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Graeme 1h
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 1h
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 1h
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.
Graeme 1h
system dysregulation is
uncomfortable to endure. However,

“life does not wait,”
a friend warned me once,

“Well, yes;” I still want to
go to class. To get meals. To gatherings. To meetings. To

spaces, catalysts for anxiety,
spaces that sometimes escape my comfort zone and lie

startling and dysregulating
what becomes my Flesh Prison.

Sometimes, they feel unsettling and unnaturally unsafe, and
Doubt spells doom on the walls of my guts:

“this is the end”, “turn back”, “you won’t make it,” yet
I always emerge from battle unscathed.

It’s part of what compels me to return to
those places, still at war in chains,

Even in fleeting, present moments, amidst the
phlegm, stomach flips and swells of fear,

I persist; it’s part of what compels
me to get to the places again, despite the fact that Nervous
Written on 2024-11-07.

This was written for an English class on creative writing during our poetry unit. The poem is meant to loop; it reminds me of a YouTube Short.
Graeme 1h
system dysregulation is
uncomfortable to endure. Unfortunately,

life does not wait,
so said a friend to me once,

so I must still go to
class. To get meals. To gatherings. To meetings. To

spaces that sometimes lie
outside my comfort zone,

scaring and dysregulating me further.
Sometimes, they feel unsettling and unnaturally unsafe.

Doubt convinces me of doom;
“this is the end”, “turn back”, “you won’t make it,”

Yet I always come out okay.

Even in fleeting, present moments, amidst the
phlegm, stomach flips and swells of fear,

I persist; it’s part of what compels
me to get to the places again, despite the fact that Nervous

system dysregulation is
uncomfortable to endure. Unfortunately,

life does not wait,
so said a friend to me once,

so I must still go to
class. To get meals. To gatherings. To meetings. To

spaces that sometimes lie
outside my comfort zone,

scaring and dysregulating me further.
Sometimes, they feel unsettling and unnaturally unsafe.

Doubt convinces me of doom;
“this is the end”, “turn back”, “you won’t make it,”

Yet I always come out okay.

Even in fleeting, present moments, amidst the
phlegm, stomach flips and swells of fear,

I persist; it’s part of what compels
me to get to the places again, despite the fact that Nervous
Written on 2024-11-07.

This was written for an English class on creative writing during our poetry unit.
Graeme 1h
As the noise of the
room grows, and everything
begins to feel ***** and
hot, there you are,
a porcelain, plastic
paradise, waiting patiently
for my swift exit to
conclude within your liminal embrace.
When you’re in public, I
pray you hold no occupants
or invite no others in to
use you for less holy purposes.
Gross. At home, you
remain untouched and pure
as my ultimate space of comfort;
a dark, cool, quiet, temple
of toilet paper, towels, tile, and taps.
Hopefully, your walls bestow upon
my lungs and mind, desperate
for fresh, clean indoor air,
a window, or at the very least
proper ventilation.
Breathe with me.
You are both an ultimate
form of sensory deprivation and
proper stimulation simultaneously;
when each desired, you provide accordingly.
You’re the one place noises cannot penetrate,
nor music I need not to stimulate,
though you play it oft’ in public for the masses.
Your aura generated sublime,
unbound by rules or by time;
how grateful I am to be able to be
able to so easily connect with the
Divine.
Written on 2024-10-31.

This was written for an English class on creative writing during our poetry unit.
Graeme 1h
Well, I’m done early, let’s write another,
this time a limerick; hope not too tricky.
It’s in iambic pentameter, too.
Is this a limerick? Uh, I think it is.
Well, let’s finish it off and then see.
Written on 2024-10-29.

This was written during an English class for creative writing after we were given a prompt to write a sonnet, and I finished my sonnet early, so I wrote a limerick, which we’d learned about that day, too.
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