logicaldreamer

[logicaldreamer]

Hello, do not ignore. Please, I am a Palestinian mother of three children. I lost my brother, my home, and everything I owned. I was displaced to southern Gaza in search of safety. Please, I ask you to publish the link to my campaign to help me protect my children🙏

https://www.gofundme.com/f/save-maryams-family-from-war?modal=share&source=fundraiser+story

I may be bothering you, but it's difficult. I ask you three things, please. First, share my posts. Second, ask your friends to share as well. Third, write a post about me on your page. Sorry for bothering you.

Posting to boost!

[logicaldreamer]

so touched to be listed in this lineup of poets - I'm a quick poem writer, long time editor. sometimes, poems come to me in a few seconds and then haunt me for years.

dear poets,

if you wish to share more regarding the duration (and technique) of writing your poems, please do so in the comments/reblogs. your answers and insight are valuable to me.

i am taking this poll to satiate my curiosity and to assure myself that i can't be the only one who takes half a day/an entire day (irrespective of the length of the poem) to write and edit a single poem.

i'll appreciate it if you choose to reblog this post. the more answers, the more i'll be sure that the most important thing to write a poem is to "simply begin and write" without worrying about the time taken and the way i write poems. i'd like to more strongly affirm that we can have our own ways with poems, there's no right and wrong way if they make sense to us because eventually, we'll find the (our) right way.

thank you for your time x

tagging a few wonderful poets that ive come across on tumblr: @bitesizedpoetry @nobodysflower @logicaldreamer @wordrummager @palladiumfragments @ellisnightingale @uutpoetry @alex-a-roman

[logicaldreamer]

Help my family. War is devastating. There is nothing left for life. No schools, no universities, no home, and no dreams. All dreams have been destroyed.

https://www.gofundme.com/f/dydb36-gaza -palestine

Sharing this ask! Please donate if you can.

[logicaldreamer]

I'm the gay cousin. the one with a "roommate." eldest-daughter-turned-flannel-wearer. I used to be the golden girl, with a 4.0 gpa and awards for service. I sang in church choir every sunday. I am the guinea pig oldest child, first to go to college and last to drive, always riding the line between family therapist and clueless one. I didn't date or party or do drugs. I paved the road to liberation with my dinner table tears. I fought until I lost my voice. I earned scholarships and worked the night shift while my parents paid my brother's rent. I shaved my head and took a breath for the first time. I came out to silence on the other line.

now, I'm high on a saturday night with my girlfriend. there is nobody in the world but us. we're getting married, and I don't know who will come to the wedding.

Please tell me about your place in your family

[logicaldreamer]

a season of horror paperbacks & extra blankets / g.t.e.

severed fingers appear in my dreams. in the evenings, I glance over my shoulder — there are more shadows than usual. we’re in a polar vortex. I’ve shoveled the walk three separate times in one afternoon. the snow squalls, blowing against the windows. my girlfriend comes home with a new blanket featuring winnie the pooh & piglet. 

I used to be horror averse. I much prefer a main character who struggles against the confines of gender in the 1850s or an enemies-to-lovers romance. I want everyone to be okay in the end. but the world these days feels worse than a slasher.

it’s not as hard to read about death. I am desensitized — the orange man is on my screen again. I can’t understand a word he says. gaza’s last hospital is bombed, the petitions & emails & meager donations in vain in the face of calamity. I buy masks again for the first time in months. the hospitals are overwhelmed. when I get home from work, I notice

the blanket. pooh whispers, life is good. piglet smiles, have a nice daisy. I open the next horror book. the spine cracks.

[logicaldreamer]

ode to the boys gay girls date in high school / g.t.e.

you always texted me back. we shoved shoulders in the library, smirked when our knees touched under the table. it’s true, I was enamored with this kind of closeness — all late night conversation, the push & pull of our stilted flirting. my friends tell me we are just like when harry met sally. the next weekend, I watch the movie with my parents. it’s for an assignment, I assure them. the scene in the deli makes my face turn red. back at school, you ask me to homecoming. I wear a dress I hate. your bowtie is crooked & I feel a sudden rush of affection for your gangly limbs & sweet face. we slow dance while teachers prowl with flashlights. I finally kiss you to get it over with & I’m horrified by the sensation of our mouths touching. after, I stop responding to your texts. you give me a necklace for valentine’s day. I break up with you in front of your locker. I’m so sorry, I say. can we still be friends, I say. but there are no more football games spent joking in the bleachers or notes passed in english class. I’ve bungled it. the next boy acts just like you. years later, I rewatch sally in the diner. it’s her I want.

[logicaldreamer]

august has a habit of spilling through my fingers like beach glass. lately, my life is full of improbable things. a nun & a man smoking a cigarette in the ice cream aisle. a ring. your reflection in the mirror. my love is a lighthouse & you chose the rocks. I see you in every window I pass. the curve of your slouched spine at the sink doing dishes. I'm haunted by your memory even now. something to do with kitchens & stale desperation & suppressed queerness. your stringy brown hair. a stained white shirt. polaroids where we awkwardly sling our arms around each other. now that I have known love it all seems so foolish. I was a child then. I hope you remember that. one summer, I collected a whole jar of glass, hewn soft by the water, blue-green puzzle pieces against the light. the next, a barren beach. I sit with that end-of-summer ache. the hole you left in me still feels like a raw tooth.

g.t.e. // summer elegy

[logicaldreamer]

your poetry!!! is so good!!! i’m in love!!!

hi anon - thank you! this made my day. I'm not on tumblr as much lately, my mental health is better (woo) and that seems to make my poetry worse (boo). I'm trying to figure out how to write about joy and the stars and the inside of her wrist. I'll get back to you with more poetry when I get that down :)

[logicaldreamer]

I was an english major once, obsessed with the oxford comma, semi colons, & thesis statements. this lended nicely to receiving a job in marketing. I knew how to write for different kinds of people.

it's all distilled now, each sentence a tiny billboard in the sea of sponsored posts. I’m limited by characters & budgets & advertising sizes. I long for the ten page essay, for space to make a thought

more nuanced than a hot take. I just want to watch the waterfall, feel the cool breeze from its closeness, the droplets misting over my body. I don’t want to think about influencers or algorithms.

there are no billboards in vermont, maine, alaska, or hawaii. I dream about a sky uninterrupted by capitalism. the sun peels orange as it sets, tinged a fading pink just before the stars emerge.

after Dave Pollot

g.t.e. // cost per impression

[logicaldreamer]

on three separate occasions I have googled is this the end of the world the thought was so heavy I could only dare to ask a search engine. all the answers were sponsored or referred to doomsday cults. I kept on living anyway. the flag by the police station in my neighborhood is always at half mast. I never know why & google can’t tell me either. I take a long weekend away from social media & feel my brain healing. it’s easy to adopt optimism when I know less of the world. the vermont countryside rolls over on itself. I hold my girlfriend’s hand. we read together before we sleep. this is all I have at the end.

g.t.e. // apocalypse poem

[logicaldreamer]

it took me a long time to learn I was queer but I knew I loved you the first time I saw your turtleneck crop top & shorts in the summer that rained so much we wrung out towels we used to dry the floor we slept on & the mosquitoes were so bad I bought topical benadryl & bathed in it until I feel like a child with you & also the most grown up version of myself one moment we are in bed skin pressed against each other & another we are drinking tea in a coffeeshop & then we are talking bills & pap smears & all these unsexy things that still make me want you in every place I have ever been to & all the ones I have not yet I think we will get through it (adulthood) I mean I cannot wait to be old with you

g.t.e. // poem for a year

[logicaldreamer]

forgive me for I have sinned. it’s good friday & I’m driving through vermont with my girlfriend. she holds my right hand, my left on the steering wheel. someday, we’ll get married on a whim in a forest or a bookstore or at a town hall & kiss in the crosswalk after. I don’t fast anymore. I don’t give anything up. it’s true, I am obsessed with abundance & ice cream & the softness of her skin. what does it mean to be lapsed?

a) expired b) voided c) finished d) none of the above e) all of the above

I’m sorry if there are no right answers. (there is no textbook for this one.) instead, you’ll have to search the stars as they rise at night. one day, there will be a way without ashes. a path without a gate.

g.t.e. // multiple choice for the queer catholic

[logicaldreamer]

my main grievance with the current state of the world: the lack of queer tv shows. if I’m going to be even pickier about it (which I am): the lack of lesbian tv shows. 

without death. 

give me a 22 minute episode without a coffin or a straight person.  apparently this is an impossible task. is queer comedy too much to ask for? I’m talking wholesome cheesy tv. give me a series where nobody comes out. sans religious trauma. I want queer people who are messy & loving & have a character arc fixated on something besides their sexuality. a local bookstore that morphs into a wine bar. a small town romance. a city of dykes. I want something better than reality. please give me that. it’s the least you can do.

g.t.e. // don't say gay

[logicaldreamer]

my seventh grade science teacher used to say there were only three things you HAD to do in your life - pay taxes. go to the bathroom. die.

personally, I’m more dependent on dogearing my favorite books & standing in the rain.

my classmates & I would argue against him, trying to list alternatives. he was an air force alum with a purple heart, so he never budged.

in time, I’ve found there are other things we have to do - empty the dishwasher. laundry. make dinner.

I’d much rather do a load of laundry than face anything that could take me away from my routine, last night’s dishes in the sink, my dirty socks.

to be a person is to look death in the eye & return unbored in the face of the mundane. middle school science. passing notes in class. a hot summer day.

g.t.e. // a to do list for being human

[logicaldreamer]

there is a dead deer in the road. you whimper in the passenger seat as we pass, winter wind pulling at the roof. there is a rejection letter in the mailbox. I leave it on the counter unopened. I am the cool-lit wonder to your warmth. you are a hot bath. a warm mug of tea. I bleed silver in the night, cast shadows on the lawn. in the frost, a baby bird hatches too early. you weep & I hide. I can’t help the deer or the baby birds, but I can hold your cracked heel in my hand, soothe a summer’s headache with shade. I’m afraid of the knocking at the door, but not of passing through a graveyard. I resolve to stay tender in the face of roadkill. a bruised romantic. an unmade bed.

g.t.e. // said the moon to the sun

[logicaldreamer]

you’ve inspired me so much and your poetry is so beautiful—thank you!

thank you anon - I've been going through a bout of writer's block so messages like this make my day!

[logicaldreamer]

a pink plastic dinosaur. a collection of erasers shaped like fruits. two squishmallows. a small wooden bird. a few chipped ceramic bowls. a metal figurine of Pooh & Piglet holding hands & a balloon. an old tea cup. one too many empty jars. as a child I used to proclaim not everything worth keeping has to be useful. my bedrooms were always shrines for the sentimental - bits of paper notes from friends, a ticket stub from that one performance of Matthew Bourne’s Swan Lake, an old fortune that reads patience is one of the hardest virtues to master. two sets of tarot cards. a choose-your-gender print that hangs above my dresser. metal angels with quotes from Laura Ingalls Wilder & Eleanor Roosevelt. a painted leaf your sister made you as a gift. your baby yoda collection. now, I don’t always know the end of my belongings or the beginning of yours. a stuffed dachshund & a stuffed Appa & a narwhal Pusheen. boxes packed with all the things we must carry through this life. a tiny crocheted mushroom. I’ve never been more excited by the word ours & a bedroom & a wreath. plants on the windowsill. a string of lights above the door.

g.t.e. // ode to knick knacks