poetry thread: stuff you write, stuff you like

[AY38910]

There is this one written by a friend of mine. It's called "format /s c:". I personally relate a lot to it.
Yes, the title and last line are reference to Batch.

they all want me to change myself,
but i do not see any way;
how can a program change its thoughts
when it cannot change its own code?

they want me to like a sport,
they want me to like a girl;
but how can i even like
something for which i dont care?

when did being a nerd be wrong?
when did normal mean dumb?
why do i have to be
stuck among brainless teens?

they want me to change my mind,
but i cant edit my own brain;
maybe this is the only way:
system format drive c.

[haumeaGeth]

Yay, another poetry thread! I've been on a huge poetry kick lately. I'm currently trying to write a piece for a magazine, but I keep going in circles with it, so I decided to take a break and write something for myself today.

I went to the dispensary in my pajamas
I didn't mean to, but I did
Ran into old friends
In their pajamas, too
We bought weed together, and the cashier smiled
Not noticing our fuzzy slippers

This poem tumbled out of my head -- would anyone be willing to give me feedback on it? I only have one friend that's into poetry, the rest of my friends can't really say much more than "I like it". I appreciate the sentiment, but it doesn't exactly help me improve :')

[MrsMoe]

I've written quite a few poems before, but my most recent one is entitled "Life Ends Tomorrow". A MAJOR warning for this one though. It deals a lot with doomerism and feelings of hopelessness. If you're easily triggered by stuff like that (like I am), maybe don't read.

Didn't you hear it on the news?
Didn't you see the headlines on your phone?
Didn't you read all about it?
From those grocery store checkout magazines?
Everyone else certainly did
Life ends tomorrow
We all just thought you should probably know

How, why, or when will it all end?
We don't exactly know how
Nothing's certain, but there's been whisperings in the air
Of bombings, floodings, executions, and fires
To ignore all of that would a massive disservice
To all the other lovely people on God's chopping block
And especially to YOU

Are we afraid?
Maybe you are, but surely not I
We all know it was coming sooner or later
So why try to fight it at all?
Why not embrace your immanent future?
Try not to view death as an oncoming train
But rather mother earth's loving hands carrying you off into the dark

Hey now, why are you crying like that?
What's all that pointless breathing for?
Like you're about to pass out right on the ground?
The end of it all is really no big deal
Nothing to truly fuss, sob or panic all day over
And after all, why should death be a big deal to us?
You didn't have dreams or hopes or plans for something beautiful, did you?

[eventidebrine]

This is a poem I wrote about being trans and feeling free to be myself in the great outdoors. It's one of the only poems I've ever written, which is why it's so repetitive lol. I still resonate with it, plus with it being pride month, I thought I might as well share it here.

The Creek Loves Me Anyway

You may hate the way I style my hair,
Or hate the clothes I choose to wear.
You may hate that I changed my name,
And hate that I am not the same.

But I don't care, because

The creek loves me anyway,
The birds love me anyway,
The wind in the willows and the berries on the vine,
The leaves on the trees and the moon in the sky,
They all love me anyway!

You may hate the way my body's changed,
And think my choices are all strange.
You may hate to see me in the streets,
Or anywhere else we may meet.

But I don't care, because

The mesas love me anyway,
The coyotes love me anyway,
The roots in the soil and the pebbles on the ground,
The snakes in a coil and the gophers in the mounds,
They all love me anyway!

You hate the kids who are just like me,
Doing everything they can to be happy.
You hate that we don't meet your status quo,
And hate that we refuse to go.

But we don't care, because

The mountains love us anyway,
The bobcats love us anyway,
The moss on the stones and the deer in the fields,
The vultures picking bones and the flowers on the hill,
They all love us anyway!

I love us anyway!

[citizenalex]

I just recently re-worked this poem. I'd written it about a year ago.

how it grows

fire

this spark
right from the start.

this feeling.
you might call it
attraction,

or energy,

or, heaven forbid,
chemistry,
as if it’s mere
molecules,

or spirit, like
the gods have
struck,

or mystery,
just telling it
like it is.

soil

the fertile topsoil
of our experiences,
the ones from
before
and the ones
we begin to
share.

the dark richness
of life.

water

the tears
and other
wetness
shared by us,
between us.

air

the space we
hold
for each other
to be who we are
together and alone.

awareness

the gift we give
of seeing and being seen
of naming what passes
between.

and it grows.

love.