The Smokey Eye

My Dead Poet Society

Spur of the moment poetry. Yes, unfortunately, I am still angsty and I need to get shitty feelings out.

Standing on The Shore

The briney air crusts my hair Sand crawls up me like ants. The sea breeze kisses my face, Like how He used to. I stand at this shore. My gaze, unmoved from the glistening bowl. The sunrise and sunset, Make living worth it, And I begin to glow. As I do, I become a spectacle. But I do not move. I am alone, But my soul will not frost. As I stand, a variety of Beasts encroach. Some watch. Some smell. Some taste. But I continue to stand alone. Taking in the Sea. "Ethereal", I've been told. I believe the Beasts not, For I have heard their songs before. I continue to look past the shore. One day, I felt not a nose, or a tongue. But a hand, On my shoulder. This. The warmth broke my gaze. And I turned. It was on my shoulder. And the "Beast" was a Man. The Man gazed into me. And I, Him. We spoke not. And next to me He stood. He turned, removing his touch, And gazed into the Sea. We stood together through the seasons. Never moved. I caught sight of a cloud, in the shape of a dove. But when I turned my head to the side, I discovered I was alone. The Man was gone. And the waves erased his memory. And so I turned my gaze back to the Sea. Like a dream, I recall the warmth of the hand. The Beasts remain curious, As I stand at the Shore.

Definitely one of my longer poems, I try to keep things sweet and to the point but I also wanted to tell this story that I had brewing in my head. Standing at the Shore is a poem reflecting on how one's beauty will attract all walks of life and will try to experience you in some sort of way, but I specifically am recalling my own experiences as a trans woman. Men are curious creatures and are quiet and private when it comes to trans women out of losing social favor, but still want to interact with them. Hence I thought curious Beasts was fitting allegory. I left the connotation vague because not all men are bad but all men are beasts, hence I tried to be as neutral as possible with the wording of their first mention in the poem. But the man the persona thought was a beast at first, represents the general experience trans women have with relationships with most men. That is, simple acts of attention from a man with correct timing, can take away a woman's focus. And despite the persona thinking the man was still by her side, his warmth had long been gone before she took a look around to realize. And I relate this to my own experience where, I have been easier to win over only to be abandoned once the thrill of the chase is gone. And in a way those types of relationships become a collection of lucid dreams ive once had in a sense. But there isnt much a girl can do except regain her focus and let the world keep moving on.

Us

Us is a poem that I wrote to desribe the rollercoaster of emotions that comes with not knowing how to accept love and how our minds deteriorate from over-thinking each others emotions. I wanted to somehow try and capture anxiety towards the end without explicitly using the word. I also wanted a controlled pacing with the punctuation. Rereading it, its kinda bad, but take your time reading this one, and I hope that you can keep your head on straight better than me when being swept up by love. You. Why are you here now? Why did you come to me, here? Why do you see me? You Me. I am so afraid. I cant tell why you love me. I can't see you, why? Me You. You are a blind man. The shimmer of my sable eyes. And roses in yours. You.. Me. I'm a blind woman. Deceit, pain; its all I see. Fog of fear in mine. Me.. You! All you do is lie! All you want to do is hurt! All you want is Me! ...You? Me. I stand here, senile. Is this voice of mine, or yours? Tainted by our love Us...

The Wildflower's Ghost

A piece that captures transition. She was a scent, a feeling, a memory I saw her sitting on a bench. A cafe. A garden. Her eyes, sterling grey and lived a thousand life-times I saw her body, stiff but held grace. Held stoic. Held power. She was the type you dont approach. Like a wild rose, you keep your distance. You look. You admire. Today I thought I saw her again But she smiled, with the warmest glow. With magnitude. With fulfillment. She was not the wild rose, but also was. I saw her sitting on a bench. A cafe. A garden. Her eyes glowed amber in the sun, and held innocence. The type you want to take care of. You embrace. You preserve. She came up to me and I saw the wild rose in her. But I soon realized she was gone. Yet lingered. Yet a ghost.

Are You my Mother

A piece for Wendy who has been a second mother. And my dean, who helped bring me back from the brink of giving up more than once on my dental journey. Are you my Mother? You brush my hair, Tame my emotions that flare, You adorn me in jewels Just for me to meet the suitor Fools. No. Are you my Mother? You inspire my hand, Your hands reach out with that medalion band, You embrace my strengths as I led, Even when it was better that I fled. No. You are my Mother. Straight faced. A frown, never moved. I see the regret in your expression. Never a day goes by without that Tension. You are my mother. The world applauds me, I became everything I never thought I could be. But as I sit on this stage I look below. Your back is all you show. You are my Mother, I wish I could leave you behind. But the jewels, the silks, that hint of kind. I am but a fish. And you, the fisherman. You are my Mother.

From a Swing in Alaminos

I sit on a metal bar. The once blue ocean is ink, the same I use to write A songstress whispers calming words from above. I wish he was here. One song, I remember him. He gives me a ring from a city balcony. Two song, I remember him. He gives me a ring from a mountain top. A final song, I remember him. He gives me a ring, its in a poisoned apple. I look into the black. The momentum never stops. I want to stop to breathe. But I can feel it.