Open Sorcery

Tag: Poem

  • “treasure trove” by Eight, 2022

    These are the things I keep tucked
    beneath my ribcage
    that the last remaining part that is human
    in me tries to keep hidden –

    my anger at death is just longing in
    disguise
    society is too scared to let me have
    my anger is really passion
    and fear

    (except for the dull ache that lives
    beneath my bottom left rib)

    (he wants god to burn and the houses of
    my enemies set ablaze
    to light the way to heaven’s gate)

    I keep my loves small
    my happiness smaller
    I fold joys innumerable –
    millions of them –
    into my chest cavity
    but I never learned to cherish them
    so they’ve always faded with the sun
    melted into nothing

    I hide my longings poorly
    To be seen, for a silvertongued
    lost king made from the same stuff as me
    I’ve looked my angels and my
    demons in their myriad eyes
    and ask them why they don’t leave me
    alone
    and they all say
    “all we ever wanted was your love”
    in a thousand different ways

    Fediverse Reactions

  • I wrote this poem at roughly 5:30, 6 o’ clock this morning.

    It’s called “love letter to the predawn hours”. 

    at this time of day I could be anything 
    as the inky blue remainder of the night
    holds me like a child. instead, I find I want to be nothing and everything but myself. 
    I only pray I spend it well
    and that I am good company. not angry, but soft
    and gentle. my mask falls off because I don't have 
    to dance for the eyes that do not watch me now 
    and my hands and body are the right kind
    of firm and strong, if only for now. 

    at this time of day I want to be a good houseguest,
    a silent ghost, a near fugitive, stealing soft across
    the floor, taking in the joy of the wee hours of the morning like the thief I was always told I was growing up, but flipping the script this time. 5:46 keeps me safe from prying eyes and I keep its silence sacred in return as I would a lover, nurturing the ideas it gives me and even cherishing the hum of the fridge in the next room and the slow creaks of the house as the melodies they are. this time of day has always woken me gently, and I am remembering how to hear the music of the world again.

    -Allēna 9/7/2025

  • Some art and words for you in these trying times.

    Sad poem for what is so far shaping up to be a lemon of a day. If you enjoyed this piece, “no one’s fault but mine” appears in my newest very queer chapbook, which can be found here: https://opensorceryy.itch.io/easy-to-hate-like-everything-you-love -Allēna #poetry #poem #queerpoet #sadpoem #transpoet #writingcommunity

  • I’m loving all these #InsomniaJam2025 submissions.

    Like this poem that was just submitted by GhostandShadows. It perfectly describes late night daydreams.

    Here it is: https://ghostandshadows.itch.io/i-wish-i-was-a-bird

    -Allēna

    #poem #poet #bird #longing #insomniac #itchio #writerswanted #amreading

  • A poem for today.

    I hail from the hellfire that raised me
    And the shadows that granted me solace
    Black as the Pit from pole to pole - 
    And I thank whatever gods may be
    For my unconquerable soul -

    The years that lay ahead
    Are but a shadow of the menace of the trail I've already blazed
    I come armed with the horror 
    Of foresight, hope, teeth, and claw 
    And you shall find me angry, trembling 
    But laughing, weeping
    Smiling, and 
    Unafraid. 

    I have sparred with far greater things than this
    I have come out bent, bloody, but
    I have faced the void inside me and befriended it, so
    You may try and take my eyes, my body, 
    You may try and come to my door, 
    You may try and take everything from me
    But I am antifragile, incomprehensible
    And I know myself far better than you know you. 
    Attempt to obstruct me, too, if you wish. 

    You will only come to know what the others know
    You will only fight what the others fought. 
    You will only  find what the others found - 
    That in the end, only I am the master of my fate. 
    Only I am the captain of my soul. 

    -20 January 2025, after "Invictus" by William Ernest Henley