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Fae

A Fae Poet's Poetry

16 posts in this topic

So I have several books worth of poetry that haven't made it online quite yet and in my slowly sinking mood and morale I thought that it would be a complete shame to never share what I hold as my greatest gift and the reason I valiantly hold onto my namesake. 

Each piece posted will have it's own post and as I fill this space, I'll be creating a table of contents. 
As a fair warning (and necessary piece of information) 90-95% of my poetic work is meant for audible production. I'm a slam/performance poet by practiced part-time trade and each piece gains a bit more... Oomph when read. If I ever have the time to record these pieces proper I'll update links for listening. 

Feel free to comment question, prod, and poke. I'm seemingly here on Valucre most of the day anyways >~<


And as a fun little tidbit to start this all off, Devin, my name, is traditionally an Irish Gaelic name that translates literally to "Poet." Everytime I hear or say my name it's a reaffirmation of what I never thought I'd be capable of. 

 

Urzamax likes this

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A Poem Written
Filtered Through Circumstance


Unfilter your intentions, discuss others mentioned, break the mold of hesitation. 
You are a loving lesson, bold and bearing weight often heavy, the heading of a gorgeous gift in the making,
Staking ones life on the next poetry piece written, smitten with the ideas of a thousand other thinkings, I'm on the brink of madness, a dash of sass and determination, frusteration because you see the things I wish I could honestly believe.
This reprieve beneath me is falling from a height belonging to heaven alone, this home, this heart, this hearth full of passion brilliant and indicisive is like a wildfire untamed and out of control, it has powers beyond the ones you gave it to own. 
We are all so fragile, so wholly faulty, broken goods gaining value at an unusual rate, irrate in our own inexperience because society says we ought to have the world and more. 
Besides all the anger and sorrow, besides all the disappointment and damning assertations, we are all so bright and brilliant, a million views culminating in life external, eternal emotions overflowing and drowned in the oceans of our own denial. 
We tell our young that they can achieve greatness only if they truly try... All along cursing this life because it's a brazen direct and dutiful lie, surprised that we've grown comfortable in our own complacancy, so shakenly shifted from fighters to failures, workers carrying those with personality on exhausted knees.
I aim to please my superiors and my elders and myself, claiming that wealth and power is what I ought to be shooting for, the target indescript, steady so I'm less likely to miss, it's a game where skill is only a sliver of belonging to all of.., This.
This hollow place full of words and feelings, reeling from the stability of times you're loathe to dream, reality converging and feeding on the bones of heroes you never knew existed.

Renny likes this

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Faceless Fourth

5 months of missing your insecurity, your lovely blue eyes, yout tender touch and loving smile, it’s been one hell of a while. Another eternity and I may forget, may forgive myself for letting you pass in your state of emptiness, your depression and suicide no longer crowding my dreams and waking nightmares.

Maybe the insomnia will pass, maybe I’ll learn to move on, to put my toes in the waves of warmth embrace. Maybe I’ll love you all the same but be able to give myself peace in your meaning. Your selfish death has become my importance, my goals and frank and fevered fears, your tears could never have been wiped away and you knew it all along, knew the sirens song of wailing withered wisdom would fall flat on deaf ears, only because you never gave me the chance to hear you speak.

You were taken away and I’ve spent countless moments wondering if anything could ever change, if I could ever save you, could ever brave your depths of despair, could ever bring light the way you did for me... Your ghost isn’t welcome here, doesn’t belong in my thoughts, couldn’t cause me to crave anything but solemn cinders of a heart no longer beating and I can’t begin to explain what sort of loathing I’ve come to own in your lacking existence, your persistence to call me a coward and a cunt, a fight I never saw coming and an end I wouldn’t wish on those I hate the most…

I’m angry and lost, finding that I’m afraid of being loved and loving in return. My heart is no longer home and I’ve come to face regret head on and wholesome. I deserve better than what you gave me and in the end… In the friend and family I lost to a bitter twist of fate.

I want to welcome healing. I’d love to herald a hearth less inclined to burnt out embers of a fire snuffed out and more to the heat of healthy thoughts and mannerisms. I’m conflicted.. Guilty yet full of pride, weak and wilted yet full of fearsome plans of change, I’m a mess yet as stable as one could wish to be where I am in this time and space.

I don’t understand. What you did wasn’t fair… And I miss you. I miss you for all the things you promised and never gave. You took my sanity and left me waiting for things that couldn’t ever be and I’ve become… Hollow. Empty. Listless and afraid.

Why do I feel so strong when every time I close my eyes I see your grave, a stark reminder that you are long gone and I am still alive. I am still here, breathing ragged and baring teeth sharp and dangerous. I’m alone with the ghost of your intent, haunted by the hope that you shared with me in warm embrace… “Keep fighting, keep living, keep being the person I came to love… Beautiful in all your fractured facings.”

You were so selfish… Holding me in your arms and wanting all that I’d fought for. And I was so smitten, longing for nothing more than the reassurance that you believed in me.

Weather the lost and lonely life, fight to survive, smile in the face of fear and fight… Always fight. Believe in better things. Strive for change and love…. Love like you’ve never lost and lose yourself in the heart of hearing the truth before you.

You aren’t what you’ve faced. You are so much more than memories laced in lasting impressions. Smile through the tears and conquer this like every moment of madness you’ve lost before you met the ones who left. You are still here standing, laughing at the things that would topple most.

Here lies muse, lost to love and raised in eternal defiance of death and damnation.

This is for you… Unnamed, yet not to be forgotten.

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A Life In Honesty Takes Courage

It’s hard being honest. Most days I struggle to find my way out of bed. The fear of failing once again bearing down on me, the weight of a world I don’t belong. I wonder why I’m still alive. Ponder on the question of existence night after night and even when I wish to die… I can’t. Trust me when I say I’ve tried. I’ve tried so many times and it haunts me to think that I still survive. I AM GUILTY… Guilty of a gift I hadn’t asked for. A mistake between two people who never wished my time to come. My mother was a drunk, abusive and insane. My father uncaring to the point of emotionally destructive behaviors.

And I’m here. I’m still here while people better suited to becoming the worlds saviors, teachers, artists, greats…. They die daily. Senseless death by murder, by illness, by insanity… And yet I’m here. I’m living in a place that doesn’t understand me… In a time I don’t belong and the only things that comfort me are the same old songs of inspiration that cause me to hesitate just long enough to lose my self devistated interests. To forget that I am uhappy. I was born all so wrong… In the wrong body, having the wrong mind, living the wrong life. I understand the sentiments of those who wish their lives to end and think on it often. I claim to be alive but the truth is much more different. I’ve been dead for years. I’ve been dead since I learned that I was something unwanted, strange and foreign in my existence.


I don’t know what to do with my life anymore. I’m unhappy. I have no friends… Not ones who wish me to do what makes me happy at least. And few understand the dysphoria of my gender. Of being afraid of being seen. Of losing night after night of sanity to the continuing lack of sleep. I’m angry with being here. I should be better. I’m brighter than 99.93% of the population. Have an IQ of 148 and can’t seem to hold a job, or explain a concept or even to remember if I’ve eaten today… I’m failing so miserably and I’m angry and alone and sad and I don’t know what to do. I don’t know anything about me. Who I am and what my life means…. Because it HAS to mean something. I HAVE to be worth something or I wouldn’t be alive. I’ve tried to die and the very action of being dead has been attended to ….

But I’m here. I’m here and I’m losing it all over again.

Being honest is all I know how to do. But this… This means nothing.
And I wish it did.

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Five Eighteen

I’ve got to say this life hasn’t been keen on wearing me slight.
Tooth and nail fights for every moment where light was something I could understand.
It didn’t sympathize.
It didn’t demand either, which was the worst thing I could have asked for because I needed direction.

I’ve always felt listless, floating a failure because I didn’t achieve, and I wish that others would believe that my value isn’t wrapped up in the bows that they put me in.

I’m not in the present.
Always stuck in the past and that’s frightening.
That’s an overwhelming action.
Something fresh and fractured with a fucking fault in the design.
Resigned to flying in the gods be damned same skies.


I cry in it’s innocence.
It’s lack of wisdom and nature and maturity and growth.

Never watered and never nurtured and never ever needed.
I believed in my own disdain.
Felt that my brain both brilliant and bright held me down to the ground.
Planted me in my final resting space.

I loath this part of me, the one wrapped in envy and jealous intent, always hell bent on being the best at nothing but trying nonetheless.

I couldn’t find life while living and now I’m rushing to do everything I knew I was capable of in an instance.
I struck gold and gave it all away, the worth lying in my very face, the glitter of glory masked in the soft sigh of deliverance... 
Because I believed I had earned this loss of life.

Gifted with it even when every other soul who calls this world home has to eventually come to it all the very same. Mine was just early.
The story penned in scribbles on blank page, sage wisdom leaking and draining like the ink from a well just run dry.
I tried and couldn’t make it.
The star of a novel not yet wrttten for a character smitten in it’s own mind.

Song Sprite likes this

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A Lovers Momento

You caught me running ragged,
lonely soul reigning in on beautied sight, 
flightless Song meant for never-ending night. 

Sleep is fleeting, 
mourning motions lead to pleading, 
to a thousand nameless gods, 
here lies man, dead before his time. 

Echoes, nightmares of another place and age, 
heartless muttered memory laid to waste, 
another empty promise left to harmless tame. 

"Believe in me" 
"Trust the words I speak" 
"I won't ever leave"
Who I was means little to my liege. 

Master of my own demise, 
Lies, beautiful and full of life, 
Longing, boasting, brief. 
Here comes mercy,
her act of love demeaned. 

Words lost in translation. 
Intent riddled, suffer and you would come to know, 
I was never wanted and thus these seeds I've sown. 
Grow my darlings, harvest shall come soon. 


Love.

Love I couldn't speak.
Love to know the person who made my knees grow week. 
Love to please the countless masks you had come to know. 
Love to see words echoed ever on repeat. 
Love to trust and love and long and grow. 
Love I'm afraid to never get to know.

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Untitled

Wouldn't you know it, this space is all too familiar,
Been here a thousand times before,
Such an easy trip, you just open up the door.

Step through and you'll find me,
Curled up in the corner still aching,
The last few times, still have me fearful shaking.

And when you call out my name, 
I find myself hopeful and dazed, 
Harmony and melody cry out and I am left amazed.

But life is never simple,
Boy at heart left to wander all alone,
Questing for the very meaning of finding home.

If only you would see me,
read between the lines and know,
the only thing I've ever really wanted,
Is for my heart to know it's not alone.


Choking on the truth, 
love is senseless really,
All to easy to find appealing. 

But we reach out and yearn,
Hands stretched towards the horizon,
Blinded by the lessons we have yet to learn.

If you were to silent listen,
You'd find a thousand words,
A story of a boy found wandering hurting for return.

And if you hugged him ragged, 
Kissed the tears away and spoke him softly until he sleeps,
You'd find the echo of a heartbeat ever yours to keep.

If only you would see me,
read between the lines and know,
the only thing I've ever really wanted,
Is for my heart to know it's not alone.

 

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@Song Sprite was going through old chat logs trying to find conversations about Illumad (Of many we have had, some documented as they occured, others... Well, 593 pages of document to scour is apparently intense. She won't let me help though!) and she came across the piece below, written in response to one of her old poems. 

Figured that folks might enjoy it?

~Unlabeled~

For we have surrendered, lies to listen to the whole of our own hearts, echoed beats burst forth, Living, breathing, broken in it's intent, Listen it says, For I know you most, intimate and intricate, that brain craves intellect but love it doesn't understand...

Yet here it demands attention, dimension of delerium, dictated by millenia, ages, powers that be hoarding directive wisdom like dragons, leather wings causing flight to fall on shiny beliefs, brilliant, material.

Martial matters fought in hallowed bone, your mind would call itself home, it reasons heart bares gifts most fleeting, fault and failure comparison to compromise, all vicious lies for mind does know it's reason. 

To Heart-To Head

'Tis Treason

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HearLiesProgress.

Still the same old song,
Yet idly off-key,
Listen to it's mutter,
And you'll find honesty.

Stray thoughts running, 
Ever on repeat,
Left to wonder aching,
For all the notes so sweet. 

Call me catty, 
Perfect introduction piece,
But little did I ponder,
What the best would really mean. 

Many loves held dear,
Heart too soft to burden,
Truth be told It's simple, 
Many loves it's murdered.

Open conversations, 
Set in stone and born in silence,
Heart beats wrong, 
And head claims sabotage has found it 

Forgive my soul it pleads,
It knows not what it wants, 
But miles and miles surround it,
And love is what it's sought. 

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Kitkat 2014

To be honest I didn't know that you tasted old. 
I don't eat enough chocolate to have that understanding.
And along that note I'll openly admit that I don't understand an awful lot...
Like relationships, gender norms, and how not to love. 
So when it's come to my attention that I'm just a little bit queer, that my life is something straight out of the book of abnormal, I'll take it all in stride. 

Ever moving forward, fighting the nightmares and endless depression. 
Today started with a Kitkat from 2014.


 

Edited by Fae

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Junior
Brown rolls, they were right there, fucking brown rolls.

Drunken dangers, hidden under poor indebted soul,
rant and raving lunatic, much more less than whole.

Spider webs and plastic bags, rotting food and age old fees

Voices raised, liars lamenting, foolish faulted failure
comes with blame misplaced.  

Yet to sleep, my heart rate speeds, old nightmares rushing forth with intensity. 
I nearly killed people like him, made my safety moon and sun, learned to drop them one by one.
Alcoholic manic means, truth be told he's rather brief,
boldy speaks yet never listens, end to life come quick to christen. 
 
Shaking, anger, loss of words, all those memories come and go without a word... 

My life flashed by.

Brown Rolls.

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Hardly Intact

Life isn’t fair.

It isn’t fair. And it isn’t just. And it sure as hell isn’t going to pick you up off your feet when it knocks your ass down.

In fact, it has the habit of beating the pride out of people. Taking them down and keeping them there. A thousand opportunities to show you regret… A thousand more to show you sorrow.
A slab of meat living on borrowed time. Life short, experience swift, purpose less worth than a fucking dime.

And oh the stories I could bear to tell. Witness to death and martyr and melodramatic malarkey you’d be a fool to initially believe. 24 years of playing this game and I’m an old soul already. Going steady in the shit, trudging along trading heartache for wit. You better find yourself listening when I open my mouth. Too far gone to wait for a crowd, This fucker here is going loud.

I never earned my place in the soup kitchen. Didn’t kill to sleep on concrete, sleeping sack soaked through to the chill of my bones. Hadn’t the chance to grieve for a moment before all the sense I thought I had made was sent back at me in ten different ways. I didn’t ask for four wives never to be. Would have given the world up for my last to still be alive to this very day. I’ve learned to cry on command because if it weren’t for forcing the act, I’d be emotionally devoid, the grim reaper himself giving me up well past far-gone.

So you better believe me when I say I’m bitter. I’m a fucking jaded son of a bitch.
And you wouldn’t last a second from where I’ve been. Because I’m a fucking fighter. A survivor whose story puts a plethora of half hearted veterans to shame. And yet, you don’t hear my clamoring for praise.

I’ve done far more than save a life.
I’ve scrounged one from scratch. Creation at it’s finest. Dandy and detail brought to thrive in simple terms, by simple a man, risen from simple tombs. Book smart and proud of it. Street smart and still running. A fucking miracle bringing theology and science to their knees.
So you better fucking believe that every sense goes running when it comes to retrieving the absolute truths in this screwed up life.

You think you’ve the right to claim your shit’s hard?
Try to live just a memory of mine.

Song Sprite likes this

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Posted (edited)

To the Year 2017

I expect great things from you.
Hold high my heart and head through the idea of new and better beginnings. To follow in the footsteps of the best and brightest and to acknowledge the many changes yet to take place.

This year I intend to pursue my passion of writing. To provide for my needs in the fashion which suits me personally and to throw convention flat to it's face.

This year I expect to see results. Some bad, many good, but all in the attempt of having something to be proud of, and to make goals and meet them. To finally find myself in the stage of life where opportunity is given and siezed, giving the me who's been sitting on one knee a reason to rise to his feet. I'll manage my resolve in flowing waves, conquer unneeded feelings taking space, and fill their place with success.

All of this in the name of progress. Of moving forward and keeping on.

Of progress, I express my wish of forgiveness to the universe in full. The gods know I've been unkind and unfit and shallow and mean in my times of need... 2017, you're the year to conquer these falsehoods and hang them from my ever growing roots,

Of the things I've to offer, the action most pressing is that of commitment. To promise something and almost never fail to deliver. Yet another is my heart and my hope.. Sharing stories of a life with a rahter unpleasant bend, teaching the importance of being honest via books of bound leather and heavy page. Last to mention for fear of misunderstanding is the most treasured of gifts: Love. Love for all others. Love for those in need. Love for those who ought not deserve it. Love for the kindred souls of a lonely life and to those of high accord. Love for one and love for all.

The year of 2017 I have high hope of many things. A hope the year comes bearing meaning to grow and the hope of laughter and the hope of tears and the hope that all of my life and the lives of those around me is spent living genuine... For that's all we ever need.

I hope to share a passionate kiss. To fall in love again. To read too many books and struggle with the time to read another. I hope to ache and falter. To break and bolster up my strength in the face of adversity. I hope to write good letters. To make new friends. To learn from the loss of those much wiser than I. And finally the hope to heal... To move on from the thoughts of being just another corpse.

Most importantly however, I hope to share the year and all these hopes with others. To inspire a prelude of things still coming in the shape of wonderous stories and miracles soon to be.

All of this and more I dedicate. 

To the Year of 2017

Edited by Fae
Format
Misty likes this

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BPD

 

Borderline Personality Disorder
A disorder characterized by unstable moods, behaviours, and relationships.


Most days it feels more like Broken Person Disorder. I’m not expected to be sane. Lash out when things become too extreme and actively consider self-harm and suicide… And I’d be lying if I told you I could understand it, That I had come to complete and total terms with it, That I had some semblance of a handle on it. Because I don’t… I never really have. I’ve just  fought myself hard enough to make me numb to the self loathing and slipping sanity.


I’m crying while writing this. Aching and dying while shoving everything deeper into the depths of my head. Have music blaring to drown out the chorus of voices that tell me how worthless I am. Crave attention but force those who love me far, far away. I’m fractured. Frail. Enamoured but so fucked up no one will find a way to make it work. You say you love me but won’t push me to stay. This is rejection.. This is my disorders way of digging in and setting my mind ablaze. I’m screaming and biting my fingers, drawing blood and throwing up. I’m an emotional train wreck murdering logical reasoning. Fuck me. Fuck you. Fuck everything. Ad nauseam.

 

But gods do I wish you’d hold me. To cradle me in your arms and tell me that I am WRONG. That I am priceless and that you’d be lost without me in your home… I ache for heart and I ache for love and I pine for every attention because I need help… Please, for the love of everything that is right, HELP ME. LOVE ME. SEE ME. Give me a reason to override everything to know what I mean to you. Because I am so incredibly gorgeous with all my jagged edges…

 

A thousand words rushing through... Waves of endless negativity. Chaos incarnate. Hatred embedded. I am exhausted and I can’t do this alone…

This is BPD.

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Cowering on a Salmon Couch

I couldn't leave my room today.

Anxiety, full blast, self deprivation, well past extreme… I needed tea, to eat, and to pee, but anxiety roped me into staying.

Three times I rose, went to the door, hand outstretched… And I couldn't do more. I couldn't turn the lock, twist the handle, and step one foot outside the safety of my space because I was… Suffering. Shaking. Terrified of my own mind concocting all the worst things imaginable  and making them somehow real and solid and firm. Rather, I had to make it on its own terms.

And I'd tell you honestly that I loathed every moment of myself for being so meek… That terror in my mind only justified my assurance that I was incredibly weak, and every moment spent justifying and rationalizing and personifying this character's husk, this shell, this protective overstatement only made the problem worse.

I wouldn't have words if things we just fine… It's how these lines work, emotionally overwhelming crashing forth like waves in a Tsunami. They're hardly just my own anymore… Belonging to all the people I am letting down by cowering on a salmon couch because ANXIETY is winning. “I am better then this” I whisper and the thousand voices of a city large and powerful drown me out… How am I supposed to paddle if my flow is interrupted mid sputter.

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