/rhetsec_

/other_writing

/visaudio

/eva

poetry

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Within her chest

A grove of pines once stood tall
Encasing a lush, mossy cavern
That was littered with butterflies freely;
And deep within these woods
Was a lake: pure, clean, and glistening
Endless in her gift, a reflection of spirit

Quietly, but quickly a fire spread
The underbrush burned with ferns screaming
The flames roared singeing their wings
The air thick with a heat that was suffocating
And rivers become as dry as arroyo
The lake nothing now but a hardpan, dead

Those tiny, beautiful fluttering bodies
Now unrecognizable masses of carbon
Their black chunks matted into burnt moss
With the woodlands now barren, dead and begging
For the lake to fill once again, and they cried
Longing for when those butterflies flourished.

The Return, Part II

"What is it you see?" she asked him tentatively.
After a few moments too long, he responded:
"I see a soul who yearns deeply,
Yet I cannot see is what it's yearning for."

The woman looked down at her glass, empty.
She had already begun to drink her sorrows.
"That's because what I want doesn't exist.
What I want," she sighs, "is an impossible future."

The man looks up at her again,
Eyes housing an uncomfortable emptiness.
"This impossible future, my dear;
"What does that mean?"

She laughs instinctively but inside she twists,
Like a writhing mass of worms entangled after a flood,
Gripping one another, struggling for air.
"I yearn for the day in which I can wear my own flesh."

His gaze shifts from her eyes to her cheekbones,
Catching the light and shadows like a marbled statue;
Her ruby lips made a perfect cupid's bow.
"Yes," she smirked, his survey not going unnoticed.

"This flesh. I want to own it."

a love poem

Roses are meaningless,
Violets have no value;
Sugar is inconsequential,
And so are you.

The Return

"It's been a long time,"
She whispered, sipping her drink.
A bittersweet mix of whiskey and sour,
Reminiscent of her own experience.

He shuffled his rum and coke on the table,
Unsure of how to proceed from here.
It was only moments ago he prepared,
But he couldn't anticipate this.

She looked up at him and stared,
Piercing into his soul like a poisoned arrow.
And he noticed in that moment,
How sad and beautiful her eyes were.

Just like her.

the narcissist/what is loss

something to mourn with
tears that create a puddle
so deep you that drown

a heartache to endure
and not the good kind
that makes you whole

it is a harbinger
of the potential
that no longer exists

but a reminder that
the future you expected
never existed

the distraction

what will happen when
the trauma fades
and we are left
alone with just

ourselves?

as i lay crying

i can no longer
imagine a life
in which I do not share
with those I love
that I love them

the void

if i could describe the visions
i see at this hour
that manifest in my dreams

i wish more than anything
that we could share
these horrors together

because if anyone could quell
the demons
it would be you

dreams at three

if i could tell you
everything that i feel
would you run away

or would you stay
and bask in the warmth
of what i want to share with you

or does it matter even
at this point because
it all seems so fixed

i am left once again
wishing in the dark
for two hearts

four years and eleven hours

today was not as hard
as it seemed it would be
and I realise that from the

gaping wound

left from your absence
the love that I shared with you
was able to be reallocated

in this I have not lost you
for what I could once give to you
i am able to share with others

just as every living thing
dies and returns to the earth
to nourish something else

our bond is a foundation
on how to love others
and be loved in return

Noumenon's Curse

How vulnerably human I am,
With your skin against mine,
Our lips press together,
Your fingers brush my cheek

A swirl of ethereal passion.
Existing only as an observation
A limerent figure within
This mirage I have created
Do you taste the sweat
From the fire and earth beneath
The call of the sunrise beckons
Condensation gathers on my skin, sweet

Tonight, this fantasy must end
But I will visit tomorrow
Inside my noumenal reality
And ache once again for you

seven days

on these nights I think,
how easy it would be
to simply disappear;
but then I remember
how much it hurts
to have lost you.

she was always better suited for rain

petrichor stains the air,
moonglow caresses her body;
her tender peaks illuminated,
those sensual valleys shadowed.

her hands map that supple landscape,
as the clouds begin to swell;
she begs for the storm to come,
anticipating the downpour.

the noumenal

what he didn't know
is that she would kill
to smell him on her shirt
every time she shifted

to listen to his laugh
on repeat in her head
like a pop song
you can't get rid of

she imagined how he would look
if she smiled at him
but having never seen his face
wondered whether she was crazy

or if he was smiling, too

digital cut-up

i seek but am disenchanted

unsettling

if i could speak instead
i know my only way
is mute with a fantasy reality

it buzzes the mind
full of fragmented dreams
and i cannot have

this

without giving something else

ambiguities

washing over me
freezing

like home

the "so what"
behind all of

this

is a stout headache
yearning

for a cigarette

and whether or not
i deserve any of it

the process

Tears fall onto my hand,
Stinging like liquid nitrogen.

I'm supposed to be strong.

You asked something so great
I think, because you knew;

And I despairingly promised.

rainy may

rain falls
gently down
like tears
let them out

air

when your heart is heavy
and your mind is dry
do not be afraid to let go

(paren)theses

Enjoy your life in the moment.
(But don’t forget your future.)
Don’t put pressure on events.
(Allow them to happen naturally.)
Emotions should be slow.
(But don’t deny feeling.)
Stay cautious.
(Let down your walls to those who trust.)
Don’t be afraid to show care.
(They might not run away this time.)

3rd and 3rd

I sit here staring up at the cloudy sky
The full moon shining down on me
Wishing upon the stars, they beckon me with their twinkle
And I can't help but think of how beautiful it all is
Noticing the light reflecting off the buildings
The bricks a pale shade of yellow
Leaves rustling - can you hear the Earth speak?
Cold winds nip at my face
A bit of butterflies thinking of your smile
Sipping coffee to turn me up right
Shimmers of snow on the pavement
The pure smell of winter wafts in the air
Watching the traffic go by as if in a daze
The antagonistically bitter breeze, so clean and refreshing
I turn towards the door, creaks as I enter
Looming steps up to my home
Greeted by my furry family, I stop and think
Of all the things in my life
What once was lost is now found
And it all hits me all at once
You're the reason I write, my inspiration to breathe freely
You show me things I have never seen, only dreamed of
I've been stuck for years, only for it all to release
In a spurt of rampant creativity
I hope this never leaves me again
The flow of energy theopneustic
As I walk towards my room, and stare out my window
Condensation fogging up the glass
The moon shines through onto me once again
And I know that everything is finally in its right place

l'illusion de la sérénité

the snowfall mimicked my smiles as it fluttered down
and as i reached to touch a flake with my bare hand,
i dreamed once again of an impossible future.

a dear friend of mine reminded me, truthfully, that
i have never caught a snowflake with my bare hands,
so i thought i needed gloves to catch them.

hands covered, i tried again to catch these delicate structures
when suddenly the snow stopped and the night grew cold,
and i realised i am much better suited to catch the rain.

the rhetorician

chest cracked open
heart exposed, soul seeping
with words skilled as any surgeon
she lay vulnerable, weeping

pourquoi?

you said to me
"it is easier this way"
as the months go by
it hurts even more

trying so hard
to keep composure
drink exacerbates
leaving me in shambles

all i am doing
is masking the pain
but i am incapable
of processing your absence

for a friend

gewürztraminer
glass by glass i reminisce
you tell me good night
but the evening has just begun
how long i wonder it will be
until normal comes back

kindling (untitled no. 2)

your selenic soul
enchanted me from first glance
enveloped with its radiant glow
that has kept me warm
in the crisp autumn air

a warning (untilted no.1)

Pools of amber reflect the light of the endless night sky;
They speak of things words can only dream of expressing.

Epistle to a Friend

Dearest friend, while I listened to chatter in the pub,
I overhead someone who was blissfully happy,
All because she could buy more makeup with her raise,
Another man bellowed of how he wanted to get into sales
So they can afford their dream home in the country,
And the bloke behind me stating that his new shoes,
Oh, how they were the best, because only 100 pairs were made.
I sat there alone and drank my troubled thoughts.

Is this what our society is going to?
Where people care only about buying more stuff,
About what new and fancy things they can own?
How their phone is the newest, or their fashion the latest?
Instead of these trivial pursuits, what about thinking?
We should not care about money, but about intellect!
Intelligence is what fosters the ultimate rewards in life.
What is it that you care for the most, my friend?

Some would say this is a poor choice of a life,
It’s those who want you to waste your short existence,
Just so you can continue to buy more of their creations,
Ultimately supporting their own coffers while draining yours,
To have you slave away at your job for worthless goods,
Goods which only gives them the benefit of your hard work,
As you are unaware of you giving them your life!
It’s absurd – why would anyone choose to do this?

Me, I sit and write in hopes that I will be found by someone.
Until then, I slave away just the same as you,
What a hypocrite I am, to complain about this!
Yet I cannot help but think that I am choosing to do this,
So I can someday do something else with more meaning.
The job I do is not the job I am destined to do, clearly,
Because this talent won’t be wasted on someone else’s dream!
I will chase my own, and succeed, you will see!

For what good is it to waste your life for another?
Nae, I will not succumb to this trap that you have,
The trap of materialism in this country.
But it seems as if I must against my will,
For even as I whine for those to find me,
I too want to build that fame and fortune!
So I will hope to catch the eye of someone then,
Someone willing to empty their coffers unto me!

However as I care about thinking about thinking,
And not about which new makeup, house, or shoes,
Are my dreams of recognition as a writer and scholar,
Just the vain dreams of my own form of consumerism?
My friend, tell me, am I simply jaded by the glory of academics?
What will this endless slavery get me but a headache,
Plus stress, debt, and more! Even in the ivory tower,
There are predators upon the one who cares about intellect!

Does this make me outside of the realm of the typical individual?
To assert this position is to ignore the very essence that drives,
And that essence is money. Now, I have seen in my letter to you,
My ambitions, aspirations, all in the end are to bring coin.
I am just like you truly, and you are just like me.
We are, after all, in this society, bent on achieving the American dream.
I hope that a higher consciousness is achieved through my actions,
So I drink my troubles away, thinking of you, and how alike we are.

Aboard the Serentity

In the beginning of spring we had joined hands,
The night blossomed to a morning so sweet.
We compared life to Shepherd Book, that smart man,
“It doesn't matter, just believe,” said he.

The human condition, how it made us grin,
As we drank delectable chardonnay.
Our minds blowing around like leaves on the wind,
Caught unawares of the impending day.

A bottle down we finished and then one more,
A cigarette to help slow our minds.
As the sun rose, we had to settle the score,
But how should we then and still be kind?

Inside we went and suddenly sleep beckoned,
We looked at each other and smiled wide.
We climbed into bed, usual for us friends,
Limbs entwined punctuated with a sigh.

Under the covers together our guard fell,
And you asked if it was alright to bare.
How could I refuse such a handsome offer,
As I lay with my fingers in your hair?

Anxiety set in remembering weeks past,
Discussions of how dangerous this was.
And yet, those convictions did not last,
As here we were consumed by lust.

What a bother it was to worry of others,
When what is in front of us felt so right.
Now it makes no sense to forfeit this pleasure,
One that has beckoned us all through the night.

We turned to each other, and our eyes had met –
Suddenly we kissed, twas heaven sent!
This, my friend, is where the story must end,
Although you surely know where it had went.

meaning-making

The purpose that drives me is love in its purest form
I want nothing more than to be loved as I love others
But as I question what it is to love, I wonder
What do I sacrifice in pursuit of this?

just before noon

when your breath shuddered I hoped
i waited to see your eyes open

skin cold and your heartbeat slowing
i begged to hear your voice again

then as I waited for you to come back to me
i realised that you never would

epitaph

my body has existed for 27 years
without knowing what yours feels like
pressed against mine.

highway 2

I sat in silence and watched the mist creep through the forest,
Enveloping the trees as if it was the embodiment of their being;

In that moment I was caressed by nature's sensual passion,
Embedded in the tiny droplets that rest upon the windshield.

Preamble to the Constitution of the United States of Capitalism

We the Consumers of the United States,
in Order to form a more perfect Corporation,
disregard Injustice in favour of Convenience,
insure economic Disparity through Materialism,
provide for the common defence by slashing prices,
promote the Wealth of the One Percent,
and secure the Blessings of Television to ourselves and our Distractivity,
do Commercialise and establish this Constitution
For the United States of Capitalism.

A Critique on Modern Poetry

To say that poetry is dead is not a lie,
For what is the goal of the modern poet?
Self-praise, with abstraction to the ninth degree,
It’s an act of mental masturbation.

The masters, Horace and Wordsworth, knew their meter truly,
Following in the tradition of the Greeks.
Words would gallop upon a page as waves of prose,
Their lyrical musings still with skill unmatched.

Now all that we have is the refuse of fools,
Content with this art, if I can call it such.
For what good does it do to talk of the morning
If you cannot relate it to the common experience?

Merely arranging the words on a page is not prose,
But a device that appears befuddled!
It is better then to be a designer than a poet,
If you think aesthetics trump the human condition.

Leave the act of poetry to who gives it thought,
I beg thee not to waste the time of the reader.
For the world is full of enough modernist trash,
When what we need now is actual talent.

An Eas

His smile was etched into her memory that day,
As quick as the sun can burn an eye;
How sudden she succumbed to the idea of him,
Yet she cannot understand why.

Existence is Suffering

She cannot reflect on the past with much fondness,
For even her jubilant memories are drenched in bitterness;

As the gaiety of summer is slaughtered by despondent winter,
It reminds her that nature too is subject to this tragic mess;

Her existence is suffering marked by brief moments of felicity,
For all she can do now is withdrawal and repeat to herself, "it just is."

third street heartaches

that night i waited for your call
half past ten but it never came
someone told me this would happen
but i didn't want to listen

days went by and i felt an emptiness
that i hope to never feel again
you vowed to me you'd be a good husband
but those don't leave you like this

weeks went by and i no longer cried
i realised you weren't coming back
so why did you marry me to leave
and make me a widow in heart?

sunday

a friend told me today that i thrive on ambiguity
if only i could find the words to change this
but my cynicism prevents me from doing so.

my inability to gain these words from myself
and from others to clarify thoughts and feelings
will surely be the death of me.

an ocean below

sweet nectar on your lips
my body aches with fire
pressure builds within me
as i writhe in anticipation

hunger

they say the early bird gets the worm
but i can’t seem to find my own morsel
no matter how early i arrive to forage

perhaps i need to go back so far into
the morning where it ceases to exist
and hunt my prey under moonlight

searching for the worm during the day
i must fight against the others so then
the expenditure isn’t worth the reward

waiting until dawn to begin my quest as
surely, it’s easier since everyone is resting
maybe the sunset will allow me to feast

should i give up my pursuit for the worm
and accept that i should have something else
however tantalizing this little worm may be

this forsaken worm curses me with hunger
starving because i’m convinced i need it
when i would be happier with berries

hey everett

there are two roads a person can take
and then again two more
for each choice you make, another divide opens
a path within a path within a path
as if encountering two worlds simultaneously

when contemplating which way to go
you imagine the one not chosen to flourish,
and they say: “see you in another lifetime”
as if that’s any consolation

why are we so afraid of making the wrong decision, then
if in the end, in an alternate reality
we achieve every possible situation?
is our existence truly built on a tree
that never ceases to divide?

saturday

it seems clear that i have had too much to think today
because as the paint dripped it covered up the canvas
yet the canvas was always blank
there was never a moment
where it appeared empty
and yet at the same time it did
i sit here and think about erasing
my actions to quell the rain
it scares me because
to be honest i
don’t want
the zero
moment
either
as
this will
all fade
and
be

gone.

making sense of september

how easy it is to hurt
for when you open towards joy
and feel distress instead of contentment
tells something of a joke
as if what you desire
can never be had
as a consolation
you get to experience the pit
equal to a punch in the gut
worthy to one who deserves it
but this is more than superficial
for who am I to judge what I deserve?
If indeed there is a reason for these feelings
perhaps there is a justification
for if all was sound and well within
there would be no feeling at all
would it be worth living to be without pain?
without despondency to counteract delight?
how can you have a life without ache
it makes the moments of happiness excusable
when those moments exist so fleeting
but perhaps I have found my answer already

lupus ludem

you said to me "i just can't change
how i feel" when i went to you that night
in what seemed to be a cry for help
but when i said it was a miscommunication
i realize that you must have an inability to commit
because who would sever ties with someone
because they showed that they cared

as i ruminate about how i thought
you felt about me i think what i thought
seemed so beautiful was just a narrative
played inside my head how i wish i wasn't
clouded by delusions of what i thought
was real because now all i can think of
is what a mistake it was to open up to you

perhaps if you were honest you would
not have dragged me along with you
on your self-proclaimed foolishness that
isn't being a fool at all it’s just your lack
of responsibility and acknowledgement of the
damage your immaturity caused to my
fragile emotional state why would you do this

you hurt me when i trusted you when i was
afraid and vulnerable i told you this and you
gave no thought about how your actions created
the situation that drove us apart and yet
i never got an explanation from you and
i doubt you have reflected on the words you said
that drove me to take the action i did which was

caring when you wanted to die

it was the thing that crushed us
yet i feel as if it wouldn't have mattered
because you would have left me anyway.

this is not about you

in an alternate reality
i would love you
more than i can now
with each day i think about
how hard it is
to know that your mind
cannot relate to mine
although my heart belongs to another
i wish i had two

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