Hey its the second page! This is where I'll put all my writing thingies! (If I was a better coder I would've made this nicer by now) I'm *technically* a published author and I'm currently working on the first book in a four-part series! The struggle is real. I'll post a couple of the chapters here when I can (in like 20 min probably) and maybe a few things I've been meaning to start and/or post!

Context:

God I hate this part

So the book series takes place in this world called Xilliv where there are four major continents where each books takes place. Utalia, Eleanor, and Straton. The first book, Crossfire, takes place in Utalia. The second book takes place in Eleanor. The third book takes place in Straton. Nothing's really different besides the different continents, it's just kinda important to know. All the lore exists in my head in various parts. I promise I'm sane :)

how i feel being a writer and getting myself into this shit

Book #1: Crossfire

Crossfire is the very start of the timeline, causing the sort of domino effect for everything else in the series. I've been working on it the longest now, and it's the one with the most progress and most in depth in the world of Xilliv.

The (very basic) plot:So there's this guy called Callan who is trying to survive in Utalia under the rule of the tyrannical king of Valor, but after meeting strange new people along his way, he eventually gets roped into a rebellion planned to destroy the very foundations of the kingdom. But little does he know, his actions awakened a once dead god, causing him to get sought out by the god's following in a prophecy meant to revive their lord. But in order to achieve this along with the rebellion, he must have to decide whether to sacrifice his life and his own humanity for the betterment of all those to come.

A little about Crossfire: I began writing it when I was in 7th grade, so it has been about 4 years since I first started working on it. This is the second draft of Crossfire because OH MY GOD was my early writing absoulte shit. Though I want to publish Crossfire, it isn't my first work. I'm technically a published author because of two summer camps I did called Badgerdog and Great Books, where at the end of each camp, we submitted one of our best works to be included in an anthology. Crossfire is also the first part in a series I'm making, though it's the only one where I've made most of my progress in. My dad has been encouraging me to submit Crossfire to a publisher, but I want to have at least half of it done before I do.

Book #2

Book #2 takes place about 100 years after the events of Crossfire in Eleanor. I'm still trying to find a name for the book that isn't ass so right now it's just called Book #2. I do have a basic premise on what it's going to be about, though I haven't refined it.

The (very basic) plot: So there's this guy called Judith living in Eleanor who's just trying to get through the day. Eleanor's major city, Vexa Verta, is divided into sections, with the center of it having the most power and all the other sections having less priority. Recently, there has been numerous blackouts in many sections including Judith's, all increasing in severity. On a seemingly regular day, Judith attempts to go to work but is stopped by the police and placed on house arrest. Their boss has been hiding protesters within the buildng and they've just gotten found out. After a week of house arrest, Judith begins getting letters from a mysterious sender giving them strange instructions like searching through a hidden crawlspace in their apartment's laundry room and attatching a home made radar on top of the building. Soon they're told to find a way into the subway system of Eleanor, and when they do, the mysterious sender meets them. There, they guide them to an underground society intent on uncovering the corruption of Vexa Verta's center district. Plans to find a seemingly infinite power source along with detailed ways how to achieve it, they suddenly have to bear the weight of a decision not meant to fall on just one, unlucky person.

That's what I have right now. I've got a ton of other ideas I want to incorporate into it, but I haven't found the time to really write it with how busy I am with Crossfire rn. Maybe in the future I'll have time to do it, but who really knows

Book #3

Book #3 also doesn't have a name yippie yay yayy hooray (RAAAHHHHHGH) It takes place around the same time as Book #2 in Straton. And just like Book #2, I really only have a basic grasp on the plot and what it's gonna be about. I should really get started on the two hmmm....... yeah like that's ever gonna happen :p

The (very basic) plot: So it follows this guy named Osian who had run away from home with his friend Luke and escaped to the border of Straton and Eleanor and had been living along the towns near the border. But a while after they had run away, Osian gets a message from his brother urging him to come back home. You see, Osian's family has a curse that causes many of them to die in strange and unusual ways. Nobody knows where the curse came from, why its being caused, or how to stop it. Many of his family members spend their lives trying to rid the family of this curse, and yet they found their own demise while searching for it. Osian's mother had him run flee Straton in a futile attempt to save him, but now that he's back in his childhood home, he has to face the source of this curse. And it looks beautiful.

ok deadass I kinda dont know what i'm gonna do for this one. it's mostly vibes tbh

☆Detective Vano in the City of Angels☆

Description:A series of mysterious cases that Detective Vano and their partner, Mr. Az'el, are set to solve. Follow them along their case exploring the surreal City of Angels, uncovering secrets never meant to be discovered and meeting people better left unmet in the pursit of justice. With murder cases, accusations of fraud and theft, and missing angel reports in the hundreds, will the two detectives manage to deliver truth? That's for you to find out....

Read Detective Vano in the City of Angels here!

Poetry! Yay

yeah yeah yeah i write poetry who would've fucking guessed. This is mostly from my freshman/sophomore years because thats when I locked in on poetry like a lot. I'll only post my favorite ones here because blehhh :p blehh i'm NOT posting everything blehh :p :p you can't make me!!! :p blehh

Oh No, Astronaut

Oh, no, astronaut
all lost in space.
You've changed, haven't you?
from your outfit of proud orange,
like the fruit made from sun and earth
where you're from-
To an outfit of pure, bulky white,
piercing against the blackness of space
being the only light for miles?

Oh, no, astronaut
Suspended by nothing but metal
metal intestines which hook onto you,
Keeping you from drowning in
in an ocean with no bottom or surface.

Oh, no, astronaut
afraid of the unknown,
Your single, shining eye,
Your backpack sown into your flesh
by no means of your own.

Oh, no, astronaut
What do you think of the view?
Way, way above, over the earth?
You can see everything
everything for miles
Can you see the sun?
Is it blinding? Is it?
Can you see the moon?

Oh, no, astronaut
you must be so scared.
Astrophobia, that's what it's called, right?
Do you ever ask ground control,
while you're all alone outside in shadows
floating in nothing, purely nothing
you just want to go home?

“So come home,” they'll say,
“Come home,”
But is there another voice?
Faint, quiet, but still there?
“So come home,” it'll say,
“Come home,”
If given the choice,
Which would you choose?
Follow?

Oh, no, Astronaut
Star sailor
From your perch above everything
Can you see the horizon?
Can you see the end?
Can you see yourself?

I Watched a Dog Rot For Most of My Freshman Year

While I was in high school,
9th grade,
14 at the time,
while I rode the bus home,
everyday I would watch a dog rot

At the same spot,
At the same turn,
At the same apartment complex,
it would just be there,
Rotting.

When I first saw it,
it nearly scared me.
I thought it was only sleeping,
nearly believed it, too.
Only when I passed it two more times,

Did I know it was truly dead.

For a while, it remained like that
still with its pale golden fur,
simply laying on the ground motionless.

But at one point-
(I wasn’t there to see it happen)
It truly resembled rotting.
Its ribs were showing.
Its fur and skin were now a sickly green.
It sunk into the dirt and grass grew so unkempt around it
that when I passed it again-
I couldn’t even see it.

I had a dream one time about it.
Only once.
I dreamt that I was standing where the bus turned.
I dreamt that it was dark and cold.
I dreamt that there was a lamppost shining down on the dog.
And I dreamt that someone was there,
gently draping a blanket over it,
then crossing back into the street,
Where there were no cars.

Now I have to look for a dog corpse,
on my way home from school.
I always look for it,
because if I don’t
then it would simply lie there
and lie there
and lie there
and lie there
and lie there
and lie there
and lie there
and lie there
and lie there
and lie there
and lie there
and lie there
and lie there
until all that was left of it,
Was its bones.
Unruly,
Unsightly,
Unloved.

The Brain Tree

Past the corner,

Past the bend,

There stood a tree,
Standing proud and tall,

Its bark was tough,
Its trunk stiff,
But its leaves were strong,
Its branches dispersed,
For that’s where it gets its name from;

The Brain Tree.

I don’t know how long it had been there,
Or how old it had been.
All I know is that it was there,
And I was able to grow up with it
For the time it was there.

The seasons passed.
Things changed,
And the Brain Tree changed as well.
In the summer, its leaves were proud and green,
Where I saw bugs flit through the branches
In the fall, its leaves were sweet and orange,
Where eventually, they fall, laying back down in the earth
In the winter, its leaves were dead and gone,
Where it’s branches were left, resembling nerves in the brain
In the spring, it’s leaves were soft and budding,
And thus began the cycle once again.

But the Brain Tree couldn’t last forever.
Nothing can.
The next time I passed it,
There was a sign in front of it.
The land had been bought.
Construction was to begin.

And of course, the Brain Tree was the first to go.
Reduced to nothing but a pile of dirt,
Even the trunk had been removed.
On the corner,
On the bend,
There now stood a 7-11.
It’s neon sign standing
Standing eternally,
Completely ignoring the natural cycle.

Perhaps the Brain Tree could be a metaphor of some sorts
One that is caused by the increasing desire for the future,
Where we destroy what was left behind,
What was already there,
In the pursuit of efficiency and improvement.
I fear,
Eventually,
We will end up destroying ourselves,
And it will be all our fault.
Instead of respecting the cycle,
Respecting our spot in it,
We try to stand against it,
Change it even.
To go against such things will end up
End up destroying everything.

Or something like that.
I’m not a poet.

Living In The Subway System

As I rode the subway,
Rumbling like thunder
Screeching like it
Flashing like lightning
Growling like it,
I saw a rat scurry past.

It wasn't a large thing.
But certainly larger than the ones I've seen
Seen back home
I think it saw me
I think it saw me staring
I think it saw me staring at it
I think it saw me wondering about it

“Hello” I said, “you're a rat.”
“It would seem like it.” It replied.
“How do you do?”
“I've been well. You?”
“Quite nice.”
“Good, good.”
Silence fell.
“What is it like being a rat?”
I ask. I've always wondered.

“Comfortable.”

“When it's hot, we find ice boxes
Near markets and bodegas.
When it's cold, we find vents
From tubes of steam and grates of heat.
When it rains, we find shelter
In homes and stores.
But people don't like it when we're out.
Up on the surface.
Their surface.
So like the pigeons and the cats,
We scurry away to hide
Hide in the skeletons and flesh
Of the city.

“The pigeons have the skyscrapers,
The squirrels have the parks,
The cats have the streets,
And us rats have the subway.

“We aren't really welcomed there either,
But still, we live.
We live in the cracks in the tile walls.
We live underneath the old benches.
We live underneath the subway tracks.
And we live in the tunnels,
Shrouded in darkness.

“We live in the veins of the city.
The bones of the city.
The system of the city.
We call it home.
Our home.
As the trains pass,
They rattle the stations,
The tunnels,
Like a storm overhead,
Warm and strong.”

“That sounds difficult.” I say.
“It's not difficult.” the rat responded,
“It's complex.”

“We are still important,
Whether we seem like it or not,
In this big old city.
We survive. Live. Just like you.

“So, what is it like to be a person?”
It was the rat’s turn to ask.
I couldn't answer.
Not for a long time.

“It's just as complex as yours.
We're all wound up in this big old world,
The same way, really.
I think you would like living like me.
I think I would like living like you.”

“But of course, you are content with your own life, yes?”

“Of course.” I say.

The subway stops.
I bid goodbye to the rat.
It runs away.

Holy Creatures

Nothing ever stays dead.
What they leave behind are corpses,
Sin,
Imprint of the imperfect idea of forever.
They stain the earth, but do not wound.
In time, the earth will consume them,
Sin eater,
With the others consuming them,
Bugs, Fungi,
Others of its kind will consume them
with the earth,
Leaving only its structure behind to be overtaken again.

But sometimes the earth cannot eat away at the sin that gathers,
Weakened
And if more of them come,
The more of them will be,
Gathering weight upon shoulders.
Until they break before it.

So the sky brought upon a holy savior
Holy creatures
Born from the leftovers of stars
To eat away at the leftovers of earth.
They crawl among the clouds,
Circling, circling
Always up in the sky, where they were born.

But when they are called down,
They are called down to clean.
They can smell the scent of death,
So they bathe in it.
As they eat away at sin, it stains them,
Leaving their head bare as they eat.
Bearing their head proud with the mark of death.

Unforgiving names, they’re called.
Scavengers, beasts,
Vultures.
But though they might not show beauty,
They take pride with what they do.
As the world’s sin eater,
They do not mind being called sins themselves.

But if you were to irritate them,
Annoy them to their limit,
Then mercy be on your soul by the one who created them
Their Creator
As they will whisper your name and your deeds
To everyone they know.
And the ones who know death know everybody.

So be wary if you venture into the woods,
If you were the one behind all these rumors.
It will be dead silent,
Eyes will watch your every move.
You’ll be drawn deeper and deeper into the forest,
Lured to your grave.
And when you collapse and can’t move anymore,
The creatures will begin their feast.

They don’t care if you’re still alive.
From what you’ve done, you don’t deserve it.
They’ll eat your flesh and bones,
Until all that’s left of you is your eyes.
Then the Holy Creatures will descend
And take your eyes into the sky.
For one last time you will see the forest.

And it will be laughing at you.

You're Too Beautiful for Hell

You're too beautiful for hell.
Or whatever that's waiting down there.
You'd be spared of whatever it was
As they will see how you shine like
The angels that cast them down
Down into the cold, damp caves
Underground

You're too beautiful for hell.
You are like the cold snow.
You are like the fresh summer's breeze
You are like the colorful flower, picked
How could something so blessed as you
Ever be harmed?

You're too beautiful for hell.
Your voice is so soft
Your smile is as bright as stars.
You bring a nice air with you
With every step you take.
You are like a nice day
In a child's life.
One worth becoming a pleasant memory

You're too beautiful for hell.
But you're too ugly for heaven.
Though you're spared,
You are still not safe from the wrath of angels,
Or whatever is up there.

You're too beautiful for hell.
You're too ugly for heaven.
Snow kills, hides frozen corpses beneath
The summer breeze always brings bugs
The picked flowers always wilt,
No matter the vase they're put in
Your voice is too hoarse to be heard without annoyance
That smile always blinds and irritates
That air always has a sense of dread with it
That pleasant memory
Will always be forgotten.

You're too beautiful for hell.
You're too ugly for heaven.
So you're left to rot.
Rot with no beauty.
Rot with no hate.
Left to rot.
Rot.

The Dog Skeleton

That dog died on the side of the road.
It seemed to be pregnant.
It laid on its side.
That dog died on the side of the road.

The bus passed by.
It had been a week.
A week for Spring Break.
At first, there was nothing there.
At second, there was nothing there.
Only on the third pass,
Did it finally show up.

The grass grew much taller than it now.
Reaching over it like fingers.
Few flowers had sprouted by it.
Disgusted.

It was nearly impossible to see it.
But from what I could see,
It was still there.
Still there,
Rotting.

But it had reached that point
In ugliness where it turned to beauty.
From what I could tell,
The Dog Skeleton was all that remained.

Now as I pass by,
More and more flowers grow by it.
Until its grave was home to a garden of colors.

Spring had sprung.
That dog died on the side of the road.
It was beautiful.

Roadkill King

I've seen death.
I've watched it happen.
Innocent animals,
Killed by your unforgiving hands.

You roar with pride, soaring across
Special paths paved for your very feet.
You shine and blind,
Sleek armor racing past.
You think you're god,
Racing through the forest.
My forest.
My Home.

But I am a special one of my kind
My antlers are sharp and honed.
My hooves are tougher than rocks.
I am a special one of my kind,
And I plan to kill you.

So at the late hours,
With your blinding eyes shining far out,
I step in your way.

You stop.
How pathetic.
A beast who killed a hundred of my family,
Frozen by my stare.
I stand before you.
I simply stare.

My antlers are sharp.
My hooves are tough.
I stare into your eyes.
You have no soul behind yours.
I stand in your way.
You don't belong here.
I stand in your way.
Kill me like all of the others.
I dare you.

Midwest Angelica

The wind howls,
Snow rains down endlessly,
The hearth of the snowstorm consumes the forest,
There is blood on the snow.

I can’t go much farther
Trees watch my every move
There is blood on the snow.
I collapse

With what little I have, I turn on my back
There is blood on the snow.
Heavy breathing can barely be heard
I can’t get up

“So is this how I die?”
I heave as cold air cuts my lungs,
There is blood on the snow.
“This isn’t fair.”

“IT WAS NEVER FAIR”
The trees shake in terror.
“YOU HAD YOUR CHANCE”
“BUT YOU DIDN’T CHANGE”
There is blood on the snow.
“WHY IS THAT?”

I try to grit my teeth,
“Why do you care?”
The trees stop shaking
“I was never given a chance anyways.”

The wind grows louder
It hurts my cheeks
I feel cold.
“YOU BLEED BEFORE ME”
“I COULD HAVE SAVED YOU”
There is blood on the snow.
“Why didn’t you?”
“BECAUSE YOU DIDN’T LET ME”

“So, why are you here?!”
I scream and I wail.
“Here to mock me?”
“I die before you, yet you say you’re my savior?”
“Why wouldn’t you save me?!”

“BECAUSE YOU ARE GUILTY”
There is blood on the snow.
“YOU ARE BLOOD”
“YOU ARE DIRTY”
“YOU ARE UGLY”

There is blood on the snow.
Whatever I had in me was turned into tears
“You said you loved me.”
“You said I have beauty.”
“YOUR MOTHER TOLD YOU THAT”
“I AM NOT YOUR MOTHER”
There is blood on the snow.
“She said that you love me regardless of it.”
“WHAT DOES THAT CHANGE?”
“I AM STILL GOD”
“And I am still ugly.”

The wind keeps howling.
The trees freeze
There is blood on the snow.
“You didn’t save me.”
“BECAUSE YOU ARE GUILTY”
“I DO NOT CARE IF YOU ARE GUILTY”

“I DO! I DO! I CARE IF I AM GUILTY!”
there is silence
silence
I lay my head down on the snow.
There is blood on the snow.

“So this is how I die?”
“I always thought it would be something warm.”
“THAT WAS THE ONLY THING I PROMISED”
I feel warm.
I feel still.
“YOU CAN REST NOW”
“AGES AND AGES OF RUNNING”
“YOU CAN REST NOW”

I lay down on the snow.
Burning hot.
There is blood on the snow.
It is my blood.
It shines.

What was left of the Cat

It was a still, quiet morning.
Frost lined the grass.
Birds were singing in the telephone poles.
There lied the cat,
Dead on the side of the highway.

Then came the afternoon,
Hotter in the day.
Cars zoomed past.
The cat remained the same.

And then came the bus.
Just for a second, for a moment.
It passed by the cat,
Not even glancing at it.

So, there became a routine.
The cat eternally rotting on the grass,
Cars flying past,
Day by day,
There it rot.

It didn’t last for long.
Of course it did,
Nothing ever lasts,
It didn’t last for long.
Not even its bones remained.

So there lied the cat.
Dead on the side of the road.
But when it awoke,
It didn’t seem surprised,
When a dog met it within green fields.

The Holy Crasher

Night sky, clear as day,
Down came the Holy Crasher

Carving through the sky,
Never slowing down,
the Holy Crasher

It hit the earth, its burning body,
Leaving craters within the dirt
Within the embers, within the rocks,
The Holy Crasher

Came two men,
Of blood, of brothers,
Came two men to the site
Of the Holy Crasher

One of fear, one of sight,
Gaze upon the Holy Crasher
One of flight, one of fawn,
Came to serve the Holy Crasher

Came one man,
Of blood, of water
Rushing home
Crying of a horrible beast
Singing of a terrible fate
Brought upon from that Holy Crasher

Stayed one man,
Of blood, of faith,
Stayed behind within the grave
Of the Holy Crasher

Skin of fire, skin of sun
Gaze of tire, gaze of just
Voice of choir, voice of one
Of the one and only
Holy Crasher

Cut the Grass

Cut the grass,
The bus’ route follows the highway
It stops for a moment,
For a breath,
Then goes on its way.
Never slowing down.

Cut the grass,
Its so loud,
The people inside
They shout and cry,
But their voices fade
As more and more of them get off

Cut the grass,
No one can see
Is that good?
Is that bad?
Is that for the better?

Cut the grass,
Fall, winter
Spring and summer
The time passes
Yet it feels the same.
The bus continues on by.

Cut the grass,
There’s more.
A bird, a cat, a dog,
A pair of jeans?
A loose tire?
A man?

Cut the grass,
Blistering heat.
Frigid cold.
Creeping vines.
A blanket of leaves.
Nobody can see you anymore.
And the lights are blinding.

Are you there?

Are you resting?

I Wonder What The Calculator Thinks?

Does a calculator ever think about the problems it’s given?
Does it watch us input numbers and symbols?
Does it try to solve them itself?

Does a calculator ever feel tired?
Does it feel as tired as the students who use them?
Does if feel sad?
Does it feel pity?

Does a calculator ever judge us?
Does it judge us when we input 5+5 just to double check?
Does it know all the answers, and just doesn’t tell us?
Does it have an A+ in Algebra if it could talk?
Does it know how to talk and just doesn’t?

Does a calculator ever miss us?
Does it miss us when we’re out on break?
Does it miss us when we use our computers instead?
Does it miss us?

I wonder,
Does a calculator dream?

As A City Boy,

I find myself entranced by lights and tall buildings.
Especially at night.

I’m not sure what it is.
Maybe it’s because I was born in the city.
It’s just a sort of connection to me and it.

I just can’t stop myself from looking up.
It’s so pretty.
All those lights on display.
It almost looks like stars.

I like it when it rains in the city.
Something about the smell.
I don’t know.
I just like it.

It kind of reminds me of angels.
But I think that’s just astigmatism.
I’m not sure I really have it.
I think my vision’s bad.
But I remember reading that from somewhere.
That it looks like the halos of angels.
Of course, it was probably astigmatism.
It’s still a cool thought nonetheless.

And the best part of these fleeting moments?
It’s when we drive back home in our car.
I get to listen to music, and just look out the window.
It hurts my neck, sure.
But I love looking at all the lights and tall buildings.
That kind of joy dissipates when we leave the city.
But I guess I love it either way.
I love it enough to write a poem about it.
And that’s a nice way to love, right?

Off I-99

There she lies.
There she lies, dead on the side of the road.
There she lies.
Dead on her side, brown fur waving in the wind.

Cars soar past,
Off I-99,
They soar past,
Not even glancing at
Where she lies.

Days and nights,
Countless days and nights,
There she lies.
There she rots.
Through sun and snow,
Wind and rain,
Through the countless days and nights,
There she lies,
There she lies, dead on the side of the road.

They don't look at her.
They don't even look at her.
There she lies,
And they don't even look at her.
Maybe they do,
Maybe they don't,
It doesn't matter.
There she lies, dead on the side of the road.
There she lies.
Dead on her side.

There she lies.
There she lies, dead on the side of the road.
There she lies.
Dead on her side, brown fur riddled with maggots,
Riddled with rot.
But as she rots,
As she waits,
As she waits there on her side,
Something cut through the silence.
The deafening silence.

The sound of bells.

The sound of bells broke the quiet,
The tension,
It was the first sound she heard since her rest.
And so,
She awoke.
There she lies,
In a field of spikes.
There she stood.
In a field of spikes,
Where a dog and a cat awaited her.

I Found My Love Sleeping On The Park Bench

I found my love sleeping on the park bench
While I was out on a walk
It was cold
Terribly cold
The coldest night we’ve had in a while
And I found my love
Curled up on the park bench
Limbs close
With what little warmth there was
My love seemed so still
So I left my love there
Why disturb something
My love seemed so still
I thought that was the only time
The only time I’d see my love
But I found my love sleeping on the steps of the library
Sprawled out
All over the steps
The sun was up
It was a little warmer
But my love was there
Sprawled out on the steps of the library
My love seemed so still
So I entered the library
Why disturb something
My love seemed so still
Again I thought I would never see
See my love again
And I found my love sleeping on the desk
Inside the classroom
As the lesson went on
The teacher passed out papers
Students worked silently
My love seemed so still
So I left the classroom
Why disturb something
My love seemed so still
And I knew that would be the last time
That I would see my love
Because I went to that very park
Where I found my love
On a night just like it
With the winter air piercing my heart
To that very bench
And I sat upon it
And I laid down upon it
I curled up
Limbs close
I lied there
I felt so still
And before I knew it
I fell asleep on the park bench
My love was there the whole time

Airport Floor

I don't really like the airport
Despite how I don't go there often
Only for vacations
With my family and such
To homes away from home
And on the very rare occasions
For myself

There's many things as to why
I don't really like the airport
It makes me stressed out
Always rushing to get to the terminal, the gate on time
To go through security
To hope that they don't judge
Or that I don't make a fool of myself
Or accidentally pack a chunk of rebar in my carry-on
Maybe it's how cold it seems
Both figuratively and literally
They either have the AC all the way up
Or it doesn't even exist
It feels so lifeless
Whether it's empty or crowded
No pests, not even one in sight
Maybe it's the uncomfortable seats
That makes my legs full of pins and needles
That makes my neck hurt
That makes my phone unusually hot
As I try to pass the time while waiting to board
How it feels like I have no privacy
How it feels like I have a thousand eyes on me
I have no wifi
My phone is way too hot
My neck hurts
My battery is low
But I have to wait
Have to sit and wait
Until I have to get on the plane
And do this all over again
It's probably the wait
The forever wait
The way time slows down
Stops even
As I wait
And wait
And wait
And wait
Until we're finally called
To get on the plane
And by the time we do
I have a headache

And despite how much
I don't really like the airport
There are times
Where I snap out of my daze
To find the beauty within the sterile white tiles

Even if
I don't really like the airport
I'll still wait with my family
I'll still follow them
I'll still trust them
To tell me where to go
And when to do it
I'll lay with my father on the grody airport floor
Our bags and jackets used for pillows
As my mother and brothers walk around the terminal
I'll rest my weary head
And I'll try to close my eyes
But I can't stop them from opening
At every announcement called over the speaker
That's not even about our flight
I can't stop myself from talking
With my father
Laying on the floor beside me
Talking about all the things we're going to do at home
How good it feels to rest on our own beds
How our dog will be so happy to see us
How it will feel when we get home
And I can't stop myself from thinking
About the poem I'll write about it
What words I'll use

What phrases I'll use
How my phone is still so hot
How my battery is dying
How we're boarding soon
I'll write a poem about it
Because I saw the beauty in the not-so disgusting
Because I rested on the
Airport floor

A Highway's Blessing

Disgusting,
Is what you’d call me.
A mess
Of iron,
Concrete,
Asphalt,
And cement

But despite my rotten,
Rock hard heart,
I’d say you’re more disgusting
Than I could ever be.

Bloated,
Matted fur,
Bloody,
Is all you’ll ever be.
Skid across my skin,
Draped along my fingers,
Tangled within my hair,
Illuminated under my eyes,

No matter the size,
No matter what kind,
I’ve seen you all
And you’re still the same
Ugly, rotten things
Ugly, rotting things

I don’t mind the germs,
Or are they something like you?
I feel them,
Crawling,
Along my back day and night
Day and night,
Time after time again,
Day and night.
Some of them rattle
Some of them roar
Some of them are faster
Some of them are careful
I don’t think they are like you
I have a feeling they aren’t
Because what kind of brother
Kills their own blood?

But you,
You are the worst
You rot on top of me
Your guts drying in the hot sun,
Or washed off by the rain,
Or blown away with heavy winds
Or frozen underneath ice and frost
And you look ugly
Have I mentioned this before?
Mangled
Snarling
Sobbing
Laid on your side
That’s all you things do
Is lie on your sides
And rot
Or are you waiting?

For whom, I might ask?
The maggots?
The flies?
The bacteria?
From what I can tell,
They never arrive
So what are you waiting for?
Why are you still here?

I have the right to know
It’s me that you’re lying on.
A creature
A monster
From rebar and stone
Housing the dying,
It isn’t fair.

And I’m not the one who does it,
So why am I the one who keeps it?
It’s not fair,
It’s not fair!
Everything is so unfair!

Stiker Residue on The Car Window

I don’t remember how old I was
When I put that sticker on the window
But somehow I remember what I put on it
It was a sticker of a lego minifigure
From a book I got from somewhere someplace
I put two stickers on it actually
Now that I remember it
It was of a caveman running from a dinosaur
A lego velociraptor
My very first story
It was a week later when I tried to peel it off
But it wouldn’t come off
It was too sticky
Which was good for a sticker
But not for me
I did it when we were on a road trip
I got bored again
Scraps of colored paper fell between the seat
But the sticker residue remained
We got a new car
So the window with the sticker residue belongs to someone else now
But I hope they didn’t take it off
Maybe its still there
I wonder if the person who got our old car
Wondered about the sticker residue on the window
Maybe they wondered how it got there
Maybe they wondered what it was
Maybe I could’ve met that person
But that seems illogical
At least its comforting knowing that the sticker residue
The sticker remains are still there
That they’re still here
That the memory is still here
That the little girl who put those stickers there is still here

Girl At The Pool

I like to think
That I'm a bit of an introvert.
Like isn't the best word for this though,
But it's the closest I can get.

I am trying to be more outgoing,
More friendly if you will,
To people I don't know yet,
To strangers
I'm working to be less shy.

It usually happens when I least expect it
When I don't even realize it

I think,
Deep down,
I'm not as shy as I think.

I like meeting new people.
It's fun sometimes
I like meeting new people and seeing their views,
Their perspectives
A glimpse into another life.

But there's a kind of sadness I feel
Especially when meeting people,
Where we'll leave,
And not see each other again.
Those people I've met in the library,
That woman I met at a convention,
Those girls I met in the pool,
We'll never see each other again.

It happens a lot more than I'd like.
And that sadness always comes.
But there's this part of me,
Somewhere inside of me,
That takes a weird joy at the thought of it.

I met so many people,
Shown them a glimpse into my life,
Shown them a new perspective, new things,
Someone that is different to them in many ways,
And then just left.
It's not only for strangers
I think about old friends too
About old friends at school
About teachers I used to have
We'll never see each other again.
I am both everywhere and no one.

And I don't know how to feel about that.

Oh, Cicada Shell

15 years is a lot of time.
15 years is a lot of time
To change
I could say the same for you
You could say the same for me
I've seen
I've watched you change
Over the years
Watched you grow
But I've watched you change

I will admit,
You were pretty stubborn
I will admit,
You were pretty arrogant
You said
“I am the best me I can be!”
You said
“I am perfect just the way I am!”
Which was true
To an extent,
But not in the way you said
Not in the way you expected

I wish I could've told you
But all I could do was watch
See you grow
See you change
Watch you in your struggles
Trying to find who you were
With no one to help you
Because your change was different
Your change was different from anyone's
Your change is different from everyone's

It made me sad
Watching you
Try to find who you were
It made me cringe
Watching you
But I try to remind myself
That you were simply changing
That you were simply growing
That you were simply finding out
Who you were

And despite how much I try to change it
I can't change you
I couldn't help myself
When I watched you die
Over the years

It was a gradual change
And at the same time
A drastic change
Set in stone
Set to weather in time
But still so sudden
That the feeling is fresh in my mind

I watched you die
I left the remnants you left behind
I left out of your back
Left out of the husk you became
When I was born

I watched you change
I watched you grow
I watched you die
I wish you watched me change
I wish you watched me grow
I wish you watched me live
But now I know
(And I wish you knew too)
Life can be understood backwards
But only experienced forwards

I left out of you
You died so I could be born
I was born so you could die
A husk of what I once was
A shell of who I once was
And I know I am not the final version
Of me
Infinite death
Infinite birth
But in the time that I am here
I can fly out
And sing.

15 years is a lot of time.

Hey!! Hi Hai ^_^!! Woah! Hi Hello Hai!!

This is all my writing! I like 2 write :3