Lost to ambiguity,

I’m nothing.

Obstacles with no substance

nor logic conquer all.

Circumstances are conspiracies.

My anger’s self-righteousness

must win the war.

All in life plans to witness

my reactivity and self-destruction

because, of course,

the world revolves around my demise;

saying otherwise is a risky lie.

Read full poem on Vocal.

Photo Credit: Gioele Fazzeri 

More Poetry

A Plea To Death

Winged

Elemental Magic – Fire

In simple conversations with others, I mute myself unintentionally…

…and it feels involuntary because I’m the type that wants to spill my heart’s contents. I just feel like when I’m around the majority of the people in my life, they have shown me what they really care or don’t care about through rejection, belittlement, invalidation, and sardonic attitudes assaulting what is not just important to me, but also accurate. So like many sensitives, I choose silence while my eyes tear up and my heart aches and my stomach churns and my mind screams. 

This became a painful habit of my people pleasing persona. The consequence was volcanic, but luckily for me the pen could channel the magma within and somehow transcend from being raw and unruly to becoming divine and sculpted. It was the first poem I wrote about how much I loved Spring in 5th grade where I realized I was being listened to. It was my first song about friendship where I realized I was being heard. So my poetic career plodded on while traversing through goth culture, my parent’s divorce, going to college early, losing toxic friends and becoming the toxic friend. 

I didn’t pick up the pen as much when depression won me over, but I’d reach for it in desperate times to avoid carving into my skin, since that too was belittled, invalidated, mocked, and only a few times led friends to beg me to never go too far. 

I’ve teased death a time or two, but our relationship is so much more fulfilling now that my poetic purpose has been embraced by my artistic and fragmented soul. That volcanic energy would cool sometimes and seal the broken parts me rearranged by new philosophies and mysticism that called the pen to my hand again, reminding me, especially when I’m erupting, that poetry is permission to simply be. 

Kris Leliel


photo of a full moon

Moondays Should Be Mindful – [Just Me]

It’s so important to have just one day completely stress free, but that’s not easy…like ever. Considering that many of us have been “grinding” so to speak either in the workforce or in school most of our lives, we can’t just say, “I’m relaxing now,” and boom! You’re chill AF. That’s not life. That’s not […]

white dandelion flower shallow focus photography

Is it Luck, Manifestation, or Coincidence? – [Mystic Meditations]

Is luck on my side? Will my goals in life that can lead to success? Will my prosperity candle spell work? Not everything is guaranteed, but one thing is: change. Change. It’s chaotic, random, and often not noticed until it’s noticed. Lately, I’ve been exploring how my agnosticism and absurdism plays around with my mystic […]

I had not thought of violets late,
The wild, shy kind that spring beneath your feet
In wistful April days, when lovers mate
And wander through the fields in raptures sweet.
The thought of violets meant florists’ shops,
And bows and pins, and perfumed papers fine;
And garish lights, and mincing little fops
And cabarets and soaps, and deadening wines.
So far from sweet real things my thoughts had strayed,
I had forgot wide fields; and clear brown streams;
The perfect loveliness that God has made,—
Wild violets shy and Heaven-mounting dreams.
And now—unwittingly, you’ve made me dream
Of violets, and my soul’s forgotten gleam.

© Alice Moore Dunbar-Nelson – Source: Poetry Foundation

Alone in the library room, even when others
Are there in the room, alone, except for themselves:
There is the illusion of peace; the air in the room
Is stilled; there are reading lights on the tables,
Looking as if they’re reading, looking as if
They’re studying the text, and understanding,

Shedding light on what the words are saying;
But under their steady imbecile gaze the page
Is blank, patiently waiting not to be blank.

The page is blank until the mind that reads
Crosses the black river, seeking the Queen
Of the Underworld, Persephone, where she sits

By the side of the one who brought her there from Enna,
Hades the mute, the deaf, king of the dead letter;
She is clothed in the beautiful garment of our thousand

Misunderstandings of the sacred text.

© David Ferry – Source: Poem Hunter

Someone standing at the mouth had
the idea to enter. To go further

than light or language could
go. As they followed
the idea, light and language followed

like two wolves—panting, hearing themselves
panting. A shapeless scent
in the damp air …

Keep going, the idea said.

Someone kept going. Deeper and deeper, they saw
others had been there. Others had left

objects that couldn’t have found their way
there alone. Ocher-stained shells. Bird bones. Grounded
hematite. On the walls,

as if stepping into history, someone saw
their purpose: cows. Bulls. Bison. Deer. Horses—
some pregnant, some slaughtered.

The wild-
life seemed wild and alive, moving

when someone moved, casting their shadows
on the shadows stretching
in every direction. Keep going,

the idea said again. Go …

Someone continued. They followed the idea so far inside that
outside was another idea.

© Paul Tran – Source: Poetry Foundation

Gothic Style Throne Room by Concept Artist Joey Leung on ArtStation

How quickly our thrones become cages

from a single stroke of misery.

Convinced our legacies past

are erased by hidden difficulty.

Dismay destructs our strengths

lighting fire at our feet;

weakness become more transparent

than the thinnest silk sheets.

Don’t forget your prudence

in hours of adversity.

Unlock your cage and venture

to rebuild and ground your dignity.

“Oft have I thrilled at deeds of high emprise, / And yearned to venture into realms unknown,”

Alice Moore Dunbar-Nelson – “To Madame Curie”

A powerful force from history greeted me today through The Paris Review: Alice Dunbar-Nelson.

I came across this article by Joanna Scutts while looking for magazines that accepted poetry. I was pulled in by “Feminize Your Canon” with a “Yes. I love this. Feminize My Canon!” before clicking the link. It started out to be very engaging and soon violent. Then revival and raw power burst through in the unpublished, discredited, and haunting prejudice, both racial and gendered, throughout Alice’s life. What makes this remarkable to me was as I read on I saw myself and I saw the protagonist of the novel series I’ve been working on for years now. The similarities between all three of us brought a vivacity to what seemed almost fated to me, but honestly, the story of Alice Dunbar-Nelson can summon the courage of any light-skinned African American woman lacking a sense of belongingness and fights for it daily. When you fight for belongingness and acceptance, really you’re on the path of self-trust and self-respect; dignity is the name of the game and it’s hard to play, but the arts can be the greatest weapon drawn if it fits firmly in your hands and helps you declare your uniqueness with boldness and honor.

I don’t know how else to describe Alice Dunbar-Nelson, other than what I’ve said, what I’ve been further inspired to do, which is create forever, and to just add that she was a remarkable soul, who knew she deserved better and made sure she got it. To the article writer Joanna Scutts, thank you. To the scholars and writers who revitalized Alice’s life and life’s work, thank you. I value your efforts highly and I’m grateful you didn’t censor the relationships she had with men and women amongst her achievements as a political activist who “in her energy and appetite for life’s pleasures, from the literary to the human to the natural, Alice Dunbar-Nelson celebrated beauty and freedom to the end of her life,” (Scutts 2020). That’s the dream, right there.


More Artist Recognition & History Study

Why These Native Americans Observe A National Day of Mourning Every Thanksgiving

The Power and History of Samhain

Embracing Your Weird and Respecting Your Art – The Creative Introvert Podcast


Autumn Post Challenge – Day 8 – Halloween Haul?! – [Just Me]

For real?! This was my last post! Ugh! Well, I will show off two fun purchases to add some spook to my sketchbooks. I bought a spooky sticker pack and decorated one of my sketchbooks. I love it. Also, I’ve been enjoying the horror manga short story collection “Smashed” by Junji Ito. These stories have […]