Spaceacepirate

Hi! I make poems and pretty much nothing else

If something has the tag #original poem then I made it. If it doesn't then I didn't.

Most used other tags are:

#greek myth poetry for all Iliad poems (and also 1 about the minotaur) or just click here Iliad-Masterpost

#catpoem for exactly that

#minecraft poetry (specifically about just the game)

#lifeseries poetry (specifically about the mcyt lifeseries)

Who felt guilty for existing

And I did not understand

We’re both students

At a West-European university

They’re from Türkiye, and I am from here

They ‘made it out’, and I just walked

They were given a chance, and I had options

They had guilt, and I had questions

What confused me most, was the way they explained

It was not enough to be grateful, or even succeed

The guilt had to be permanent, part of them, unwashable sin

As if there since birth

After all, they were in a place to be given a chance, and not all got that

They explained, and I did not understand

I guess that is the point of privilege

I have felt before

That I must prove I am worth my own existence

That I deserve the air I breathe

That I’ve earned the love I’m given

Never before had I felt guilt over it

I suppose that is the point of privilege

I’d always assumed

That one could atone for the crime of fortune

For the right place, right time, for all chances given

I reckon I must be wrong

He wants to go home. He want to go home to his love, his life, his goddess, his Lizzie.

The quizbot is back with presents and coal and death. Each morning three wake up, fear etched into their bones, death in their scent, blood in frozen water -is this how Jimmy felt when he fell and fell and fell and fell four times first?- it ends at midnight. Sometimes the quizbot gives kindness, gives life, it doesn’t matter, it still ends in strife.

He wakes up. It’s cold, the winter sun weak. The others are hounds on his heels, baying for blood. He takes two down, his biggest friend, his greatest rival. Gem, his former friend, ally, family drags him down to red.

He wakes up. Red rage warms his blood, it spills across snow. The sun glares, snowblindness clouds his judgement, there’s only death, death, death until they’re all red.

He doesn’t want to win, he just wants to go home. He could do it, get another to win, force a former reject to remember. Skizz is gone, but Bigb? Bigb vanishes, falls, somewhere beyond castle walls. Could he do it to Jimmy? His bad boy, his reject, his bestest bud, His Jimmy. The sky is red, winter is here, what is a king to a winner with nothing left to lose? A dog is hunted by wolves, a bird, the stars, a car.

Two fall down, down different ditches. Joel gets up, the canary does not.

Truthfully he’s uncertain of a lot of things, but that’s a different thing, it comes naturally with having such geniuses for friends and- well it’s beside the point.

He doesn’t know what the difference is.

It makes sense in a way, that he feels different, again, from the rest, or perhaps they just neglected to tell him of this.

Jimmy’s not all that familiar with the rage anger bloodlust that is supposed to come with being red.

He thinks he felt smidges of it, when Tango raged in the third game before it mellowed out into yellow. He’s certain he felt it when they all hunted Scott in the fourth.

But beyond that it was all just fear, Fear, FEAR the first four times.

He likes to lie to himself, and say that he felt it in the fifth game, killing an invisible armorless rider. He likes to lie and say he had a hand in his destiny.

It was more confusion than rage, but there was frustration and isn’t that the same?

He’s certainly felt it now, in the sixth and seventh. He gets it, finally, that giddy feeling that comes with surviving the end of someone else. He doesn’t understand the awful horrid feeling after, as if this wasn’t meant to be. He’s not supposed to be around this long.

Stupidly he’d hoped this not-season would be like the other not-seasons. Short, simple, no feelings, no stakes, no Mistakes.

He thinks it haunts him, like he haunted Bdubs but thoroughly less funny. It’s not Impulse, Impulse is too kind. But it haunts him.

Blood coats his hands, it’s old, scrubbed away several times, from the first of three killing blows. Was it an accident? It’s been gone for a while but maybe it isn’t, he’s not sure. It’s his fault, isn’t it?

If I asked you to

To show me what it is

Is that too much to ask

Would you lie to me?

If I lie awake at night

Nightmares keep me aching

Aching for a truth

Would you dare to tell me?

The things I don’t wanna hear

Here in this inbetween

Between lies and loyalty

Would you care to show me?

How to be a human person

Perfect in all my imperfections

She promised me when I was nine

They’d never lay a hand on mine

And oh, she’s regretting it now, she’s regretting it now

But my bark may be worse than my bite

Snapping, snarling, words out of spite

I’m a bad dog, I know exactly why

Never properly socialized

It’s my own fault, only me to blame

I refused to play the game

Won’t listen when you call my name

Leave me out of it, leave me out of it

I’m a bad dog, can you love me anyway?

A bad dog, please let me stay?

I cannot be tamed, might go insane

Want to be loved, want to be loved

That you were to be laughed at, to be mocked, to be ridiculed

You were born to be abandoned, to die, to doom all the others

And oh don't you know

That three thousand years from now

People will laugh and mock and ridicule 

Call you nothing but a fool

For making the mistake, of wanting to be loved

To be treasured, to be wanted, wanting to be held

You’ll be a monster, a coward, and a joke

Crumbling under too heavy a yoke

You were born for war, princeling

A woodland creature raised to sing

What’s the difference between the dances of death and beauty?

Forgetting the steps for fighting

Does it matter anymore?

You exist to be yelled at, always in the wrong

But you were loved once, in those early days

The wild, a warmth, a mother not your own

If only, that had been your only throne

A little firebrand, born to be a blaze

Not my normal type of art, but I've got vacation and my friend told me to go draw the brainrot/ mental chewtoy

Have some Jimmy’s I guess

-all poses come from posemaniacs

Close-ups under the cut

Its just Bad Luck

You hope, you pray

They point and laugh

Canary, they call, Cursed, they say

They are the miners who paved the way

Shoved in a cage, wings clipped away

Won’t you sing little bird

Your purpose is to die, to warn, to suffocate

The curse is them, not you

Setting up traps to fall into

It is chance, coincidence

It is a pattern, it is truth

Funny once, twice

Losing laughs at thrice

How much time until you die

They’re playing god, mocking your mortality

As if they are not the ones with blood on their hands

Spread your wings little bird

Bend the bars, break the cage, learn to fly

They will shoot you down

Hear them laugh, and laugh, and laugh

The end is inevitable