answer up to the two people 
you consider yourself married to 
already, a man who cannot lie 
and a boy who cannot tell the truth. 
in a rare show of generosity, the liar boy
will concede to the honest man. 
he will live to regret that decision. you, however,
will not. 

as the months progress, it will become increasingly clear that despite your love 
for him, your relationship with the liar is built 
on sand. surviving your seizures will leave 
you with a new perspective on life and 
precious little patience for wasted time or 
undue stress, and the liar will waste your time
and mess with your head. 
you will tell him he is killing you. he displays no 
remorse. you will scream, beg, plead, and stop 
short of borrowing and stealing to get him to
listen. 
despite his damn near single-minded obsession 
with you that will make you feel like you're
emotionally his hostage, he will not care about
the affect he's having on your other relationships 
or your well being. 

one very early fall morning, after you've spent the 
entire night in the emergency room with him and 
your fiancé, “heat above” by greta van fleet will 
come on. your fiancé will remark that it feels as though you are driving into a different 
timeline as dawn breaks. you, spiritual and full of subtle fire as ever, will respond that you feel it, too. your liar will 
say nothing. 

finally, in november, after 
months of suspicion that he's cheating on you (despite being polyamorous!) 
he will get sloppy and you'll catch him when he
forgets to turn his location off. 
this is your red line and you will dump him over it. 
to add insult to injury, he will tell you you're 
overreacting. 
you will know better than that by now. 

despite your heartbreak, you will feel more 
free after leaving him than you have in months. 
you will compile a dossier of evidence against him
and publish it to the world. 
this is when the mask and gloves come off and it 
will spark
a months long battle of he-said-she said online. 
he will slander both you and your future husband. 
you will have even fewer regrets about leaving 
him. 

one of the final acts you will do before moving 
out from the apartment you and your fiancé share with your liar
is a manifestation ritual that will make you feel 
powerful beyond imagining - you will gaze into 
a mirror with your future husband while “heat above” plays in the background. you will picture yourself in red sunglasses driving down water street with more money and fame
 than sense, husband 
next to you. you pass your former lying flame on 
the street, roll down your window, wave to him like a queen, and ride on 
as if he had never meant a thing to you in the 
first place. 

you will choose “heat above” as the song for your
intentions for the year to come after how that ritual made you 
feel. 

on January 5th, you will feature at Linneman's, your poetic home. 
you will write a brilliant bespoke set for the 
occasion, combining music, poetry, and 
references to shakespeare at the 
host’s request. the audience is small, but they are
so engaged that they offer you a standing ovation at the end.
you have nothing prepared for an encore, so you
will offer them a story about your eccentric 
great uncle. 
it will go over the time limit, but not a soul will 
care. 

you will marry your husband on January 23rd in the 
same coffeeshop that helped you work through 
your agoraphobia. the wedding will be incredibly 
small, but it will be the finest wedding either of 
you have ever attended. the poet who runs 
the workshop that got you writing again will 
write a special poem for the ceremony. 
your friend and frequent collaborator will travel
all the way from Madison to attend. your 
husband's best man will travel all the way from
iowa. your “gentleman of debauchery”, as they are called, is your dear friend who you will 
date a few months later. 

you will wake up the next day in the fabulous 
hotel that your best man and 
a friend of yours who you met 
by chance arranged for you and your husband 
to find that one of the videos you posted from 
the wedding is going viral on instagram. 
it is your first look video, and no one, friend or foe, 
will quite know what to make of it. 
within days, it will amass millions of views.
you will keep posting. 

you will start to get inundated with direct messages from people who are fascinated with 
your body after you get an idea to post videos of
yourself in lingerie that your husband found 
for you at a clothing swap, and because you are
struggling financially, you will decide to start talking 
about your Patreon more. 
to no one’s surprise but your foes, you will get 
subscribers, enough to make hundreds of dollars 
in the first two months you talk about it. 
in the meantime, you will keep going viral. 

a few weeks before your next birthday, on 
your regularly scheduled Internet travels, 
you will come across a creator who found out 
that she copes with mast cell activation syndrome 
and that she has been taking H1 and H2 inhibitors 
for it. you will tell your husband what you saw, and seeing as you've already been taking H1 
inhibitors for some time, he will find you H2 inhibitors. 
you will take them as an experiment, and the 
difference is like night and day. you will feel as 
though you are emerging from a decade in a 
long, dark cave. 

the change will frighten you. 
you will keep going anyway. 

you don't know it yet, but despite everything - 
you will do more than your best this year. 

Allēna 6/5/2026

“digital immortality”

25 people with more money than sense
are trying to ascend to godhood again
and we, the other 99%, dare them to do it –

in the same week that a
man in ontario, california sets fire
to his workplace screaming “you could have
paid us a living wage”

(careful,
he’s a hero)

we will all have bread & roses when you
upload yourselves to your digital heavens
to preside over an eternity of ozymandian
digital sand

we will feast on the grapes of wrath you
kept from us when you hang yourself
by a noose of your own hubris

may your wait-list be short
and your eternity be long
and ultimately fruitless

-Allēna

4/11/2026

“a beginner’s guide to splitting your brain”

when I said you’d be the death of me,
I was being literal. the left side of me is
a ghost, wrath kept it in the divorce
twenty eight years ago
when I was too young and stupid
to know what a prenup was
and I’ve been giving away pieces of me
since
when I promised you my hand, I was being
literal
keep it, preserve it in any way you want
after I am gone
whether you wear my bones as a talisman
to remember me, half dead haunted pipe organ courtesan assassin
or calcify it
like percy bysshe’s heart
to remember me by
when my time bomb mind decides to explode
and you outpace me on this race to the edge

when I said you’d be the death of me, I was
being literal. the two halves of my body
run on syncopated time
an unexpected eighth note in my limp
when my left foot drags behind my right
an odd time in my step
my right hand moving my left in time when
it balls up and refuses to obey any longer
even my brain has changed shape from
the stress of it all that I once called the thrill
but gods’ honest truth is that I think it’s
slowly killing me although I breathe for it
and I don’t remember how I got the will
to stay alive
I am no more god than ozymandias but I am
by no means fragile
I can and would walk  through a hurricane and dance barefoot on sea glass to have you
believe I love you and know I mean it
and even though the spring sun may singe
the skin of this transmasculine tragedian
troubadour
it will take far more than heat and pressure to break me

and when I am gone, remember me as
a mountain of madness
remember me as a three legged hare who
decided to roar
remember me as one who fought for you
fought with you, fought death, did not go gentle
became the whirlwind, became the lightning,
and was the one that the lightning struck back.
remember me as the human unchained
the one who walks free
remember me as the one who shot the moon
and took the stars and brought them down for you
remember me as a hurricane, the madwoman
in the attic, the singer of morning
molten golden light,
the one in the ring who feared not the brave pain
and stood tall and bellowed at two generations of fire anyway,
the conjurer of shape and smoke
and color, the one who dared to split my mind
to walk in tragedy
to write my own eulogy
and take up fucking space anyway
remember me while I am here
remember me now
remember the life of me
while I still breathe

I’ve been going pretty much nonstop today, but..

I got reunited with the short sword from Emerson’s and my wedding and obtained a tiara!!!

This photo was taken of me at Linneman’s tonight:

I would describe this aesthetic as “Galadriel if she had decided to marry Sauron, but had eventually gotten tired of his conniving ass, gutted him in the divorce proceedings, and taken the One Ring and the prettiest parts of Middle Earth in the aftermath of waxing his ass in court” lol.

-Allēna

Eight wrote this in 2022.

it’s images like this i’d live and die for 
kept securely within my chest, 
a less piercing form of homesickness 
more beautiful - 
you aren’t here and yet i feel - and i want you -
as if you were in the next room 

it’s been years and i am just now telling you 
things that i, before, kept lodged in my throat 
it scares me still but i want you to know 
the same way i did that way in july when i first 
overcame my fear 
so let me find words for the finest kind 
of golden hour within my mind - 

you call me a hurricane, a sea
but what if, for a moment, i was still, 
held, wrists in your hands 
above my head?
i am all angles and curves in all the wrong places 
hard-edged everywhere i should be soft
eyes too dark to be this light 
but what if i was beautiful, something close to gentle,
then, there, to you?
i’ve spent my life as soon as i could 
running, but what if, for once, 
i didn’t want to flee, 
held fast in that early morning light?
then at last, desperation could go unspoken, 
but be known and seen and felt… 

I woke up and I had to type this out before I lost it.

I look at the fireworks show that has become 
of my life and call each spark and sparkle
something different, divorced from me
as if I were watching the show on a field 
on the 4th of July 
and it isn't my own life that keeps exploding - 

~this came to me in a dream 

Mk and I are going to be doing another joint reading!

This time it will be in my Discord server, the opensorceryy club.

It’s on March 31 at 8PM and I hope I see y’all there 💛 mk will be reading selections from its recently published chapbook, Different With Him, and I will be reading some very queer pieces from my most recent zine, Fear Not The Brave Pain, and beyond.

I’m stoked.

-Allēna

I performed “thirsty ghost” tonight at Linneman’s.

https://www.instagram.com/reel/DV-AgctgB8z/?igsh=bHpmejc4OW12dzR2

-Allēna

“still life (2019)”

“untitled still life (2019)” 

I don't want to give names
to your fistfuls of hollow 
coffee cup still half full, overturned
baroque broken words, reaching for something
that forever seems older 
than you or I in every language 
well run dry, and yet 
despite yourself 
each moment in atemporal space
teeming with life

when we met, I 
wanted to drink myself into the ground,
an inelegant death like hemingway perhaps 
after bleeding worlds onto ten thousand pages
inspired by black coffee and gin 
I'm sober now and you're still empty glasses, 
the smell of pages, wine
and cigarettes after two years of silence 
I can still vanish into the liquor darkness of you
without ever tasting a drop
I don't want to die anymore 
(most days) 
and perhaps I am a fool
for wandering through your still life fortress of 
melancholy 

but you keep coming back to me, 
three hundred year old moment 
or perhaps you are a memory 
I've never been good at untangling how I feel
and some days I feel like I am made of iron
but today I feel like nothing more than glass - 


Allēna 3/1/2026 

I have no idea what to call this, but here you go.

january ejected me into this new life
feet first, cords that I tried to cut wrapped thrice round
my throat
choking me
I work myself to the bone to make the best of
this breech rebirth but there’s still all this wrath
that I cannot shake
you tell me to let it go but it’s seared into my
bones, it’s what keeps me going
I have nothing else left to give
january, you are a cruel mother
and I am exhausted from pushing myself
through your days
once more unto the breach

-Allēna 1/20/2026

“supplication”

you have taken the world that I was
and left me empty 
craving 
longing
is there anything that I can use to fill the chasm 
on the side of the bed where you once slept 

I stumble home 
if I can even still call it that 
for in the taking, you 
took more than just yourself 
you took everything that meant something to me
from this space and left it ruined 
just like me 

now even the flies are starving

sobs wrack my threadbare chest 
everyone that I once knew is turning
away from me and into their own personal 
darkness, tired
can you come back and give me anything 
even undo me again
please 

-Allēna 1/11/2026

I performed at Linneman’s last night and it went phenomenally!

I was so scared before and after that my chest felt like it had been hit with a frying pan, though..

-Allēna

A more radio friendly version of my piece “Peak Milwaukee Queer Culture” played on Riverwest Radio today!

You can listen to the episode here.

-Allēna

We wrote object poems in workshop today.

faceless blessings in disguise 
looking askance at gift horses
with bejeweled eyes
are they empty or full to the brim
do I hoard them 
or do I give them away 
is it finally my time to come out of hiding
after all the time that was stolen from me 
this little thing is winking at me offscreen 
I think it's telling me everything is gonna be alright 
but that's what they said before 
and if I stuck them in a lineup their dead eyes would all glint the same 
people told me when I 
got up from the piano bench that fame 
would be inevitable 
I was always going to be someone 
I was always going to do something 
(as if I wasn't already a gift)
time after time I tried to run 
time after time I tried to just be 
dissolve into winter nights and simply be 
unremarkable with the man I swore I had chosen 
but what I know of myself is in the doing 
all I know of myself is in what I choose to give
away 
I let the rest of myself die 
collapsed into dead star self hatred 
lost somewhere deep in kaleidoscopic shadow 

-Allēna 12/21/2025

Well, I TRIED to perform at a domestic violence spoken word event my friend organized today.

But I got so fuckin triggered that I couldn’t do it, which honestly says a lot about how effective the writers and organizer were, and ended up eating my favorite Milwaukee comfort food, Mad Chicken, instead. Emerson was also a phenomenal comfort.

-Allēna

This is called “Fibonacci’s Spiral”.

Allēna wrote it today.

-Ashley (they/he)

#goldenratio #math #ourpoetry

“18”

about our experiences at St. John’s College in Annapolis, MD

I was only 18 when you lost me 
it was more than just a flesh wound 
I had just lost my father, it was second semester 
and everyone there was different, more liberal or
left leaning than me 
alcoholics alone in their dorms, trying to wash 
away their sins and praying for whiskey and the pulsing of drums to absolve them. 

they talked about God as though he were just 
another thing to dismantle, unfathomable to 
my sheltered, rubbed raw mind 
and you dashed me open like I was an egg, 
forgotten and left over after breakfast, 
carelessly tossed over the railing 
you mishandled all of me 
when my friends told you that the same boy
who'd used me up with empty promises 
and then discarded me like I was nothing 
had done it to at least 4 other women, 
you did nothing, only sat there on your pedestal
on your impenetrable hill, and allowed him to 
continue. 
I learned about it all and I never forgave you
and I wanted to kill him. 
I was only 18. 

I was only 18 when I became a corporeal ghost
barely breathing 
barely eating, barely getting out of bed 
haunted by the boy who'd raped me 
haunted by my father's death 
haunted by the fact that you'd still allow him 
to share these halls with my friends. 
haunted by the gaping void my life had become
see, my friends talked about God and saints
like they were dead. Little did they know that 
I was becoming one of the bodies. all because you refused 
to listen. 
I was only 18. 

I was only 18 when you saw me slipping away 
and still you demanded more, more blood from 
an already fragile stone. all the help you gave 
only made it worse. 
I'm still finding pieces of myself in the dark 10
years later. I still grieve for all the time I lost. 
how foolish of me to think that this was home. 
how could I have known any better? 
I was, after all, only 18...

-Allēna 12/7/2025

#coercion #cptsd #dvsurvivor #MarylandCollege #ourpoetry #stjohnscollegeannapolis

I wrote this today. It’s called “why I love you”.

you asked me once 
suspended over a chasm of grief 
why I loved you 
I couldn't string the words around you to tell you then
so I shall attempt to tell you now 

you are a lavender field 
earth still wet from spring rain
and loving you is learning to dance again 
hair still wet through the rows of flowers on 
these crippled legs 
no matter how long it takes to get the steps right
no matter how long it takes to move without falling 
you are a game of chance 
and loving you is taking the tenderest risk I've 
ever known 
loving you is lilac, pale blue, and gold like the 
subtle ring around your irises when you look at 
me

loving you is slow mornings and evenings that 
always seem to go too fast 
loving you is enough memories to fill a Martian 
year and enough emotion to fill an entire planet 
loving you is savoring 1001 days and nights 
for all they're worth and never, ever taking each 
other for granted
loving you is allowing myself to be broken open
and reborn, again and again 
loving you is allowing you to do the same 
and loving you is meeting the people you love 
(because it's never just been us against 
this crazy world)
and finding that I trust you even more after doing 
so because they're some of the finest people 
I've ever known 

you are multiverses 
you are adventure 
you are passion and fire 
you are the ripple of time dancing 
you are everything and nothing at once 
loving you is learning to hold all of that
in a single touch (and God does it feel so good) 
I bet everything I had and then some on you
because the moment I saw you, I knew I was 
yours 
and I would fucking do it again in a heartbeat 
that is why I love you. 
-Allēna 12/1/2025

#emerson #lovePoem #ourpoetry

Allēna performed a very vulnerable piece tonight at Poet’s Monday.

This is called “body politics.” Here is the performance.

https://www.instagram.com/reel/DRdp_4VCQts/?igsh=MWdkYnRmM2prZHMxMg==

-Australis, he/him, hello, I’m new.

#ourpoetry #queerpoet #transpoet #transpoetry

OUR LINNEMAN’S FEATURE HAS BEEN ANNOUNCED ON THEIR WEBSITE!

We’re going to be featured at Poet’s Monday on January 5th. We’re going to be the first feature of the year! See more details here. -Peri

#feature #ourpoetry

This is a new poem called “your god is a boning knife” about my time in the Mormon Church.

the god of your dreaming world is a boning knife
made to pry black from white
good from evil, the same from the other
the wheat from the chaff
you’ve made the sacred into a weapon, a tool
and reality into delusion

the god of your dreaming world is a crowbar
made to pry denial from the self
love from fear (to you, they are one and the
same)
blood from stones, beauty from ashes
until the souls you’ve carved in the name of
perfection, divine judgment, are not souls anymore
they are vessels for your unholy scripture
and their too perfect smiles don’t look
joyful to me anymore
they look like silent screams

the god of your dreaming world is a club
you use words to bludgeon when you can
no longer pry
slow violence and promises of an unsafe world
outside of these walls to
keep followers in line
you’ve made faith into such a violent thing
I never want to touch it again for fear of holding
the same weapons you used against me

the god of your dreaming world is a noose
and I am still suspended upside down by my
left ankle when I sleep sometimes all these years
later
as the blood rushes to my head I wonder what I
did to deserve this, how I fell for this
as I scream for someone to cut me down

I got out from under the shadow of your god
just barely
I am not perfect, I don’t want your vision
you will not pry anything else from me

-Peri 11/18/2025

#exMormon2 #ourpoetry

untitled 11/16/2025

the wind in the trees outside my window
sounds like waves
and occasionally I get a scent that takes me back
before four unhappy new years wore me down
I am less agoraphobic now
but this smell is fall’s last breath as it
collapses into winter
and I collapsed then, too
I thought I’d seen the last of me
I tried to warn you in songs that were everything short of a scream
when nothing else seemed to make sense to you
sparse like the first weekend of a midwestern
december
(just as cold as you became)
(black ice dead eyes and all)
and failing that, I vanished
into the empty western sky

but once it looked like I could be happy
once it looked like I could have it all
you chased me through the autumns, the winters
and the years as if none of what you’d done
to me before mattered
over and over and over again
I never understood it
why was I so important
and ultimately
why do you pursue a vision of me
that was never real at all

-Allēna

#ourpoetry

I pitched an idea for a spring themed multimedia show to a shop and studio here in town in March or April. They say they’ll get back to me next week.

If this goes well, I want to do it again. I think I’m going to put it together regardless, though.

-Allēna

#ourart #ourmusic #ourpoetry

This was the result of a very special workshop on ekphrastic poetry today.

I am a sorceress, twice in exile –
they claim my magic is merely madness, but
those with the eyes to see know better
I am the voiceless breaker of curses, until now
bearer of grief no one knows about
I am no one’s prisoner anymore

to know myself is to know my power
to know myself is the key to my freedom
I have all that I need
there is an embarrassment of riches in my heart
and though you may not like what you see
you might be shocked by it
terrified by it
I have looked within so I can look without
I see you for all that you are now
and you hold no charm for me
I am made of night and waves and song
water and air, wrath and lightning
while you are made of nothingness
I do not need you, you need me
you will no longer have my pain

so here I go, I’ve broken my chains
and the ties that bind me
and I take my first steps into the dawn and
the red world

~”the sorceress”, after breaking the vicious circle by remedios varo, written by Allēna 11/9/2025

#ekphrasticpoetry #ourpoetry #poetryWorkshop

I rustle through the carpet of leaves as patterns of thought overwrite family history. Unrevealed volitions rise from chthonic depths of spirit as the ungrateful son I never was becomes the daughter of Gaya I am.

-
#WritingCommunity
#PennedReveries #OurPoetry #vss365 #FoxProse #BlueSkyRelay

@writingcommunity @vss365 @poetry

I found this gem from 9/20/2022 in our Google Drive.

I am longing for longing’s sake
I’ve struggled to let my heart want
what it wants for so long that I’m going to
let whatever haunts it haunt me.
And fuck, I want so much. 

there’s a man back east
mysterious and strange
fascinated by everything
I think he may have been thirteen the
first time I met Death
I want nothing less than his mind
but I want nothing more
and I think I’m fine with that.

There’s a woman in a hypothetical west
with slender hands and tapering fingers
come here? I ask her
and she walks through rooms older
than both of us combined
she walks home, despite the fear
through the years
she walks home
to me

I want afternoons and gold dust evenings
I want to let the world enchant me again
one song at a time
I want to be enthralled with what I have
and what I will have
and what I will lose
The world is not a dead place.
It is not made up of stark black and white.
I may be tired but Death has yet to find me
again
Until then, I make my way home
I will do what the man in the east did
what the woman in the west will do
And become fascinated with everything
again.

-Castor

#ourpoetry

We did blackout poetry in workshop today. This is what I came up with:

-Allēna

#blackoutPoetry #KingLear #ourPoetry #shakespeare

Ooops, I had more spoons than previously thought.. And made a zine.

If you want your own copy of it, it’s over here 💛

If you relate, you have my condolences. This is a sad one.

-Lazarus

#actuallyAuDHD #ActuallyAutistic #contemplation #isolation #Loneliness #OurArt #ourpoetry #sadness #spilledink #thoughts #trauma #zine