I’d hazard a guess there aren’t many folk who don’t know the tales of Harry, Hermione and Ron
and how with a cast of a multitude of friends they defeated Voldemort with aplomb,
rightly these heroic adventures are held in the highest regard,
and will be told forever by musicians, singers and bards,
these stories will be remembered, people will talk of those courageous and brave
and how they turned the evil tide of The Dark Lord with everything they gave,
how they dispelled the magic of horror with the strength of the Gryffindor lion,
but less well known than this wonder is the fable of Tayrn and her Ryan.
R and T arrived to Hogwarts  10  years after He Who Can Not Be Named was vanquished in the great struggle,
Tayrn was pure wizard born whereas Ryan was pure muggle,
both took to wizarding school easily and did well in all their classes,
of course Tayrn was a hit with the lads and Ryan a swoon with the lasses,
but it didn’t matter they gave all folk in their year at Hogwarts an involuntary love shudder
because ace Tayrn and Ryan only had eyes for each other!
Their wonderful sweet love was easy and went without a hitch,
spent Saturdays gazing at each other when they should have been watching Quidditch,
hand in hand they skipped around The Forbidden Forest, their romance knowing no rift,
saying hello to a friendly centur or a flying hippogriff,
they galloped around Diagon Alley, their souls full of cheer,
or sat relaxed and tranquil in The Leaky Cauldron sipping butter beer.
T and R were ace at spells, Tayrn’s best was with a wand swish creating healing
and Ryan’s wonderful arty prowess was painting The Sistine Chapel on any ceiling;
yes they were each other’s equal in the way they weaved the magic from above
and this is one of the reasons they were very much in love.
One night T and R were going on one of their romantic walks
and decided to have a jaunt to a wonderful clearing just near Hogwarts,
they sauntered through the darkening evening with a song on their lips,
swaggered along the green with the music of love on their hips,
as they got to the secluded clearing they were anticipating with glee each other’s hold
but then all of a sudden they started feeling very cold.
They both noticed that the summer grass was covered in a blanket of frost,
the trees were looking pale, freezing, withdrawn and lost,
the air was filled with frigidity and held the hints of scare,
the flowers were wilting with chilled terror, bloom given way to despair,
as Tayrn and Ryan wondered what was the cause of such floral bad health
just a few yards away  the answer revealed itself;
over a hill came a hooded figure that immediately brought fright to the fore
as Tayrn and Ryan paid attention in Defence Against The Dark Arts they instantly recognised it as a dementor,
but they noticed something different about this one, it was nearly trebled in size,
and had a deeper blackness where should have been it’s eyes.
Being skilled at magic they knew what they had to do to avoid any harm
so both quickly fired off their best Patronus Charm,
but these spells had no effect, the huge dementor merely shrugged them off
and they could have sworn beneath it’s hood it let out a derisive scoff.
The enormous dementor hovered over Tayrn and Ryan and from its mouth emerged a hiss,
as it prepared to give the two lovers their final goodbye kiss,
but as it stooped over them with it’s awful deathly hue
T and R looked into each other’s eyes and figured out what they were going to do;
they remembered in one class learning about the bravest man Hogwarts had ever knew
and how he was able to hoodwink The Dark Lord with a love strong, solid and true,
how Snape drew on his love of Lilly to ride through any storm,
even on his darkest night it was what kept him warm,
so Tayrn and Ryan pushed their wands together and thought of beautiful Severus
and how they both too shared the romantic love buzz,
and channelling the wonder of that special feeling thus
they both pointed their wands in unison and screamed Expelliarmus!
Emitted from the tip of each wand was the half of a love heart projected from each soul
that both came together to create the fantastic whole,
in the shine of such love the vast dementor instantly recoiled,
knowing that it’s draining wish was in no doubt foiled,
it writhed around and in the glare of joy did it’s nefarious purpose erode,
every bleak and blank about it started to corrode,
the dementor slowly ebbed away until all of it did go
and in it’s place was left a striking brown young doe,
it bowed it’s head to Tayrn and Ryan and then it flew into the trees,
gliding with majesty on the sweet night breeze.
Awed by what had happened Ryan and Tayrn turned and started to walk back to the dorm,
aware of what occurred was special and not the norm,
but then they stopped in their tracks and at the same time both did say,
“oh my beautiful love, I know  I’m going to marry you someday!”

A baby born after tomato seeds
Were sown in the earth
I’ve known from early on
That loss occurs
As I lost a pet, a friend,
My family’s unity.

I’ll return home from Value Village—
Not where I need to shop, but where I choose—
With bags,
And bags,
And bags
Of my own personal flair.

The feeling of glee have I felt.
When dancing in the rain
Giggling,
Singing,
Carefree,
Side by side with my sister.
My friend.

I’ve been labeled as serious—which I am—
Though more important to me
Is my full enjoyment of time.

My nerves have humbled me,
And brought me back to Earth.
(Contrary to my ego’s belief,
My voice is no angel’s.)

Sincerely I can tell you
That I am not perfect.
I think too much.
My unruly emotions tend to dictate my life.

I once spent all of Thanksgiving break staring at the television.
Once I flung cake at my father.
And once I traveled to The Wizarding World of Harry Potter, to live in my imagination.
If only for a day or two.

Twice I have had hot cocoa explode in the microwave.
Twice I have stumbled and sprawled up the stairs.
Twice discovered bobby pins tangled in my hair.
You see, I’ve got a ring representing my heritage
On a chain
Around my neck
And learning how to adapt is like second nature
To me.
I have plenty of experience in severing ties. But please
Please do not make me repeat.

If ever you tried to number
The tea mugs I have sipped,
I would wish you good luck,
For they are many.

I long to see bustling cities,
Rolling hills,
Diversity and
Unique people;
To experience
The WORLD.

The guitarist of The Script once
Winked
At ME
I call him Baldie.

I remember that sort of excited yet unsure tension I felt
When I stood hand in hand with the person I loved.
It’s tucked away; I’ll lose myself in it sometimes,
Even now.

Things do scare me though.
I am scared of loss.
I’m scared of being



Forgotten
       Of not mattering
              Of my emotions getting
             The
Best
      Of
       Me.
And I put milk in my tea this morning.
The morning before,
Too.

I am what you call ordinary,
But only at times,
Because lightning once struck the grass
Twenty feet away.

Here’s a secret:
I cry over politics.
The possibility of not having the future
That could be
Terrifies me.

You know, even now
I can smell
The rain crisply cutting through
Summer’s grime.


Weak baby bunnies I have held in my hand.
Only a
Week
Old.
Felt their nibble,
Their trembling whiskers;
Light
As the wind behind faerie wings.

I’ve spent a birthday in Ireland.
Witnessed the foggy haze.
Had the chill nip my nose in the bracing wind.
And I’ve spent drizzly days at the library.
Breathing the scent of musty bindings,
Ancient ink,
And smelling the stories
That waft through the air.

Sitting in front of my wood fireplace
I’ve poured over pages with rain beating on the roof.
I can still smell it now.
The fire.
The rain.
It smells like sweaters and of sleep
Of warmth and of welcoming
Like Home.

This poem will celebrate Ronald Bilius Weasley
Harry Potter's best friend and fiercest ally
Smart, funny and mischievous
Not to mention, highly courageous
Sacrificed himself in a wizarding chess game
At the age of merely eleven
Have you seen that happen often?
Of course, haters may not give a dime
But he also faced an army of murderous giant spiders
Merely a year later
Not for nothing, was he placed in Gryffindor!

In his third year, Ron stood on a broken leg
And defended his best mate
Against a convicted mass murderer
Yet, he receives a ton of hate
For his supposed jealousy a year after
Which, in reality, was more of a misunderstanding
How does that make him a negative character?
Don't best friends have occasional misunderstandings
That too in their teens?
Even I, at the age of thirty four, am no stranger to misunderstandings
For a fourteen year old Ron, can you imagine how it must have been?

In his fifth year, Ron showed his nerve and daring yet again
Fighting a horde of Death Eaters at the Ministry of Magic
A year later, it was time for some Quidditch magic
As he proved the doubting Thomases wrong in style
Saving goal after goal
And now do we come to the most important part
The second wizarding war played its part
In shaping Ron's journey from teenage to adulthood
Yes, abandoning his friends was certainly not good
But he was carrying a piece of Voldemort's soul
Which increased his insecurities and anxieties to the highest possible level
And once he left the tent
The chances of returning soon became one in a million
Thanks to a run-in with a few of Voldemort's hired minions
As well as the protective charms placed around the tent
However, when Ron ultimately returned
He saved Harry's life
And destroyed the aforementioned piece of soul
Which had reduced his confidence levels to almost nil
In the process, Ron faced his worst fears
Managed to overcome them without even shedding tears
And transitioned from boy to man
As if to show us, "Yes you can!!"

Later, bravely did Ron fight in the Battle of Hogwarts
Even after losing his dear brother so tragically
And stand up to Voldemort himself
Thus showing immense strength of character
Yes, he may have his fair share of haters
However, for me that does not matter
Because Ronald Bilius Weasley will always be my favourite Harry Potter character
Truly, like him can there be no other!!

In the beautiful words of John Marcus:
“Sometimes words are a little too hard to catch. They flit and flutter all over the place almost impossible to catch, taunting and teasing me with the worlds I could create.”
And the last part caught my attention, upon reading it. “…taunting and teasing me with the worlds I could create.” Cause I've written a novel, and currently I'm writing its sequel, and I essentially created a whole world. A whole global history, a whole global culture, a whole everything on a global scale. George Lucas, that literal genius, created a whole galaxy, far, far away, along with Martin Goodman creating a whole universe, Gene Roddenberry created a whole world on the USS Enterprise, JK Rowling created the Wizarding World, Angie Sage created one of my favorite worlds, the world of a seventh son of a seventh son with a name with seven in it.
Writers, in their own genius creativity, write worlds into existence, cover to cover, create them and steer them in a beautiful direction: forward.
And then I remembered. God created man and women in his image, and God literally spoke creation into existence, and the Bible recorded the event into literary immortality. So if God spoke (literally) everything into existence, and we fall short of His Glory eternally, then couldn’t we create worlds? Not, like, literal, physical worlds, but maybe a literary world, like authors do?
A world you could get just as lost in?
And words, words, the beautiful creation of the written form, constantly taunt and tease me, they challenge me, they call out to me to keep creating and writing worlds into existence. But we don’t need to write worlds into existence to make our words amazing: even I myself have written small phrases, not just worlds, but sometimes even the smallest things have the biggest impacts. (IE, my toddlers.)
(John Marcus has a beautiful mind, seriously, it repeatedly blows mine away. Keep doin your thing, dude.)
:;,

Moon writer
Moon rider
Window; windows
26 windows
26 widows
Blind
Bold
Boiled
Wandering in wonder
Wondering in wander
West
East
26 days
Wiser
Wizarding whistles
Melting hums
Sweltering breaths
Blustering bustling
Bridging
Hand in hand
Hand over hand
The 25th letter is 'Y'

Sudden air full of winged seeds
Blowing froth on the dawn.
Season of simple joy
Wizarding light from the east.
Yellowing grass yawning
In the last of days of dry,
Zippy insect life slowing
To a tumble buzz, heavy
As sleep, just before sepia dreams
Begin to comfort the earth,
Fruit pungency replacing heady miasmas.
It’s like leaving a bright clearing for a forest
Sanctuary, light dimmed by cool shadows,
The gentle change of one life-state
For another.


,

You can't pull out a rabbit
if you don't start with a hat,
Merlin told me that.

The 'giant in the beanie hat'
told me that as well.

There's a lack of hats these days
there's a lack of magic too
there's a lack of wizards wizarding
those things that wizards do.

Roses are red violets are blue...The fact is, I could write encyclopedias about how ****** and stupid Lord of the Rings is. And don’t even get me started on Harry Potter—what a pathetic, daddy-issue-ridden mess.

If I were up against Harry and his little twerps, I’d punt them like a field goal. It would be over in seconds. I’d crack their skulls before they got a single word out. And even if they tried their weak nonsense, I’d just cast Silence. How are you going to cast a spell when you can't speak? An entire world, a sweeping saga undone by one common spell.

The relationships, the dynamics, and the way characters are often placed in dangerous situations where their vulnerabilities are exploited, it’s unsettling. There’s no escape from this undercurrent of grooming, particularly in the way characters like Harry are pushed into morally gray situations, all under the guise of “destiny” or “greatness.” These are children. They should be protected, but instead, they’re put on pedestals and used as pawns for an adult’s war. It’s deeply disturbing.

Then, there’s the complete failure of Albus Dumbledore as a figure of authority and wisdom. What a complete failure he is. This man—who’s supposedly one of the wisest, most revered characters in the magical world—does nothing but pass the responsibility for everything onto others. He’s a coward, manipulating children to fight his battles, all while withholding information, and putting them in harm’s way. He doesn’t have the backbone to act when it matters, and his inability to learn from his own mistakes is a flaw that plagues him throughout the entire series. It’s as if he’s incapable of making a single ethical decision. He’s not noble; he’s a manipulative fraud, and it’s an insult to the very concept of leadership.

Let’s talk about the Wizarding World, shall we? A society with magic so powerful that it can literally solve every problem you can imagine—yet it ignores the real-world issues that plague its own citizens. There’s no effort to address poverty, child abuse, or any of the things that would actually make a difference in the lives of people. They could solve world hunger with a simple spell, or cure diseases with a flick of a wand, yet they choose to turn a blind eye to the suffering happening around them. There’s no technological progression; nothing seems to move forward because the entire society is stuck in an outdated, backward system that can barely handle the modern problems that keep popping up. But why bother changing anything when you can just wave a wand and pretend everything is fine? The whole system is utterly nonsensical.

And the writing? It’s embarrassingly basic. There’s nothing to it. Everything about the prose screams “children's book” in the worst way possible. It’s repetitive, formulaic, and devoid of any real depth or complexity. The descriptions are lazy, often using the same tired adjectives over and over again. The magic is treated like some child’s toy; there’s no real explanation for how it works, just vague references to the “mystical.” Nothing is ever fully fleshed out. It’s all just there, existing for the sake of advancing the plot without any thought for coherence or world-building.

And Voldemort? Don’t get me started. He is the weakest, most laughable villain to ever appear in fiction. He could’ve been defeated at any time, but somehow, this “evil overlord” manages to survive through sheer incompetence and plot armor. He doesn’t even have the sense to **** a baby when he has the chance, let alone successfully carry out any of his grandiose plans. The whole idea of him as a villain is a joke. It’s a tragedy that such a character is even given any weight or importance in the story.

The disturbing undertones that run through the series are perhaps the most overlooked aspects of Harry Potter. Let’s talk about how Snape, a grown man, seems obsessed with Harry’s mother, Lily. He’s this bitter, twisted character who can’t seem to move past some deep-seated emotional issues and makes the whole thing about his personal revenge fantasies. His fixation on a teenage girl, and later Harry’s mother, feels far more like a grudge than any noble sense of duty or redemption. It’s disturbing in ways that go unaddressed. And don’t even get me started on how the children are treated like slaves, especially in the way they are kept in the dark about their true roles in all of this. They’re pushed into war, taught to fight, and are left to deal with the fallout of decisions they have no power over. They’re nothing but pawns, manipulated and discarded when it’s convenient.

Rowling constantly sexualizes underage characters. She describes 14-year-old girls' bodies, their “curves,” the way boys “notice” them. Hermione’s sudden transformation at the Yule Ball is written like a ****** ******* reveal. Why does she need to be sexualized? She’s a kid.

In the end, the world of Harry Potter makes no sense. It’s a place where magic could solve all of society’s problems but doesn’t. It’s a series that asks you to believe that the same people who can make objects levitate or conjure food out of thin air are somehow incapable of improving anything let alone  their world. The entire premise is based on a series of lazy tropes chosen ones, magical worlds, and grand destinies that don’t hold up under even the slightest scrutiny. It’s a patchwork of stolen ideas, slapped together with no real thought or originality. And let’s not forget about the endless repetition. The magic may change, but the problems, the structure, and the tropes remain the same. It’s the same story told over and over again, with no real growth or evolution in the narrative.

This series is nothing more than a well-disguised piece of trash, a work of shallow, repetitive nonsense that has been falsely elevated as some sort of cultural touchstone.   Its Christians so. it makes complete sense. They love this kind of crap. It's the core of their whole reality. So no wonder they eat this garbage up It’s a poor man’s fantasy, made for children with no taste and no real understanding of what great storytelling is. It’s insulting to anyone who has ever read a truly great book, and it’s insulting to anyone who knows how to think critically. It’s lazy, it’s derivative, and it’s full of everything wrong with modern literature.  Kind of like the Quran. If you really want to see what magic looks like, look there it has a flyin horse with a humans face. But Larry Trotter this is just smoke and mirrors, designed to distract from the mediocrity at its core.

Voldemort? One of the weakest, lamest, most pathetic villains ever. well Sour ron  from LOTR is bad too real bad he shows up he gets killed by a girl  bam ! done.    I there a bad guy in the  Game of thrones books  I mean the Mt.  but he's a mongoloid   not really a bad guy more like lenny from mice and men .    Anyway  The  padawan training schools the inane pointless traditions, the ridiculous jokes. And let’s be honest, Harry Potter desperately wants to be Star Wars. They want the whole "Padawan learning the Force" thing, but it’s just embarrassing.

Now, onto A Song of Ice and Fire. A dance of crap and more crap, with fire and ice and zombie dragons—except he never even does the zombie dragon thing in the books. I’ve suffered them so you don't have to . They’re meh, at best. The first three are mediocre, and even then, the highlight is when Brienne is in the bear pit and ,Jaime still has to rescue her.

The only somewhat interesting part? The Hound and Arya. Arya steals the whole show, so it makes sense that HBO gave her the final ****. She’s the only decent character in the entire series, other than  the actor that almost redeemed 2 dimensional Tyrion, who they otherwise absolutely turned to bubble gum. In the books, he’s a scarred-up, grotesque little pervert missing his nose, waddling around like the disgusting freak he’s meant to be. But no, they had to soften him up, make him "relatable." Sure, whatever. Then he shoots his dad on the toilet, spends half a book brooding about it, and that’s his arc?

And Catelyn Stark? God, he couldn’t have killed her off fast enough. Reading her chapters was pure suffering. Then she's a zombie for a sentence or 2  ? Almost as bad as reading Sansa. Every time I saw "Sansa" at the top of a chapter, I wanted someone to put me out of my misery. Like the brother diddler, god how horrid and yes  know we weren't supposed to like her.

But even as bad as Martin is, he’s still not as bad as Tolkien. That crap is unreadable. I have never seen anyone abuse semicolons and colons more in my life. And the songs? Dear God. Nothing makes sense. It reads like an acid-trip hangover. angry cockneyed drunken english professor playing tea party while writing a how to assemble a nap time  Ikea fairy tale manual.  yes the sentences are like that I wrote that in his style. It's infuriatingly impossible to slog through.

Bilbo and Sam? Supposed to be lovable and relatable, but they just make me sick  Cry, Cry, cry,  walk walk walk, Cry cry cry..... And then there’s Gollum, who is even worse. Nothing about him is funny, cute, or remotely entertaining. It’s just sad   not in a a tragic way but ,stupid.  And everything is magic ring. The ring is magic. The sword is magic. The chain mail is magic. The horses **** magic. The river is magic. The tree is magic. Is anything not magic Jesus Christ.  Why even d do anything?  It's like the Star Trek matter energy converter. If you have that, why do you need anything? I mean, they could have at least said exploration for exploration's sake for discovery. At least that's something. But all of those books the return of the king, the two towers, it's not that. It's not exploration for exploration sake. And if the bad guy is already so powerful, what does he care about any of that? If he's incorporeal?

And don’t get me started on the eagles. Gandalf could have just called the eagles, taken the ring, and flown to a thousand different places. But no, they had to march to Mount Doom because, apparently, that’s the only place in the entire world with lava. How stupid is that? The whole thing is pitifully dumb, derivative, unoriginal,  and the way people worship it like some holy text is beyond me. He had no competition when it was written.  We do now .

Tolkien didn’t invent ANYTHING . Every single bit of it is stolen. Even his so-called "Elvish language"—stolen. He didn’t create wizards. He didn’t invent dragons, goblins, magic swords, dwarves—none of it. And to top it off, you can’t even read those books. They’re so poorly written.  Its like trying to enjoy Canterbury Tales,
except somehow worse    sooyta to the roo tay   but bogged down with pointless lore that contributes nothing to the actual story.
Create a list of names of some guys that do nothing and Contribute absolutely nothing to the plot. Just to **** them off, create characters that were almost starting the light, and then a couple chapters later killed them wrong. Great. someone that seems like they could be important, but a book later killed them off. He'll just **** everybody off. Why not **** everybody up? The whole thing is stupid. Just get the ring and throw it in the fire. Why do you need 4 books to do that? What he needed was an editor, but he needed was someone to say, really have. really. Have you sang these songs out loud in front of anyone and not gotten beaten up? I don't know how that ever became anything. The only thing I can think of was it was either cry about all the people that were lost in those sport wars. Watch paint dry. I mean, I don't know. There must have been nothing else being published. Talk about a slow Newsday.

And then there’s all the fetishist, ******, misogynistic nonsense buried in the ******* subtext, but I won’t even go into that. The fact that his work became anything at all just shows how low the bar is. Point made . Point proven .  People will accept anything if you  know how to slap the right label on it. Appeal to the English's pride or target a black audience  and . Boom its gold baby. Madea goes to middle earth.   And Sour Ron.. Thats your bad guy? Seriously?  Why did he not just **** *****  or Frilzo  or whatever his  pathetically stupid name is ?  What he wasn't evil then or he had no power or was just taken a knap. Oh but when  Froe ***  get the ring ..Oh hell nO !  son you gonna die.  What?

Same with Star Wars. Disney saw it for what it was: branding over substance. They knew they could put guys in cardboard armor,
cram aluminum foil up their butts . Slaps satellites on  on their backs  HAVE THEIR KNEES SHOOT ROCKETS   ?    What ? after all these years R2  could fly ? no one is really dead  and  knee rockets the whole time  ?  wow ! ,  As long as it had the Star Wars name, people  will eat it up. And that’s Andor. They’re walking around with AK-47s and  African World War Two. surplus military gear, yet I’m supposed to believe this is a world of advanced laser technology?   Hello. Hello. Check. Check. Check.    And I'm supposed to be enamored by the writing or the storytelling. Give me a break.

The best thing that ever happened to Star Wars was Ralph McQuarrie. Hands down.

putting the tracks i liked
out there, on my stories
hoping, wondering,
maybe they'd see me for how i dream
and not for how i've been coping

except a step further
a path up ahead
i realized, they didn't really care for all that i had
prized possessions of mine, these lyrics so simple
they don't deserve bits of me, if the surface excites them sole
if they don't like it whole, not worth the lengths i go

a girl's room is her own museum
or so they said
mine's a beautiful chaos
trust me, a letter to self

and so i stopped
a step further even
ahead i moved
watched, smiled, told them they had all i could
share without breaking, without giving them the key
that could threaten my volatility—my being
and i hoped they'd accept

except fools require everything whole
even if they can't accept it, they need it only
for the pleasure it brings, the joy of knowing
not to like, to love—but to show—
the world always required proving

i have my own cocoon
won't term myself ready to bloom
or a butterfly for that case
but i hide, intending to forget the world
my room, the paradoxical mapping
the stars chart their own course during the nights
up on my ceiling as i turn the lamp and let it burn bright
it's simple, heady space
there's posters and pictures on one wall
the other holds a heart collage of all sorts
lomographic detailing, i've always found myself dreaming
one picture, and i tend to stare deep
whenever this head gets too loud, i sit and stare at all of the meanings

there's a magnitude that hides
read every picture, uncover—but it comes with a price
safe spaces, meant to be kept hidden
posters—the movies that stayed, the artists looking back at me
quotes, written in an unhinged manner
my favourite, i'm yet to choose
but it all kind of gives away what i can't hammer
across my skull and at myself every time i go out
i wish to carry it all, to show them what i'm all about

don't try to rewrite my scars
just don't add any new ones to the already existing
and you could wrap a bandage
i'll keep all the rough edges sealed
and edited for flow

there's carts—more like shelves weakened with a multitude of books
i counted them, turned out to be a lucky 151
now i wonder which i ought to read
to throw caution to the wind and forget all my seams

there's stands, holding tiny little things
a layer of all my bracelets, of all that i intend to wear
one with the skincare, and other little prizes i just keep
there's pens, a vast multitude—I could never have enough
in all colors, i think half of them already dried up
a couple things for journaling stay at the very back, at the very bottom
right above, it holds all the things i could use to paint—to bring my dreams to mortal realm
except the skills lack, i tend to procrastinate
so they stay, gathering dust—unless i air it out—once a day
every day

the last compartment holds a stack of pencils, a glass quill—intended for magic
couple washi tapes—perhaps i'll wrap them around my wrists
and a few paper cutters, having gathered rust from being washed—every time i stuttered

a red ribbon, and a golden one, tied around both my shelves—reminding of who brought them to
vines hang in one corner, right beside the balcony
i'm yet to minecraft the windows, perhaps i'll let them be
there's pages stuck to the walls, and a multitude of sketches
nothing all too special—but there's this one of an eye that speaks
couple stars, the phases of the moons—waning and waxing,
full one too!
a paper leaf string—maple leaf except i made little hearts
hangs over the bathroom door—completely out of place, held in a purple thread
the pages wall is of a comfy book—before the coffee gets cold
the curtains are a shade of violet and silver in the middle, indication of what couldn't have been told
silver almost looks like a grey, a bit shiny, a bit neutral
but then there's another book stand and it holds a few candles
hardcovers at the bottom, they hold too much weight
the paperbacks balance the top however
and wrapping its corners is a string light—a heavy mistake
it goes over my wardrobe
multitude of tiny bulbs if i were to turn it on
phases of the moon again, cut out
and beneath—like scribbles on a notebook—stuck album covers in tiny, varying shades

a sign that says smile—i can't say i do
but it stares back at me, every time i sit on my bed—so i try to
a blue ribbon bow—gifted, i remember just who
stuck to the handle bar, i grip it every time i pull the door through

my desk is a messy messy affair
to put a name to things would be like listing down what i couldn't bear
but here it goes—
my laptop, the one i barely use—it's new
yet to find my way through, i rely on the old one
tho it's been barely working
comfort i guess—is one step away from despair

fake purple tulips, standing in a lilac bottle that i'd painted
a pastel of the same shade except it's an hourglass
30 minutes, i'm yet to check if it lives up to its truth
three scrapbooks, incomplete, the kits emptied halfway through
a candle, a chalkboard, tiny—a slate of all sorts
with one side a black, the other a white
i tend to use it black over white

a clock, stuck on the wrong time, currently giving 11:11
some wisterias kept in a green plastic vase
and a succulent that's as real as it gets
i water it every now and then, the bubbles breathing a sign of life in the room
there's a bunny enchanted almost in a glass sphere—a lamp i don't turn on
a shell, one you'd find at the edge of a sea—except it's a gift too
sets of little trinkets i opened in kinder joy
pen stands holding my sketch pencils that i rarely use
my keyboard is a heavy affair
doesn't really fit in the room with its peachy aesthetic
it seeks repair

a bowl, huge ceramic one i'm yet to find the perfect place for
it carries several stones, i think i'd use them someday to break a skull or two
kidding—
the wall above—black and white, epiphanies printed on pictures
"human being"
"anxious person"
"creative block", "parental advisories"
"life of an artist", a quote between viktor & jayce  and big moon

a wall hanging on the wall, carries a humidifier i don't use
the three figurines of harry, hermione and ron from the wizarding world
the second ron hides just behind the three
a kuromi sits atop a small tin, holding bracelets that specifically need no calling

there's a couple fake plants, sure
books everywhere—on my bed
a set of few that i personally cherish
a dictionary of dreams, a history of time, grimms' tales and a comfort book to carry
it all together

my current read, a lighter for some reason, a diary i write poetry in
and a notebook to remind me why i do it all
add to it- a pen in white, one in blue
a highlighter just to mark the lines i already knew

oh the plushies!
a penguin, a bunny, a koala, a seal
an octo changing moods, a slytherin pillow, and a kuromi
a strawberry hiding a bunny again, and teddy—ages old from when i was a child
three pillows, and two comforters, i think i might get a weighted blanket
the grip feels familiar

there's a tapestry, right above my bed—i tend to forget its existence
since i'm always facing away
the sun and the moon, staring at each other
and a couple random trinkets that define me
don't ask of my drawers, or in between my books
my cupboard, or my wardrobe
i'll mention downturned black butterflies, a cloud with a storm symbol
a party mask, and a phone charm hanging off a circle
a small stool holding japanese authors' best works
a snowflake candle and a few marbles

it's all my own
sacred, hidden
drapery of the lights—different moods, different nights
why i wonder i hide, or spend so much of my time
but it's a galaxy here within
like in my eyes and in my being—whole

my brain resets, works to a rhythm—on nice days
i tend to keep the balcony open and wind flows
everything whispers and takes a breath of relief
the rain pours outside, as i sit and speak
little secrets to my walls
lying on my bed or sitting at my desk
wondering, circling—the reasons to live

the grandest—my baby bunny
wondering, sleeping, napping away or speaking
she stays with me
her own space, her own world a part of my own
we've got an ecosystem in here
the most prized possession

and every time i step
i carry this armor
laced with all the time i spent in this room
gathering strength, putting a piece anew
even if you're not it—
would you like to come see my room?

why'd i let the outsides visit and steal it solely
to murmur of how it all seems obnoxious
it's bits of me, pasted, put together
clumsy, messy, chaotic
i'm quite a few issues when you hear
so close your eyes, listen to my speaker
as i play the playlists i've kept hidden
tonight's the turn for prologue by cloud koh
and if you haven't even tried to read mine
how can i let you read the story directly just for show?