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Graeme Feb 15
Socks? Strict, soft tubes to fit my feet in? No, no, **** that;
I’d rather have my toes splayed out and arches back.
****** heeled shoes, relics from rich ******; I’d like my feet flat.
I love the barefoot shoe life, I’m all about that.

Wide-toed shoes that let you maximize your splay,
no orthotic arches so you can stand up on your feet all day,
and though a few folks glared at my “clown shoes” today,
I don’t mind it… because that’s just the barefoot way.
Written on 2025-02-14.

This piece is about the heelless footwear with a wide toe box and no arch support that many who wear them have dubbed “barefoot shoes”. I was inspired to write this partly because I wore a pair of barefoot shoes that I own, my Altra sneakers, out in public during the evening just before I wrote this, and while I was out, I remembered how some people find that type of footwear strange-looking.
Graeme Feb 15
What’s with the incessant cacophony? Commotion? Noise?
Why stimulate oneself with content, clip after clip?
Why play music in silence that needn’t be filled,
speaking when no words need be spoken?
It’s rather silly, isn’t it? It’s not your fault.
Since there’s no need for any of that…
let’s take a moment to pause.
Yes, just like that.
Slow down,
breathe.
Now…
rest.
Written on 2025-02-14.

I thought of the beginning and end of this one evening, seemingly randomly. I typed it out as quickly as I could, realizing the idea I’d gotten was a poem that “quieted down” as it got to the end, both visually, linguistically, and topically, right down to the ellipsis making the penultimate line just a bit wider than the one below.
Graeme Feb 6
My young, eager eyes lapped up the forest as fervently as they could.
Novelty was what they hungered for, as my axe did for ****** wood.
It was fresh. New.
The Pacific Northwest wasn't ready for us.
Wife and I moved out here a couple months ago with the promise we'd make a good, honest living out here.
Y’know, these trees are so beautiful… real shame we’ve gotta cut ‘em all down for a whole lot less than what we was promised.
Progress… for what?
I don't think I wanna do this anymore…
but I must.
Onto the next tree. Hope this one's easier to cut down.
Written on 2025-02-05.

This piece is set in the perspective of a young logger, who moved to the Pacific Northwest in the late 1800s during the Second Industrial Revolution in the United States. It was inspired by an Aidin Robbins video on YouTube about a rainforest in Idaho. I conceived this at the end as I realized as Aidin existentially asked, “what am I doing here [in this forest]?”, I realized that the people who cut down the forest as he showed a log cabin and talked about the loggers, who must have thought the same thing that some of them must have definitely questioned the prospect of chopping down such beautiful trees and irreversibly ruining ecosystems for the sake of profit, striking it rich for what they were told was “a better future”.
Graeme Feb 5
I feel like I live in an infinite void of nothingness. Between the vast worlds that I remain The Observer to. I’ve been in so many things, but never fully committed, be it by my own volition or external circumstances. Perhaps no one has and the continuity and consistency I seek is all an illusion generated by my limited presence in the spaces I transiently call home in a desperate attempt to belong to things that I feel deep down I simply can’t. Do I know it to be certain, or is it merely faulty—unhealthy—subconscious programming? I wish I knew.
I have so much potential—I sincerely know it; I see it every day. Yet, despite this, I remain a car in fifth gear, wheels spinning in winter’s freezing, putrid slush, and remain stationary as I drain all my energy, rocking back and forth across the slippery driveway.
Like my body and brain—like me—my devices’ batteries seem to drain too quickly; where’d all that time and energy go? Yet, Time seems to firmly drag me along through an eternity, moment to moment, when pain strikes me with its sour, sharp, and nearly all-penetrating hand.
The evening sunlight sure does look pretty out the window and coming in onto the walls, though. That’s something.
A group walks by. By no means a popular group–not that popularity matters much–but they, despite the game of Society stacking most odds against them, have found their people: each other. These geeks that pass by the window are happy despite this, and though I may have traits that set me apart from them, I remain set apart from near everyone else.
I fear, from the deeply-rooted subconscious program from a childhood of my depth and passions never being understood, much cared for, or even acknowledged, that those who are near to me cannot fully see it. I know they love me; no question there despite the doubts creeping in. The programming renders both nearly impossible to feel. Spectacular.
Written on 2025-02-05.

This was written while sitting in an empty conference room on my university’s campus, watching the world go by out the windows and the pretty evening sunlight hit the wall to my right that lifted my spirits after a hard few days of physical pain from chronic illness and the havoc it and attempting to recover from it wreaked on my life as of the few days prior to writing this.
This could very well have been only a diary entry, but I chose not to make it so. I suppose I did so because the part of me that felt compelled to shout my suffering to the world won out slightly over in mental diplomatic strife than the side that preferred it stay private.
Graeme Feb 1
Baked goods ready to buy

Awesome flavors

Kitchen

Exciting flavors

Really tasty things

Yummy!
Written in 2013.

This is an acrostic poem I wrote for a poetry unit in school.
Graeme Feb 1
Many noises he makes

Always does his job

Can he get you a drink?

He is old and tired

I watch him work

Never disobeys

Ends his daily job
Written in 2013.

This is an acrostic poem I wrote for a poetry unit in school.
Graeme Feb 1
Perhaps, once, across vast and prosperous lands of abundance, inhabitants of many great civilizations thrived and cared for the earth they called their own. This was the way. Then, though, cloaked in black and filth, the slim faced invaders emerged from their firm ships, this shifted. The new status quo was to comply with theirs. How dare they punish progress? This would have been preferable had the inhabitants of the land had a choice, at least, but they did not. The foreigners knew this, and strategically sickened their people with disease—how could it have been an accident?—***** them and their land, and plunged their prosperity into the dark. As the years passed, only tales of the past, the former nature of this land, were what remained. Forests fell. The ways and the winds changed. Forts flourished. The foreigners’ descendants believed they needed to form a more perfect union on their land, yet one only they could enjoy. Just like those before, these people reshaped the land they claimed was for community and fueled an empire of capital accumulation and individuality. How could we not? As the centuries counted away from that fateful fall, the agenda of ****** the land and its people and reaping the benefits remained, overtaking that of old. The natives made attempts to stop it, and lessons they were taught. How dare they punish progress? Some listened, realizing the natives deserved rights, so the new status quo was to comply and grant them compensation and rights. Molded by its newest wielders as the seats of the world, it was a model to aspire to. This was the way. Now, across vast and prosperous lands, great civilizations live in abundance with all the things they own. Perhaps.
Written on 2024-11-12.

This is a prose poem written for an English class on creative writing during our poetry unit when we were instructed to write one. Our prompt was to write a single paragraph poem inspired by one we read in class that day. Version 1.0 was written solely with the intent of chronicling the events that occurred across North America over the past few hundred years since the arrival of the Pilgrims from Europe, but this version applies more broadly, depicting core similarities between events that occurred to all areas colonized by European colonial powers. I attempted to give the speaker a neutral perspective, merely observing and commenting on what happened than criticizing and/or glorifying a particular side. I tried to holistically encapsulate the goals of both sides, too, demonstrating how they are near complete opposites in concept. For instance, more capitalist societies egocentrically using the land to yield maximum profit contrasts more socialist societies respecting the land in a more ecocentric manner.

Additionally, when vaguely described in practice, they seem eerily similar. The end is supposed to mirror the beginning as well. More specifically, the tone of the poem is supposed to shift from acceptance to resistance, then back to acceptance one more, as well as from natural to artificial to natural again. A shift from a land that claims people to people that claim land also occurs, signifying the shift from indigenous to European power. The “[p]erhaps” at the beginning signifies the fact that these are stories being told from the perspective of the people at the end of the story—hence why only the final sentence is in the present tense—and that they can’t be certain. It was done to further the mirroring motif included throughout the poem.

The theme of Version 1 was nature, but this version’s theme is progress and its subjectivity depending on which side of conflict is being asked. This highlights that both sides are equally valid, even though they see one another and their ideologies as lesser, even bad.
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