i'm just gonna slap some of my shit poetry down here since about 12 people are gonna see this over the course of it being here. anyways. this is one i wrote about a year ago when i was seasonally depressed and not liking living in dublin lol. tbf i was stuck in a house that while lovely to be there felt as limiting as the one i'm in, in a lot of ways. god i wish i could be away from home atm i'm fuckin stuck in the opposite direction now.
this poem has kinda grown on me and taken on a whole new v personal meaning. both a lot and a little have happened since then so it feels bitter and prophetic reading back. i hate being being right with this, lol. anyways.
i like to see houses like stars.
(not the ones i drive by on the street,
they're just setdressing,
for different lives, better stories,
safes for secrets too boring to care about.)
but my stars? those are where i'll rest.
i close my eyes and imagine what each is like
while still tethered to mine.
i could venture out and ee what each has.
but most are cold, nowhere for life to thrive
the few that matter are few and far between.
the trek would be dangerous and cold.
nothing much between, i'll need to prepare.
i could probably spend my whole life prepping.
i'd need to pack quickly and quietly,
and make my dash when no one else looks
it's harder than you think to escape a solar system.
i'm hoping that the heat keeps me going,
long enough to find something to keep me warm,
and make do with what i brought and find.
i'll need lightspeed, to make sure i don't freeze on the way there,
and to distort the messages i'll undoubtedly get,
so i won't see them until too late
gravity has a tendency to pull you back
it'll pull me back closer than i was.
(written dec. 2019)