a lil piece in appreciation of one of my fav pieces of poetry

You may tell that German College that their honor comes too late,
But they must not waste repentance on the grizzly savant’s fate.
Though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light;
I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night.

— The Old Astronomer (To His Pupil)

i think its hard to fully comprehend how important the last two lines of this stanza are to me.

obviously, there’s the astronomy aspect, the one supernatural element i cling onto for support and guidance. in the absence of religion, i turn my faith to the slightly more tangible aspect of the world — that of gas and liquid held together by will and gravity. the stars will always hold some sense of awe to me, the comforting notion that i am, and hence my impact is, but a tiny speck with no real consequence and no real finality from a otherworldly perspective.

but other than the obvious astronomy involvement, the duality of the quote — that we love the things other fear, or the things that may eminently or presently hurt us can still be loved anyway — hits me somewhere deep. not gonna lie, i was introduced this quote by a larry stylinson video, but it amazes me how well these two sentence capture the complicated feeling of being closeted and internal homophobia. i have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night? the stars are the love i feel, the quickening of the hummingbird pace of my heart i sense, the involuntary quirk of my cheeks that lift the right side of my lips a tad higher than my resting left, the stars are the valves clamped around my chest, my hindbrain, down deep in the heat of my body, the stars are the catalysts that trigger their united, grasping action. the stars is the joy you feel loving, and being loved. the night is the black, inky mess pressing down on you when someone enquires pressingly about which nice young fella you’re seeing, pressing further and further till your vision is a shade of nothing and your heart is kicking up a desperate panic from being claustrophobic. the night is the sensation of scratchy concrete on your back from being backed and backed and backed into it by society’s touching concerns of why are you still single? let me introduce you to a nice young man, of look at you, with your nice long locks, you have a face too pretty to be wasted! find a partner quick, and procreate. the night is the omnipresent fear that looms large, that makes you make plan upon back up plans in the anxiety shrouded dark. i have lived a life of fear and worry in large part thanks to my sexuality but the mere possibility of feeling the overwhelming encompassing happiness another human being can give me? it makes it all kinda worth it. worth bearing with. i have loved loving you too fondly to be fearful of their judgement, i can say, to a imaginary you with an imaginary face feeling the improbably happiness in the warmths on the tips of my fingers.

and if i don’t end up paired? if i end up untwined, as i am presently, with just me, a job, and a dog on the side? then there will be no need to tell anybody of the stars anyways. there will be no need to hand society the heat-seeking gun with my exact body temperature coded in. i will keep the gem carved knife to myself, hold it close, close to my heart, so no one can take it from where it resides to stab exactly where it resides. i will not give society both the weaponry and the justification to engage it if the stars don’t shine overhead of me. though my soul will set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light.

i don’t know. i have a lot of emotions about this quote. and a lot of emotions about being queer. i guess i wanted to share the love i have for these two beautiful lines somehow somewhere, and this was where.

Masters of War

 

[a/n: wrote this in cca couple of days ago during a writing exercise where we listened to Bob Dylan’s Masters of War and wrote anything we wanted inspo’d by it, so obviously i wrote something completely unrelated to the actual well meant message the song conveyed & instead made it about myself. lel]

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I just want you to know / 
I can see through your masks
it’s this again isn’t it / the game of superior acting / just who will deceive who / and who will receive what

 

 

And you turn and run farther 
/ When the fast bullets fly
if I cajole answers out from you / are those answers well deserved / is that trust well deserved / i know you’re taking a gamble / you’ve never done this before / and I doubt I’m the right person to lead you through this turmoil

 

 

But I see through your eyes / And I see through your brain
a heart is a heart is a heart that wants to be loved / when my words aren’t enough I’ll borrow from the others, alive or dead / it’s easy to get caught up in one’s own art / it’s easier to get caught up in my own heart / so remind me, baby, that one’s willingness to offer affection / should never couple with an assumption for returned warmth

 

 

When the death count gets higher / You hide in your mansion
not sure if I fired the bullet into the ground or if you nudged the gun down / you’re impermeable your face your tears you cry and I will never know why and all these emotions you claim are not yours mystify you’re unreachable you don’t to be reached I need to respect the words you speak

 

 

You are not worth the blood
 / That runs in your veins
false / false / false / I don’t know what things you say to yourself / but if it’s berating / if it’s degrading / its false / false / false

 

 

Even Jesus would never 
/ Forgive what you do
jesus does not like those who are so confident to assume what is not true / which, to be clear, refers to me and not you

 

 

All the money you made 
/ Will never buy back your soul
or so I tell myself / but you have to understand, darling, souls are hard to maintain / money can be placed in banks / the happiness of cold hard cash / while inhumane, is easier to process / how are the giddy emotions of gambling away further happiness for heightened joy presently instead / somehow worth the risk of a future crash

 

 

And I’ll stand on your grave 
/ Til I’m sure that you’re dead
emotions have got to go, man / I would like to file a complaint with god / these hormones, they were an inefficient design / why not make me a robot that would have been easier than all these emotions I possess.

 

[a/n again: not sure what to feel about this piece since overall it’s just rather clumsy both content and form wise. yeAHHH so i took 2 lines of lyrics out of the song (in italics) and extrapolated my own response to it a line below. also yes shush i am aware i did the exact same thing for lanterns although i did use every line of the song for that look this was timed writing and therefore my creativity re: form was limited ok!!! instinctively turned to shitty prose (?) poetry. free verse my one true love. + this was designed to be read out loud? so slam that shit out. ++ pronoun use is a mess ikikik it is also lowkey personal/confessional aiya i’ll tag it as so la]

[SingPoWriMo Days 6] A lil copout

Day 6 Prompt: Write the poem you need to hear/have written for you. (I didn’t manage any of the bonuses, so nada on that front)

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its ok to not know what the fuck you’re doing
that drainage density increases with rainfall yet in the tropics where theres the most
rainfall that shit just doesn’t happen cause trees.
bloody trees.
that when you’re lost and scrambling at your notes for just a strand of sanity
it’s ok to just draw a lil star next to the question
and meet your teacher for tea.

having an angsty day at school?
yeah don’t worry lol me too
but it’s ok if the smile feels strained
when you can’t tell if they can tell that the message your face is sending doesn’t match the one in your brain
“have fun at nrp, have fun at ssef, don’t come back till you win a gdamned prize”
that’s what they hear me say
but “oh dear god, your portfolio must be spotless, what about me, what about mine”
goes the voice in my head i’m quite desperate to hide

i know you don’t want to think these things
neither do i
when genuine happiness for your dearests’ various accomplishments is tainted by
your own brain comparing to your blemishes and stains and cries
but it’s ok to think that you’re blatantly incompetent
as long as you’re not satisfied
cause at least you can try to square your shoulders and furrow your brows and
get that geog assignment done by 5.

[a/n: the most cop outs of cop outs lel just ranting essentially. i was v angsty in school, and doing a really frustrating geography assignment. that all]

lil ranty rhyme-y thing-y

sometimes to make myself feel half decent i’ll tell myself i deserve better. that for some reason despite all of my crookedness i don’t have to deal with the same in others. and that when you jet off yet i linger i can ask myself how is that what i deserve? that i am always the one more eager but everyone has their own different emotions and all of them are just as real as another’s. just because i feel my own the most intimately does not mean that mine’s the only one that matters and i do not think of these things often but yet now i do, yet now i do.

maybe it’s not about due, or being deserving. it’s high time i let go of the comforting notion of karma. regardless of my faults (of which there are many), that doesn’t justify me refusing love just because i don’t think i’m worthy. i don’t have to do this to myself that’s what it boils down to it reduces down to the truth that tears away my self perpetuating berate hitting me with a sign in my face that says “you don’t owe fate anything” and maybe i don’t. maybe i don’t.

a wise man once said that we accept the love we think we deserve but aren’t we such terrible terrible evaluators for our own self worth? isn’t it ridiculous how a quote from a book for a teenaged self still stands true in the face of adulthood? a cheesecake to you might not be a cheesecake to me. then whose words should we believe?

anyways i think i’m just a lil sad and a lot confused. about my arrogance and my shame and me wanting to pave my own lane; fuck fate. about deferring to higher forces and considering if that’s laziness or humility. about preserving pride or happiness, and the strange strange way those two elements intertwine. i’m sick of this. i’m sick of this complexity, of making decisions, of being vulnerable to my very own emotions. is this what being alive feels like? when can i stop lying to myself just to make myself feel better? why does everyone i choose to trust die?

just a lil sad and a lot confused. but what’s new? •u• *shrug*
[a note: i feel uncomfortable calling this a piece or anything! its just me being a lil ranty & this is how i keep my rants from being to aggressive, i guess, i prose poetry the crap outta them. shitty art for shitty emotions, i guess.]

who is your enemy

the ending of poems i did not mean to write

(I WAS GOING SOMEWHERE WITH THOSE OPENING STANZAS, I SWEAR. I JUST DID NOT KNOW WHERE AND SO NOW I AM HERE, A PLACE I DID NOT WANT TO BE, A PLACE I KNOW NAUGHT HOW TO GET OUT OF. SAVE ME. SAVE ME AND MY TERRIBLE ENDINGS.)

i find it hard to enthuse about the current news

title from a poem by ogden nash. highly recommended, btw. also, ranty personal ish blog post ahead haha

i cannot do this. jesus christ it’s 2:38am and i’m reading an nyt article about how trump is doing all these terrible things to sustainable energy and you can’t even talk about it because you’re so tired and they won’t listen so what good does it do. we can be better all we want but one asshole can come and bulldoze all our efforts away and how is that worth it? how is that even— why? is it money? because how much money to you want? how much money to you need to have?

on a separate not jenn ah aiyo i thought we were gonna do this anymore. b i thought we agreed to leave that all behind? yet here you are again. flustered, vulnerable, trusting. you’re so eager for friends on the same wavelength as you. you’re scrabbling for people who have the same (unconventional) values as you. didn’t we talk about this, when we talked about independence? loneliness is the 0 value on a sin graph; we’re gonna encounter it again and again and again. and how are you gonna learn how to deal with that if with each time you just say “it’ll tide over when i find a stopgap”? i’m trying really hard to be more positive about these things. cynicism is fucking tiring, thats what they don’t tell you. is it better than disappointment from hope? idk, & idk if i wanna find out.

can we just hit fast forward and get to the part where everything is comfortable?

here, give me that

[a note: idek what this is. i might brush it up???? i genuinely have no idea what this.]

here, give me that

here, give me that— no, the other one. give me another muse. for there is but myself and another, and the cities that sprawl, and the nature that sings. i wish to see more, feel more, receive more, so that i can devour the words, process the images, digest the colours, and give it back to the world newly arranged and freshly minted. give it back to the world how one’s eye might see it knowing full well that another’s will likely see a wholely different thing.

here, no, give me that— the other one. give me a new perspective, for i have had that of a child, a toddler, and a teenager. for i have had that of a female, an asian, and the other labels society puts on me. for i have had the one these eyes offered me. but give me another, i wish to see these concrete buildings and see beyond that to the flatland it used to be. i wish to see my own wrinkles and shaking hands and judge for myself then if it is as repulsive as i’ve always believed, so i can come back, and tell them, all of them like me, that we were wrong, that we were right, and rightfulness no longer matters, that we should value something else instead. so that i can come back, grown, learned, and eager, to spread.

no, give me that— here, the other one. give me more emotions, for i am sick of the ones i’ve been made to feel. the boredom of time squandered, the urgency of time meant to be better spent, the happiness and sadness so fleeting it is hard to recall just how they have felt ever again. give me a hopefulness so strong no negativity can extinguish it. give me anguish so pressing i cannot tell the left hand from the right one. let me feel all i can feel so i can come back and tell you what it felt truly having lived.

give me that, the other one, here— no, actually, please don’t do that. for life is for us to grasp ourselves, for the joys of fruitation will not be as sweet have they been handed instead of pursued. for life is, after all, just a series of tries. then because we will, we must.

[end notes: completely unintentionally, this mess of a piece has the same ending as lanterns, the one before it, except lanterns was about how necessity spurs will and this mess ends the other way round. lel idk I HATE ENDINGS OH MY GOD]

what burns colours into you?

i have never felt less alive. i am a mockery of who i aspire to be. routine is comforting and great and all, but routine from mindlessness is absolutely stifling. i have never felt less engaged with all that i love- i have not seen art in so long, i have not sat through a hockey game in the longest of times, i have not discovered new music , i have not unearthed new creators, and instead i reread books i’ve read before in a desperate bid to find comfort and emotion. i have not written or created in so, so long. my mary oliver book is overdue because i have yet to find the energy to finish it, yet i refuse to return it unread, for that surely is a sign of defeat. a definite sign that paints out loud and clear: i no longer have time for art in this shadow of a life i have.

this mindless shuffle for greater achievements is unbecoming. this withdrawal from activities that stimulate you is embarrassing.

godamnit, jenn