identitypresenceletting goself-acceptancegratitudewordplayvulnerabilityenduranceself-concealmentdefiance
September 4 — reminiscing
2026-09-04
hi. i'll keep it honest and brief. i love.
this is me. i'm not much, but i am what i touch.
all those times spent, were time well spent.
i've touched myself to myself,
i've stilled a dancing flame, with it i arose,
i've dipped in still waters, in it it dissolved,
i've laid down beneath a sand dune,
i've also stood and let the wind move what was unmoving in me,
there was a tree, a gloomy one, ropes tied on its branches,
it saw some days, and better days,
possibly some stuff buried down there,
i've cut the ropes binding it, i've cut the ropes binding me,
there was more, i've been at this for nearly 4 years now,
the distance i've covered, written on my forehead, i was coveted,
eyes landing on me, this foreign deity dirtied me,
hand got unsure, feet trembled,
i covered my face, their eyes nowhere to land,
beneath it i laughed, this game got easier to play,
i took it off, playing field leveled,
invisible child now seen, rebellion with a face attached,
name? some know.
how do you want to read?
poems can unravel themselves as you read, line by line, at a considered pace — or just sit there, fully visible, like normal.
change this anytime — look for “reading: …” near the top of any poem.