Hell, I don't know.

I haven't had a proper blog in ages. I've got two Drarry poems and piles of non-Drarry poetry, and, like, photography that's pretty good? Nobody's connected to me here anyway so I'm basically singing in the shower right now. If you're reading this, throw a pebble at my window and ask me things. Or challenge me to write Drarry poetry; apparently I respond really well to that. :)

The Genealogist Takes an Unexpected Trip

In 2015, I took my MS diagnosis and made poetry out of it, as you do. When I use this six-line form I usually make it A-B-C-C-A-B, but the fury didn't want to rhyme so I just let it ride. With medication, I'm doing better now. At least I can climb the stairs and hold a pen. Still no goddamn sense of direction, though. :)

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Inanna went to Hell, dressed for the trip,
expecting to be treated with respect.
She was accosted on the journey down
by smirking gatekeepers who took her clothes
and articles of power, one by one,
until they’d stripped her of her finery.

Of all the goddesses to emulate,
I didn’t mean to choose Inanna’s path.
They made me take my earrings out, and leave
my glasses with my clothes across the room.
Entombed within an MRI machine,
I felt my mask and costume shred away.

( Read more... )

Drarry Villanelle

The map says Malfoy’s sneaking out at night.
I watch his name and wonder where he’ll go.
Someone should follow, make sure he’s all right.

He wanders through the corridors, despite
the hexes others plant to lay him low.
A person could get injured here at night.

It isn’t me who’ll wait and start a fight
but many students call themselves his foe.
The castle’s unpredictable, all right?

He passed Sir Nicholas. Was he polite?
Did he make conversation? Does he know
that he could talk to me alone at night?

A moonlit alcove. Mm, imagine light
and shadow on his hair, his face, and – oh,
I just…I’ll quickly check that he’s all right.

Don’t know that I’ll be welcome, but I might,
if I approach him gently, soft and slow.
He really shouldn’t be alone at night.
I have to go and see that he’s all right.

Drarry Sestina

With line-ending words “push, scars, darkness, body, home, fly” chosen by lqtraintracks. This is my first ever sestina – thank you for inspiring it! <3

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Sometimes I dream I’m bleeding from my scars.
My shame soaks through my robes. I cannot push
my hands beneath the fabric to my body.
My blood tells all I’m only made of darkness.
Discarded by the earth, I have no home.
Rejected by the clouds, I cannot fly.

It wasn’t always so. I used to fly.
I must once have been faultless, without scars.
I knew the warmth of custom, clan, and home,
a child who only sinned with pout and push.
Then I was taught to snarl. They fed me darkness
and pledged me to a fiend in soul and body.

You learn the limitations of the body
without a wand. You’re cold, you cannot fly,
you cannot quench your thirst or light the darkness.
My master tore my clothes and mocked my scars
and I was powerless to fight the push
that flung me down the cellar stairs at home.

I trundle between Diagon and home
so numb and disconnected from my body
I’m yanking on a shop door labeled PUSH.
I don’t remember how it feels to fly,
to be more than my crimes, more than my scars,
to feel at peace and unafraid of darkness.

A hand upon my shoulder in the darkness…
Why is he on this ledge? He’s got a home,
a life that’s not in ruins for his scars.
He sits and puts his arm around my body.
I cannot bring myself to fall nor fly.
I don’t deserve his comfort, but a push.

He takes me home, half gentle tug, half push,
and one of us is crying in the darkness
or maybe both. I ask him how to fly.
I ask him where one finds another home
and how one puts a new soul in the body
and how to keep my dreams behind my scars.

One push into his bedroom and we’re home.
The darkness soothes me, safe against his body.
I dream I fly with him. I have no scars.