3/18: Senses

And when you handed me the arils, I was surprised by how bland they see, compared to

At first crunch, the sour reminded me of all that I have lost.

The taste of unmistakeable red,

We performed the wedding rites in accordance of the ancestral way.

The sweetness took over shortly.

You, me, together, the sickly-sweet meadows of Nysa around us.

They say Dionysos was raised on the nearby mountains.

Now the seed, the truth, the germinator.

For each aril was a month that I stayed in

NOTES: As long as he is in my head every poem will have a goddamn pomegranate allegory in it. I have to go to work tomorrow.

04/01: Time

Hypatia, before her death, is transported to Enlightenment France.

Hypatia delica

NOTES: I think of Hypatia often... but only through her martyrdom is why we speak of her. I don't feel like any of my poems are contemporary, they have to be somewhere else. Our relationship would've worked better if we had more to hide, I think. I have to work tomorrow.

04/08: Silence

The cosmos glitter in love,

The summer festival is only a wisp of smoke.

If we were stars, would they sing of us?

NOTES: All my poems are about him and he never even actually liked me. I have to work tomorrow.

04/22: Softness

The Maumee River rushes. Five days of nonstop rain have let up, but the River must continue to flow-- with extra water or not. Trees stand firm and fast, praying for relief. The River does not listen.

In only a moment, I transport myself to a world of fantasy. I'm lying on pillowy grass at my college's campus, finished with work and enjoying the Sun. The Sun is warm.

The River rushes. We find a decomposing log and throw it on to the closed path's asphalt, searching for bugs and worms like little kids. I tell everyone to put any isopods they find in my hands, but they all quickly run off and fall.

The sun is warm. I excel at all my classes, never dipping below an A at any point. I love and I am loved. Tomorrow I will study, yes, but I will see my friends and we will laugh and joke and make promises that we know we can't keep.

The River rushes. The group walks forward. A twinge of sadness takes over-- tomorrow I will work eight hours at this minimum wage job. And I will again the day after. And the day after. And the day after. So on, so forth.

NOTES: Good memories are often a blip compared to the bad, but I feel like bad memories become good eventually. I texted you again-- took a week for you to respond. I thought you still wanted to be friends. I'll delude myself anyways. I have to work tomorrow.

05/06: Trace

Even as the disgraced queen readies her dagger,

I can only think of my beloved Troy.

It’s been years, but still the smoke rests on my garments.

My tongue still Troadic in this land of Dorians.

I remember my mother singing to herself on a mountain.

Her voice a replica of her mother and her mother’s mother.

The Queen softly stroking my head, soothing voices she did not understand.

But with the bark of an order, all of Troy, my mother, is gone.

Knowing my fate, I still clung to Athena, until I was stripped from her.

Thrown on a ship, my humanity destroyed, considered a madwoman by these invaders.

I gazed at the pillars of destruction and my mother’s leap into the sea.

No matter how high the fires get, my heart is afire with love for Troy.

And when my children are taken from their fields by war, hunger, desire;

They will remember Troy’s olive tree and the days before the fire.

NOTES: Doesn't fit sonnet structure. Or prompt. Another poem based off Classical events-- shocker. Once I tried to explain to him about some classical story-- I don't remember which one-- and he kissed me to stop me talkiing. I didn't mind. I have to go to work tomorrow.

The fires burn.

Cassandra is taken from the sanctuary, Hector’s body lies dismembered in the streets, Hecuba prays for her salvation, unwilling to brunt the horrors of the Greeks.

And in all of this, a lone olive tree is ripe with fruit in the Trojan gardens.

A hoplite takes a handful and is on his way back to his homeland.

Back to beautiful Attica, the hoplite drops his supply on the ground to embrace his wife.

in years time, those seeds will become the family’s primary supply of wealth.

In Troy, an olive tree stands strong in the burnt ruins.

If a Trojan was left in that city, they would tell you of the lazy afternoons spent under it, the passionate discussions in its awning, the covert meeting between lovers. But there are no Trojans left.

Time, however, erodes the area and soon the tree itself, falls into the Sea; no one left to notice.

The logs of the protector drift aimlessly before finding their way to Italy, where they lay dormant for centuries.

A feeble farmer finds the logs and praises God for his findings— this would be enough firewood to last for a couple days.

NOTE: I tried again the next day but only static and impatience escapes these lips. You idolized me so heavily for my intelligence and my words but now I feel I have nothing to say. I have to work tomorrow.

05/27: Patterns

SUN IN GEMINI 10th: I need you to understand that everything I do must lead to success I know hustle culture is toxic yes, yes-- but who am I if I can not succeed-- if I do not have a Wikipedia page at death then I am better off not having done anything at all but maybe I'm just hungry and lonely and I haven't talked to a friend in a long time and I think my friends don't like me and I told everyone a couple years ago I'd go to Japan for college but then I got rejected and I haven't seen my therapist since then I think I failed her but then I'm succeeding now but I don't know when this house of cards is going to fall and when they will realize I'm a phony

MOON IN CANCER 11th: Perhaps would be auspicious if Saturn didn't conjunct but alas I don't control

NOTES: Maybe it's my fever but I feel like I don't even know how to write anymore. I tried to do his astrology chart once but he never gave me his birth time. We broke up a week later. I have to go to work tomorrow.