She earned the title Nine Days Queen,
But hitherto, she was just Jane.
Just Jane, and she had no idea
That when she married the son of a duke,
A plot was forming around her to steal the crown.
A crown she did not yet wear,
But inherited when the King was gone.
She rose to power instead of Mary or Elizabeth
Through an amended line of succession;
She was never meant to be Queen.
The plots and plans and goals of others
Led to the end of Lady Jane Grey.
Mary conquered the throne with little effort
And Jane was one of many to be sent to death
By the woman history calls ****** Mary.
Nine days was the length of Jane’s reign,
Unscrupulous were her advisors.
Just Jane, she had no idea what she was:
A pawn in the games of those around her,
And she was never meant to win.
In English class I had to write a poem about Jane Grey, so here it is.
I miss a specific feeling that I only got in spring 2019.
I cannot pinpoint what it was.
I have reread the same books, done the same things.
But the specific feeling has never returned.
Sometimes I find myself wishing for more;
That I could make something better than before.
Everything I’ve done is a one-time exception;
I face myself with thorns rather than acception.
Surely my successes were merely chance!
Ideas don’t come to me like they did in the past.
People say they see talent in me, I see nothing—
Then again, would I even know I was good at something?
I’ve always thought those long apologizing scenes in movies were overly dramatic and unnecessary,
but oh, how I feel the need to run through the rain to your door and let the words come tumbling out!
if you ever see this, know i’m sorry for letting us drift apart. it kills me still.
I think I like my reflection;
at least when I’m alone.
But when there’s other people to compare myself to,
I find myself avoiding reflective surfaces.
These poems I write, they’re my escape,
though from what I do not know.
My troubles seem to evaporate
the moment I let them show.
I write about love, which is ironic
because I’ve never had a lover.
I used to think maybe I was sick;
for I’ve never longed for one either.
I write about death when I’m feeling down
so I can cry to something new,
but thinking to when I lost real tears,
maybe they weren’t mine to lose.
Even now as I write this down
- my headphones on but paused -
I wonder where my motives are bound,
for I always feel like a fraud.
It feels surreal to be here now
when I stood at this spot years ago.
Only then, I was happy,
and now my thoughts are bittersweet;
for all the things I’ve gained have surely come with a cost.
The years slipped by so fast.
And just when I thought I might drown under these waves of sadness,
You showed me how to swim.
When I left, we promised to stay in touch.
I remember for months we’d send emails every day, keeping as close as possible.
On our birthdays we’d post photos of us smiling for all the world to see.
“One of my closest friends” the caption would say.
“I miss you so much” my comment would be.
I seem to have skipped years between then and now, because I lay awake wondering how we’ve grown so distant.
The last time I emailed you was two years ago, for Christmas. I told you I would call later.
I never did.
I think your birthday was last week. I wouldn’t have known if not for my phone showing me a photo of us at a pool, “seven years ago”, holding plates of cake.
At some point I stopped wishing you a happy birthday, but I can’t remember when.
At some point you stopped telling me your plans for the holidays. At some point I stopped thinking about you every day.
Sometimes I can go months without missing you.
I hate it.
There’s a specific rhythm to dancing
which only a dancer knows.
The thrill of a strong jump,
or a good pointing of the toes.
A tap of pointe shoes on the floor
where usually sounds a thunk,
or the success of a hard spin
when you thought you’d run out of luck.
I say nothing to anyone,
for fear of my struggles being common.
If indeed this grief is normal, what a sad world we have created.
so i keep things to myself
my tea has grown cold in the time i have sat here
and dreamed of you.
No one to remember,
no one to forget.
I watch him take a final breath
and his eyes show no regret.
It’s the end of one story,
the start of another.
Just know, long ago i’d
naively call him a lover.
Though she was proved a hero,
heroes often die.
So there’s no happy ending
for either of them.
A foreign feeling- hope?
Is it hope which has settled on me,
after such trials?
The dawning sky has color I've not seen for years.
When we made eye contact earlier
it wasn’t the same.
Something hangs between us and I can’t feel you as clearly as I used to.
My cheeks are damp with silent tears
but you don’t seem to notice.
I reach out to get some comfort
but you offer little solace.
the younger me was less afraid
and infinitely more competent.
or so it seems
I like to think
all these years of schooling and essays and grammar
existed so i could one day adequately describe my Love for you.
My fingers dance across your skin
and small constellations I trace;
There rests Aries on your collar,
and Andromeda frames your face.
Though you’ve labeled these stars a flaw,
I can’t stop myself from thinking
Aphrodite herself did bring
these small constellations to being.
you are beautiful!
This pit of jealousy has grown too deep.
I lash out at the walls but i only hurt myself in the process,
and as i sink lower, deeper;
I feel my friends stand on rising mountains.
my childhood was so sheltered i’ve grown behind everyone else in many things, and it seems everyone thinks me a toddler because of it.
it might be cringy to be so melodramatic.
but my, what fun it is.
lined with gold.
High heeled boots,
It seems that you have everything but i know it can’t be true.
Brand new phone;
House such a
I turn away and act like i’m not so jealous of you.
I’ve been content in my small home.
My few possessions, outdated phone.
But to compare our lives is strange to me;
your brand clothes and my hand-me-down hoodie.
I just hope you’re aware of your money.
my clothes must taste of salt
for all the crying i’ve done today.
i felt this sorrow once before
when your name spelled patroclus and mine achilles
Oh, the sweet warm nights of summer;
barefoot on the pavement but for once it doesn’t burn,
walking side by side under the newly born night.
I reach out to hug you and i laugh as i realize
your hair still smells of chlorine from the pool.
Clouds gather together as if preparing for a siege;
they threaten us with lighting but the bolts cannot quite reach.
The sky has many things to say but wastes no air on speech,
so we gather close to see if our walls the storm will breach.
brontide is one of my favorite words, it’s a word for the sound of distant thunder.
to think there’s a reality
in which we never parted,
to think of our naivety
saying we’d keep in contact,
it hurts to think of what might be
if i’d only stopped to ask
if you’d care, years later, about me;
but enough dwelling on the past.
your little corner of my mind
is a happy place;
the only place i can see you.
we think back to our childhood
the fun we had;
i wish i’d never left.
your little corner of my mind
could be a happy place
but it grows smaller every day
about an amazing friend i lost contact with when i moved away. i try to remember her but it gets harder with time.
i miss the years when i didn’t worry
when i didn’t have to fear
when my body could be trusted
when my mind didn’t twist my words.
all i seem to do these days is tell myself it isn’t real.
and still a part of me thinks “what if”
i feel the need to scream
but all ears are turned away.
i move my lips to talk
but the words won’t come today.
my feelings threaten to take hold of me
like frost to the ground
i know they’ll leave me frozen solid
there are cookies in the oven
i can make some tea
just stay for awhile
stay here with me
the scratch of a pen as it glides across the paper,
ink pooling in the words.
a stain on fingers here and there,
rustling pages full of thoughts.
sunlight filters in through curtains,
settling on the pages like snow on the ground.
ink bleeds through to the blank side of the paper but the pen keeps writing, regardless.
kind of ironic to write this on a screen.
I miss the good days but I
Can’t remember when they were.
I miss the feeling I got
But how I got it, I’m not sure.
I don’t know why I feel sad
But I know this feeling’s new.
The old days were much better
But why they were, I have no clue.
The way my head fits on your shoulder,
Your arm around me like a shield.
It reminds me of when we were younger,
Hiding from the battlefield.
The way your hair falls like a blanket,
Keeping the two of us warm.
Your watchful gaze while i’m asleep
Is what keeps me safe from harm.
I’m feeling very single suddenly
You twisted my words into something they’re not.
It’s not hard too see it, you do that a lot.
You make me the villain in all of their minds
Then you play the hero and feed them your lies.
whatever happens, promise
you’ll remember what it’s like
to fight for something even if
youre not sure if you’ll survive.
to beg for mercy, plead for help,
but no one bats an eye.
so take a second, “momento mori”;
remember, you will die.
i haven’t been very active recently because of covid, but i hope to write more now.
ps. this poem may or may not be about a fictional character.
You were just a plot twist;
One I didn’t see coming.
It was that moment that I realized-
How could I think you loved me?
I didn’t suspect you;
If anything, I trusted.
I realize now my view of you
Didn’t do you justice.
One so light, the other dark-
Could I ever trust again?
I can’t believe that long ago
I considered you a friend.
If you had kept your feelings close
I wouldn’t be here now.
For better or for worse, I guess,
From innocence I rouse.
This is my overly dramatic self writing a poem about a fictional character- again. Hehe. This time it’s about Gavin from Fablehaven.
I wake up.
I get through the day.
One day less.
Till the day I pay.
Today’s the day.
You left me there crying
Screaming your name.
But you just ignored me.
Are you insane?
In the end it’s love
That will save us from ourselves.
An instinct greater than us
Makes us think of someone else.
We had hope in the beginning
Before things went wrong.
But life was short as a movie,
Happiness a song.
We took those memories for granted,
Those moments long ago.
Now we only have each other
And time moves by so slow.
A crying child stood
In the cold, winter air;
Until the winds whispered
“Come, do not despair”
She followed the voice
Into a place warm,
The winds told her “Rest,
Here you’ll come to no harm.”
For once in her life
She was safe, she was loved.
And the winds watched her grow
To be pretty as a dove.
I don’t have a place I would call my hometown
My family was restless, always moving around.
In general I wouldn’t say it’s at all bad
But sometimes alone, I think it’s kind of sad.
We were just kids
Who grew up too fast.
We grew too apart
For our friendship to last.
We laugh and we talk
Like nothing has changed,
But I hear your tone
When you speak my name.
It was all a lie;
The good and the fun
But at least for awhile
It was a good one.
I don’t understand
How one can move on
From a friendship that ended
Before it begun.
This is based on real life. My best friend and I are kind of growing distant, and it’s sad. She has many other best friends, but I don’t. Without her, I’m lonely. This has happened to me too many times now. It’s worse now though, because there’s nothing physically keeping us apart. We’re just slowly watching each other become strangers.
I hear the main road from a distance
A quiet, steady roar.
This part of town is full of people
Who walk the streets no more.
It’s quiet here, and would be peaceful
If I didn’t know why.
For every hour there’s one less person
But one more mournful cry.
Dedication doesn’t necessarily mean
And working hard.
Dedication is not giving up
If it takes ten years
If you work in parts.
Dedication is when it’s hard
You want to give up
It’s taking so long
Please hurry up.
But dedication is continuing.
My thoughts crowd my head
It's too noisy.
It’s basically a mix of
A never ending song
Words I read
A thousand thoughts yearning to speak
It should be an introverts nightmare and yet somehow I love it.
But I can get tired of it sometimes.