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.

Ode to a Trans Lovers Past

I lie awake staring at the ceiling. Trying to bury all the feeling. The memory of your face, The magenta flower you layed in my hand. For a moment, I wished you were gentle. The moments of our shared happiness, clouding my mental. Perhaps it is honey laced. My face went red and I could not help but dig my shoes into the sand. I knew it was not real, nothing but a sweet illusion. That perhaps, just maybe, you could be the candle light in my world of messed up confusion. I ask myself why; why you?! How is it you make my heart race?! Why do I wish so badly that you would be the one to finally put on my wedding band. Why is the world so cruel, My life never permits my happiness, a wandering fool. I traded everything for physical and material wealth, and assured case. But what I did not calculate was the price, emotionally, alone I stand. Am I truly happy? Am I really okay, being left alone to write poems so sappy? I have seen through my false pretenses of younger days. And all I ask now is to be seen, to be heard, no matter the land. I miss you, I cannot deny, it wretches my soul. But I question now, what even was the goal. I reminisce on that conversation, a dangerous maze. But it was not me that was important to you, it was your homosocial brand. I realized that you had let go, long, long ago. And all that ties me to you is my own ego. I hate that you and I were just a phase. But the way you went out felt so unplanned. Now all I can do is watch you from the shore. As you drift further and further, farther than you ever did before. And I am so angry because I am powerless to stop it in its ways! It was all a lie, an illusion, that was never built to withstand. And so from one reflection of you to the next I shuffle around. The sing-song words, the grand gestures profound. But just like you, their role in my life are mere strays. So I carry on with my head held high, a broken, taped up heart, ill always carry underhand.

7-18-2026 A poem I wrote at midnight, I think I might change the title. When I write my poems I think of the title last as i think of it more of as me finally putting a label on my wandering feelings. I think im proudest of this one so far compared to my other works. I tried to work on the coherence and balance the artistry a lot more. I feel like my past works were either too structured and lost the art, or too artsy and lost the structure. I hope that I can find love, but I realize now at my age the burning desire for love was always just a plea to be understood. And when I finally met somebody that saw through all my facets I thought he could be the one. I realize now that was still projecting my old patterns onto him. Being single is bitter sweet, but the night i wrote this poem, it tasted more bitter before going to bed.

A Dream in the Flower Garden

I fell asleep to the sound of his voice. The calm humming quieting my mind. His warm embrace, never asked, but by choice. I cannot hold on long to consciousness before I go blind. I awaken in a garden, flowers of red and gold. I look to the east and connected I see and alabastor temple. The design so gaudy but illustriously bold. The moment I made my way to the top of the stair plateau, I shivered, for the sheer height and dusk made me cold. To the west the Sun layed to rest. And to my suprise, while watching, I felt a hand. I did not fear him, my heart skipped in my breast. His face now hazy as I write, I remember though he was quite bland. Memories fade in and out, swirl senseless, One moment, hes standing besides me, The next I look down from the plateu to see him in the flowers. His positions change, almost endless. I dont recall how he did it or how he was made. But without blinking, it starts with a warm feeling. And suddenly in the garden grande meadow, Im layed. Next to me in the flowers, there he is once more, he's surely teasing. For a moment I can breathe. I feel seen. The feelings I fervently hide, I can finally unsheathe. But I make a grave mistake, "All this time, where have you been?" The magic he used to whisk us away, Did not feel warm this time around. The last thing I saw was the flowers gentle sway. This time, only four bedroom corners were surround. As I came to, I was struck with grief. "Where is the temple, the garden I seek?!" I felt absurd for these feelings from am encounter so brief. The pain and awe for that place of mystique.

6-10-2026 The real dream that was the basis of the poem was unfortunately boyfriend asmr induced HAHAHAH. But the dream that night was so impactful I spend days after writing the drafts of this poem contemplating what it all meant. I was so devestated when I woke up because the warmth I felt by that mysterious man gave me so much rest and comfort that I needed. I think my mind made up a defense mechanism to combat the sorrow I felt at the time. I was so enamoured by the visual splendor of the dream I had to write it down for record. It felt as warm as one of those dead wife montages in movies. I just felt immense love and longing as I went in and out of these glimpses of being with him in this garden. I asked him that question in my dream, and it did end abruptly after. I think a lot of the times my happiness when talking to men or crushes irl is short lived when I ask too much. They say a crush is a lack of information, and I feel like many of mine end when I learn their darker sides are not compatible with my morals. And just like the poem many of my romances lately felt like this fleeting dream of joy and peace, just before I ask too much or find something I was not supposed to learn to keep the illusions alive.

Fire on the Riverbed

My Hate and Love for you are two sides of the same coin. I love you. As I lose myself in the labyrinth of page, As I numb the pain with colorful pages, As I feel this hurt that you've left me. It stings. I want to cry. But our smiles, keep pulling me into the water. I cant take this. Its choking me. Rotting me inside and out. Why did you have to leave, For me to flourish? This hole is all I have left. It grows in my chest. The edges like a crawling fire consuming outward. I've lost your scent. I dont think I care. I lost your warmth, I dont think I care. And I dont think you do either. I miss the mirror that reflected me everyday. But I think you Wanted to Break yours. Break me. My Smile. My Laugh. But now that youre gone. Do I even smile? Do I even laugh? You left me at the riverbank long before You left youre ghost with me. No matter how much I wanted you there. I should have known you were long gone. The hole grows, the fire burning. Why did you have to leave?! How could you betray me? I hate you. As I spill the ink. As I trade my soul for abundance. As I feel this love for you. It calms me. I cant save myself. Please, anybody, somebody, Save me from my cage. Unbind me from my shackles. Save me as He did. Let me rest. I am so very tired.

6-10-2026 I wrote this poem while I contemplated texting my abusive ex again. I think people take for granted how slowly this type of stuff starts after really sweet beginnings. I wanted to try and explain the complicated emotions that went through my mind at the time. I remembered what he did to me, I remembered the times I loved him, I remember the betrayls the lies. I remembered my home life that I was trying to escape and made me equally vulnerable to this man, in the last few stanzas. In some ways its hard to not go back. The familiarity of it all. But ik now that reading the same book and expecting a different ending is pointless. I choose happiness and to chase my abundance.

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.