erasure (poem)

Horror in fiction is isolated:

a ghost haunts a house,

a demon possesses a child,

a serial killer prowls a small town.

Horror in reality is everywhere:

a woman leaves her drink alone at the bar,

climate change and careless people,

a president deciding you don't exist.

Definitions of gender rigid and fixed

while the content of gender morphs:

do you have a penis or a vagina?

Nothing else seems to matter.

“You are making it up,”

obviously you would choose this fate,

to be different than what they forced you to be

because erasure and abuse is what you want.

Who wants to feel comfortable in their skin,

to understand the world as more than binary,

the beauty of the spectrum beyond duality,

the freedom of finally being themselves?

Horror in reality is watching

as someone tries to delete you

while millions stand and watch,

supporting a madman with screams and silence.

Reality is scarier than fiction:

books can be closed and movies stopped,

but you can't pause reality

to stop a madman from trying to erase you.

-Zero

don't build hope on something broken (poem)

I think of you sometimes,

of how incredible you seemed to me,

of all the times you lied,

and how you taught me insecurity.

One moment we were perfect,

the next you're a ghost I'm hunting.

Our relationship was Schrödinger's cat:

both alive and dead at the same time.

You would seek me out,

make plans so we could meet,

only to disappear the night of,

with me wondering if you even liked me.

You were a tornado that tore through my life,

changing everything in one intense moment,

only to dissipate in thin air,

with every strong gust leaving me hopeful.

And disappointed.

But I'm to blame too, aren't I?

For building hope on something broken:

fire could never support four walls and a roof,

and we were just two little flames.

How frightening was I?

Wielding love in my mouth and eyes:

the romantic promises forever

when the reasonable considers the present.

Had I opened up Schrödinger's box,

I would find the cat dead inside

with my fingers wrapped around its neck.

No wonder you were afraid.

-Zero

burned out (poem)

inspired by: dodie - burned out

It was the look in her dark eyes,

a sadness so deep it's unfathomable,

a regret for wanting more than ordinary:

she waited, smiling for this?

Recognition is an ever-growing weight:

the unknown are left unseen,

but our burning stars are watched,

both in admiration and criticism.

The music once sang of freedom,

and poetry learns to love anonymity.

Anything less than perfect isn't enough:

shine like the sun, or burn out.

But we're just human,

this is an ultimatum we can't win,

yet we wanted something more:

we waited, smiling for this?

Our sanctuary becomes a prison,

a church with bars on the windows

and armed guards at the doors:

what once saved us now entraps us.

It's that look in her dark eyes,

that same unfathomable sadness,

that regret for hopes and dreams,

that makes us wish we could do more.

-Zero

Go find yourself (poem)

It's time to go,

time to say goodbye.

How long can you stay here?

You're not a tree after all.

Our lives are defined by movement,

defined by the changes we experience:

our first crush,

our first big move.

We can learn a lot about ourselves

by how we react to the unfamiliar:

are we frogs jumping from hot water,

or do we make a home in it?

We host infinite cosmos within us,

so vast we barely know it,

and the unfamiliar is a blank canvas

our stardust paints us a portrait on.

So leave this home behind

with its familiar faces and streets,

and find the shine of your cosmos

like you've wanted to for so long.

-Zero

Autumn's Chill (poem)

The chill is back in the air,

that crisp breath that takes me,

forces me into old memories:

every year back to school.

I don't want to miss it,

to learn to live in nostalgia:

a sad oak remembering its first leaves

and the solemn autumn that took them.

I am at home in the chill

after all those recesses outside,

all those long walks after school

to friends who said they understood.

And just like a dog who sits

when their owner reaches for the treats,

I remember my school days

when summer reaches for winter.

-Zero