rabbit_ - Hello Poetry

Anything can look like a poem and sound philosophical simply by moving the words on different lines. Am I doing it right? Is this really talent? Art? Effort? I think I am trying. Really, I am I go back and change the order and I break lines where it sounds right But it does not take me long. Not at all. I try to be intentional and call it natural rhythm. Instinct and style taking over I alternate between agonizing every detail like When to Capitalize and publishing free form poems without looking over them twice. How is writing supposed to feel? Should I labor? or should it flow? Or do I get to decide? I think the things I talk of mean something at least. But am I just pretentious? fooling myself into thinking that using common poetry formats somehow makes my work worthwhile?

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rabbit_

Oct 26, 2025

Oct 26, 2025 at 4:15 AM UTC

HannahChristina

Is this art?

Anything can look like a poem and sound philosophical simply by moving the words on different lines. Am I doing it right? Is this really talent? Art? Effort? I think I am trying. Really, I am I go back and change the order and I break lines where it sounds right But it does not take me long. Not at all. I try to be intentional and call it natural rhythm. Instinct and style taking over I alternate between agonizing every detail like When to Capitalize and publishing free form poems without looking over them twice. How is writing supposed to feel? Should I labor? or should it flow? Or do I get to decide? I think the things I talk of mean something at least. But am I just pretentious? fooling myself into thinking that using common poetry formats somehow makes my work worthwhile?

39

My friends look at me, the grief already flickering into their eyes whenever they hold there for just a beat too long. I can see it now. I would lie there, my bedroom. Or the shower. And there would be no mess. I would be pure and clean. Easy to get rid of. Just like normal, everyone would say. Didn’t want to bother us. And they’d laugh, lightly. Just another typical thing. Of course I went out like this, I mean. We all saw it coming, didn’t we? You can see the noose around my neck, my own sword of Damocles, but without the blood. One slip / one stumble, and I’m just hanging there. And it’s not anyone else’s fault, really. No one could’ve helped me untie the knots, could’ve taken the pills, could’ve put the razors away. And I’ll tell them all this, comfort them. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. It wasn’t ever anyone’s fault but my own. I’m basically half-gone by now, anyways.

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Oct 26, 2025

Oct 26, 2025 at 3:56 AM UTC

rabbit_

i would be such a good corpse

My friends look at me, the grief already flickering into their eyes whenever they hold there for just a beat too long. I can see it now. I would lie there, my bedroom. Or the shower. And there would be no mess. I would be pure and clean. Easy to get rid of. Just like normal, everyone would say. Didn’t want to bother us. And they’d laugh, lightly. Just another typical thing. Of course I went out like this, I mean. We all saw it coming, didn’t we? You can see the noose around my neck, my own sword of Damocles, but without the blood. One slip / one stumble, and I’m just hanging there. And it’s not anyone else’s fault, really. No one could’ve helped me untie the knots, could’ve taken the pills, could’ve put the razors away. And I’ll tell them all this, comfort them. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. It wasn’t ever anyone’s fault but my own. I’m basically half-gone by now, anyways.

13

I wrote something once / more than once, really, but this thing the first of its kind / something ugly and broken, like a bird / pushed off a cliff, never opening its wings in time / twitching, softly, sadly / a broken mess at the bottom of a tree/ it was called something nice/ needlessly verbose, uncomfortably poetic, but nice – You spend a lot of time thinking your father is not god and you are not better for it / but it's not true, really / really / a man cannot be god / not this man – I can describe him with a clinical detachment, if I must / if I should, I never know, not really / he’s short, for a man, only barely taller than me / long hair, black and grey / deep-set wrinkles / crowded teeth, big nose / eyes the same colour as mine / a man cannot be god if he lets time beat him down like this / like this, like all of us / its easier / man can be weapon if you let him / man cannot be father if you never let him get close enough to stab his way into you – I go out with my father / a lot / I think he likes me, sometimes / if I should, I never know, not really / he looks like me, I think / I don’t know if I want him to and I don’t know if I don’t – I spend a lot of time thinking my father likes me / it could be worse / it could be worse / it could be worse / repeat the mantra until it circles the drain and I’m left finished – Theres that one poem / flipping a car with your dad in it and letting him touch you / for the first time / for a few seconds / and its not that but / its close enough / the acknowledgement that this feeling is poetic / the broken bird at the bottom of the tree, see how the flowers push through its corpse / there is life here / there is life / there is life / there is life – This mantra will last, surely / there is life / a man is not a father if he is not a weapon, a little / anyone can hurt you if you let them / so really, really / why did I let him ? I’ll – change my name but keep the initial always keep the initial because then I am still the same as him I am still of him and he knows i love him even if I will never tell him and I’ll – dye my hair blue like his at sixteen and listen to him mock me and take it on the chin like a good kid like I’m supposed to and cut my hair like his or grow it out longer or I’ll – and I’ll – or I’ll – listen to music he likes and tell him to listen to music but I’ll – It's never enough, not really / not really / but there is still life here so just / just / keep on coming back to the dead bird

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Oct 26, 2025

Oct 26, 2025 at 3:15 AM UTC

rabbit_

the dead god is a metaphor

I wrote something once / more than once, really, but this thing the first of its kind / something ugly and broken, like a bird / pushed off a cliff, never opening its wings in time / twitching, softly, sadly / a broken mess at the bottom of a tree/ it was called something nice/ needlessly verbose, uncomfortably poetic, but nice – You spend a lot of time thinking your father is not god and you are not better for it / but it's not true, really / really / a man cannot be god / not this man – I can describe him with a clinical detachment, if I must / if I should, I never know, not really / he’s short, for a man, only barely taller than me / long hair, black and grey / deep-set wrinkles / crowded teeth, big nose / eyes the same colour as mine / a man cannot be god if he lets time beat him down like this / like this, like all of us / its easier / man can be weapon if you let him / man cannot be father if you never let him get close enough to stab his way into you – I go out with my father / a lot / I think he likes me, sometimes / if I should, I never know, not really / he looks like me, I think / I don’t know if I want him to and I don’t know if I don’t – I spend a lot of time thinking my father likes me / it could be worse / it could be worse / it could be worse / repeat the mantra until it circles the drain and I’m left finished – Theres that one poem / flipping a car with your dad in it and letting him touch you / for the first time / for a few seconds / and its not that but / its close enough / the acknowledgement that this feeling is poetic / the broken bird at the bottom of the tree, see how the flowers push through its corpse / there is life here / there is life / there is life / there is life – This mantra will last, surely / there is life / a man is not a father if he is not a weapon, a little / anyone can hurt you if you let them / so really, really / why did I let him ? I’ll – change my name but keep the initial always keep the initial because then I am still the same as him I am still of him and he knows i love him even if I will never tell him and I’ll – dye my hair blue like his at sixteen and listen to him mock me and take it on the chin like a good kid like I’m supposed to and cut my hair like his or grow it out longer or I’ll – and I’ll – or I’ll – listen to music he likes and tell him to listen to music but I’ll – It's never enough, not really / not really / but there is still life here so just / just / keep on coming back to the dead bird

13

Metastasis. Blood. Asbestosis. Tumour. All the other words for we don’t know. All the other words for dead. New routine – get in the car & go to school & get out of school & get in the car & drive ‘til you feel like screaming & walk in through some chrome doors and go up through an elevator to hold some bones in your hands. Luck doesn’t feel like luck when it’s like this: the day before it happens I am listening to the breathing of a man on as much morphine as I feel I deserve right now those Painful breaths feel than beating shuttered that louder a heart What was I saying? The day before it happens I am spending my last thirty minutes wishing that I were anywhere else. C’mon, take my hand. I’m invisible now – watch me evaporate through the wall of the building down back to the carpark down to the creek near the chrome building down into the creek. Watch me shovel mud into my mouth so I can feel it too. Metastasis. Blood. Asbestosis. Tumour. Mud. All the words for we-don’t-know-if-it’s-days-or-weeks all the words for it-could-be-months all the words for liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar Hold my hand in this 1-2 rhythm. Hold my hand. I promise I’m not bones yet. I promise I’m not like that. watch me evaporate through my own life. won’t you please hold my hand? it takes two to dance but it only takes one to throw off the rhythm and i for one am sorry that i threw you so far & threw myself along with it & it doesn’t matter & it’s okay because you found your own way back & i’m still out here without the rhythm & I can still feel it lurking in my lungs & I think the mud is genetic And lately late at night when I find myself thinking of these things / of how much pain you can have / of how little oxygen you can subsist on it really makes me wonder why you won’t take my hand does the mud staining my fingernails scare you? it’s only the ends of me that are ***** i promise i wouldn’t do that i wouldn’t do that to you please we can excise the rot from the tips of me / from the total of me we can excise it. Won’t you please pass me the next mouthful of mud before I start again / start to end? What was I saying? Take my hand. Breathe in with me. Do you know who I am. Do you know why you’re here. Don’t cry. Take my hand. Breathe in with me. i’m invisible now. watch me evaporate through you / watch me watch you not try to stop me / watch me tie the belt against the doorknob because i learn from the best. Watch me float down to the creek / take your hand in mine & press the mud back into my throat. watch me climb into your car & by your car I mean / not / your car because you don’t know how to drive or you do and you’re a bad teacher or you do and you’re a bad driver or you do and you’re bones in a hospital bed or you – (Watch me Lose who You are) (Are you still breathing in there?) watch me climb into the car & press my foot down on the pedal that I know & go like i’m magnetised to your house because i know the way from the millions of bus rides to the carpools to the you or not you or doubly not you taking me & watch me drift through your back garden through your trampoline with all the exposed metal & over your pool with the tripping / scraping / whatever hazards & careen into your back deck through your second dining table into the den & finally & finally & finally & finally & finally & finally & finally & finally & finally & finally & finally & finally & finally crash through your back glass windows into the couch that reminds me too much of the same one that someone has / had but not without the blood on it but it doesn’t matter really if i’m never gonna see you again & let me just blow a kiss at you with my mouth full of mud before I bite my own hand off – AND (0400 – No response. DNR) won’t you please just take my hand while I spew all this bile at you?

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Jul 14, 2025

Jul 14, 2025 at 10:42 PM UTC

rabbit_

sometimes i think the mud has always been here

17

you tell me it starts small you say one spark shame curled between your shoulder blades really say one flicker, all it takes you never noticed you don’t remember it doesn’t matter anymore, really she apologised a house in seconds he didn’t do it again i think of what it would be like often for you, forgiveness something to share i know you hate me i tell you, i can’t stop say it starts small steam burning a hole in my chest say you never wanted it to start at all i noticed i remember it mattered it did it words can be a balm if you believe in them enough i don’t know how you– words can be enough to build a house –live from ashes to bone to home i don’t know if i want to keep living like this you are too easy and i think i fear i fear i fear because that’s all i think often i am all of what you’ve forgiven i learn and the spark of what i would fight for you the spark is too quick and i think i can burn down a house in seconds i think often i know i make you afraid i’ve never seen you lit except at me

0

Dec 17, 2024

Dec 17, 2024 at 9:12 AM UTC

rabbit_

please lord let me not be angry

you tell me it starts small you say one spark shame curled between your shoulder blades really say one flicker, all it takes you never noticed you don’t remember it doesn’t matter anymore, really she apologised a house in seconds he didn’t do it again i think of what it would be like often for you, forgiveness something to share i know you hate me i tell you, i can’t stop say it starts small steam burning a hole in my chest say you never wanted it to start at all i noticed i remember it mattered it did it words can be a balm if you believe in them enough i don’t know how you– words can be enough to build a house –live from ashes to bone to home i don’t know if i want to keep living like this you are too easy and i think i fear i fear i fear because that’s all i think often i am all of what you’ve forgiven i learn and the spark of what i would fight for you the spark is too quick and i think i can burn down a house in seconds i think often i know i make you afraid i’ve never seen you lit except at me

45

1) i make lists in my notes app staring at the page – struggling something here feels wrong pronoun use too direct? as though attacking – perhaps a different one would work better 2) they spiral out of my (still wrong) thoughts, pale white bone on dark dark dark 3) you think (yes, that’s the one) surely it cannot be that much 4) i (no. go back) make lists for: 5) ways [ ] have hurt [ ] friends ; work in progress 6) what [ ] want to do when [ ] get older; if i get older 7) friends birthdays ; and 8) ways to annoy [ ] mother - 9) ways to make [ ] father like [ ] again ; and 10) times [ ] have recognised that [ ] am poorer than most ; the first entry dated for the day i turned twelve 11) topics that cannot be mentioned at all ; ones that evoke ridicule / shame / regret or ones from aborted attempts at conversation 12) bets ; this note i label as the crux of this problem – it is cowardice in every form / a way of communication without vulnerability / only one bet has been made / this note has served its purpose 13) plans for days [ ] am left alone ; neatly segmented into one hour blocks / five minutes allotted between each 14) train routes and bus times and math ; thirty minutes early is better than on time / a statement that i am willing to die to prove 15) and you see the problem now, don’t you? 16) these lists are created as a means to an end 17) desperate attempts to keep this whirling mind attached to its base 18) because communication in a void is better 19) than no communication at all 20) here is a list of things that nobody else knows: i am slightly gap-toothed / when i smile it feels like something is stretching between the gaps of me. like i am loose in this body. like a suffocation / i cannot imagine a future without you in it / this scares me 21) and you see the problem now 22) don’t you? 23) i have turned this poem into a list / i will turn you into a list / my acts of devotion are harmless words dotted in the corners of journals, sticky notes, widgets on my phone / they spiral endlessly from me / a besieged writer chased by their words 24) and i still haven’t figured out who to pin the blame on

0

Dec 1, 2024

Dec 1, 2024 at 9:54 AM UTC

rabbit_

categorisation, aka the key to mental stability

1) i make lists in my notes app staring at the page – struggling something here feels wrong pronoun use too direct? as though attacking – perhaps a different one would work better 2) they spiral out of my (still wrong) thoughts, pale white bone on dark dark dark 3) you think (yes, that’s the one) surely it cannot be that much 4) i (no. go back) make lists for: 5) ways [ ] have hurt [ ] friends ; work in progress 6) what [ ] want to do when [ ] get older; if i get older 7) friends birthdays ; and 8) ways to annoy [ ] mother - 9) ways to make [ ] father like [ ] again ; and 10) times [ ] have recognised that [ ] am poorer than most ; the first entry dated for the day i turned twelve 11) topics that cannot be mentioned at all ; ones that evoke ridicule / shame / regret or ones from aborted attempts at conversation 12) bets ; this note i label as the crux of this problem – it is cowardice in every form / a way of communication without vulnerability / only one bet has been made / this note has served its purpose 13) plans for days [ ] am left alone ; neatly segmented into one hour blocks / five minutes allotted between each 14) train routes and bus times and math ; thirty minutes early is better than on time / a statement that i am willing to die to prove 15) and you see the problem now, don’t you? 16) these lists are created as a means to an end 17) desperate attempts to keep this whirling mind attached to its base 18) because communication in a void is better 19) than no communication at all 20) here is a list of things that nobody else knows: i am slightly gap-toothed / when i smile it feels like something is stretching between the gaps of me. like i am loose in this body. like a suffocation / i cannot imagine a future without you in it / this scares me 21) and you see the problem now 22) don’t you? 23) i have turned this poem into a list / i will turn you into a list / my acts of devotion are harmless words dotted in the corners of journals, sticky notes, widgets on my phone / they spiral endlessly from me / a besieged writer chased by their words 24) and i still haven’t figured out who to pin the blame on

28

the bathroom is an ode to violence in the summer months, my hair grows long i stand in the bathroom twisting strands between fingers my mother tells me [I] [look] [beautiful] [,] [again] [.] i hate how i look like someone that i do not want to be in the summer months, i see my friends every other week we pile into houses – always the same 2 sticky counters & board games & bad movies & bad jokes my friends tell me i look nice (i need a haircut) i like myself better when i can be someone they like in the summer months, i spend most time in the bathroom staring at my reflection in the mirror a million versions of me dig into my skin i do not remove them i just want to – in the summer months, tupperware containers line the sink-top/ counter-top/ bathroom cabinet each one a sign of my failure drip drip drip blood from my teethtonguecheekgummouth the containers overflow [I will never get the stain out of the tiles.] the bathroom is an ode to violence I raise a container to my lips, & Drink.

0

Nov 21, 2024

Nov 21, 2024 at 7:00 AM UTC

rabbit_

words fall from my mouth like a weeping sore

the bathroom is an ode to violence in the summer months, my hair grows long i stand in the bathroom twisting strands between fingers my mother tells me [I] [look] [beautiful] [,] [again] [.] i hate how i look like someone that i do not want to be in the summer months, i see my friends every other week we pile into houses – always the same 2 sticky counters & board games & bad movies & bad jokes my friends tell me i look nice (i need a haircut) i like myself better when i can be someone they like in the summer months, i spend most time in the bathroom staring at my reflection in the mirror a million versions of me dig into my skin i do not remove them i just want to – in the summer months, tupperware containers line the sink-top/ counter-top/ bathroom cabinet each one a sign of my failure drip drip drip blood from my teethtonguecheekgummouth the containers overflow [I will never get the stain out of the tiles.] the bathroom is an ode to violence I raise a container to my lips, & Drink.

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