poet.

do you ever feel like filing pages with nonsense and calling it poetry? I think poetry should be an unhindered mirror reflection of your current state of mind, and I think thats exactly what sets it apart from prose and I have had so many people try to tell me whats wrong with my poetry and I don't think they'r mean, I don't think they'r trying to stop me, I think they're trying to help except its not working.

my mind is chaotic and it cannot be planned nor predicted believe me I tried, I find the best way to deal with it, to make it produce its maximum production, is to just succumb to it, write your every mood, read whichever pleases it, and though incredibly impractical is most helpful.

my mind is a chaos, it seems utterly artificial for my poetry to be organized.

so here are some poems about all that colonizes and populates the internal conditions of my brain: rain forests and melancholia as if to succumb to solitude and the idea of loss thats inevitable and nostalgia for things inaccessible is just bound to be.

that I would miss and want poetry, biology, astronomy, the world out there and i want to observe and I want to crumble and I try to mend these unfixable inaccessible necessities to mildly bearable poetry that maybe someone of my little being, and my grand emotion, and stiff  stamina of curiously may read this and tear that perhaps we are at loss but in loss not solitary.

that is all I have ever wanted. and every pain on my bed at night trying to squeeze my stubborn mind for a verse or two as to ease my feeling of having nothing to share and nothing to feel and nothing to be. that is all I have ever wanted some nicely complementary collaboration of words that may be engulfed by what is arid and what is pitch lonely, reverberates in their internals and may be embalm them a bit when school is hard people are harder and the heart is hardest.

here is my poetry and it docent have verses and it isn't rhymed and i still think its poetry its not plotted its not calculated it poetry its purge of emotions into relative beauty.