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x•en: the poem from which this stanza exists ended up being the last piece of work in my poetry journal (#4).

i think the poem made a fine last words for the book, completing it has been some of the most dense and difficult years of my life and i feel every piece of it having to close off and start anew.

this is a wonderful personal milestone and i am proud of the direction my work has taken in development of my writing styles.

about the excerpt here; it is from a poem i have written about my experience with chronic pain, and “magical thinking.” being schizo-spec has heightened such an estranged view on my reality and my feelings, so to divulge into this topic directly was a lot to work through. but i think i did good in conveying these themes and how they run together in me throughout the poem. this is my favorite stanza, only slightly revised since writing this version.

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i tried to photograph an anvil cloud in the background, but i’m not disappointed at catching this instead.

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x•en: a draft. there’s been much on my conscious lately, it’s been exhausting trying not to let it pull me beneath it. but needless to say, i lie beneath it. deflated by my lack of ability to make sense of myself. my lack of ability to hold on. even to hold onto nothing, instead of something that plays tangible and never was.

the weight of the visual accompanying the poem isn’t for shock value. i’m trying to visually convey the blindness i feel invading me when i don’t expect it, showing itself to me only as i wake up from it. and the twisting pit of chains - heavy to pull, but nothing at their ends. a loss of myself without record, someone i still carry. as if my efforts forward alone would bring them back to me.

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more class of 09 fanart, it’s totally not all i’ve been watching lately.

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“he spoke through his chest.

a deep, gaping hole,

pushing in, ripping open

with ease. his eyes, a mahogany brown

room lined with punishment

he hated to have. he’d tell me

things that we both knew would come

in use. he spoke to me

in code - as his voice came out

arrhythmic and dismembered -

unpredictable things

i still understand. he was so stark

and stretched far into my chest.

through all my dreams,

i sat with him

at home.”

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x•en: blackout poem from a prose piece: unnamed for now.

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the clouds…

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(reposted because of typos in original image.)

i miss my dad. happy to dream about him as it lets me see him again. despite all the bad that encased my childhood and adolescence, i’ve picked up a lot of appreciation and connections to him that i consider to be good.

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14 hours later… i am very impressed with my steady commitment into completing the piece without hiatus, and the result - however lacking personal stylization - is something i am very happy with. i have confidence in saying i captured the madness and vibrance of jinx.

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x•en: little poem inspired by the naïve allure of wishbones, a realization too late that you really must be careful what you wish for, you never think you’d regret it until the bone is broken in your hands.

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arcane piece i’m working on via procreate 🎨💙🌀

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x•en: skin, and bones, and skin, and skin. a poem i wrote… that is honestly difficult to explain without an air of conceit. it doesn’t come from conceit or grandiosity, truly it’s a pain that comes from peoples’ lack of ability take my words as they would be without an attractive shape enveloping them. any honesty or pain i wish to convey in its ugly nature is harshly skewed because to the world i am not ugly. and so what i do and say can never be as i intend it to be, its always prettier, hotter, as small as me. i hate every action and echo of mine is so completely objectified and sexualized, something that can’t be taken away from the physical allure.

drawing done on procreate by me.

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asking about me?

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scraps of the only hope i hold onto. mathematic, thermodynamic, rhythmic and musical, always returning as always projecting. chemical and mystic.

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had a wonderful time drawing a portrait in this style. it’s so easy to detail the face and not so much when it comes to clothes. best i could do was tear it up. didn’t want to think of a design.

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x•en: except and blackout from one of my better works - baby tooth.

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wow, a vent post, and two nickels from men saying they want to have the thr33s0m3 with me and THE SAME GIRL i am friends with from high school.

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i’m playing around designing cover concepts for the poetry i hope i am someday able to publish; this design has come out to be a favorite even as its own work without association to my writing. however, the image does a lot for brainstorming titles for a collection, and i look forward to continue experimenting with that.