this

fill me up. right to the brim. watch me dance around the kitchen, and sing off-key to cheesy pop songs i haven’t heard since i was eleven.

or roll around in campground fields, and laugh like an idiot. because i forgot that being happy felt… like this. like this, and this, and this… forgot that i even had a life outside of a computer screen, to be honest.

but i do. and i know it’s not perfect. but it’s hard not to believe that… maybe things are gonna be okay. maybe we’ll climb trees and listen to podcasts, and i will love you more than anything in this. exact. moment.

and i know it’s been a while. know the world is a mess. but i promise you. we’ll work it out. just like we always do.


I feel like I just have this whole recurring series of sappy friendship poems, and it’s just… a thing, I guess–yeah. I don’t know if anyone really likes these things, but, yanno, they make me happy, and hopefully they make you happy too. I wrote this piece the first time I saw my best friend after three months of quarantine, and… I don’t know, it was a really good day. And I guess I just wanted to write something to, in some small way, preserve it. Because that moment was really special to me.

Lots of love,

dragonwritesthings

cold (spoken word)


“Resilience” used according to license from patrickdearteaga.com

“Wind Sound” by Mark DiAngelo on soundbible.com (http://soundbible.com/1810-Wind.html)

Poem and whispering in background by me!

Read the text of this poem by clicking on the word here. Find me on PatreonYouTubeInstagramWattpadTumblr, and on Twitter.

september 18th, 2019

after nikita gill. i mean, not completely, but a little bit.

i just want to write a poem for the people who are alone in this. i want to write a poem for the people who beleive they are so fucking below this. i want to write a poem for the broken pieces. a poem for the people who gave up on themselves a long time ago. a poem for the people who still get surprised whenever strangers on the street notice them enough to even bother saying hello. a poem for the people with bombs in their chests. because if there’s anything writing has taught me, it’s that the shittiest and most beautiful thing is that we’re never the only ones going through this. even though i wish none of us had to ever even think about going through this. even though i just wish, sometimes, that i could close my eyes, and make the pain go away, all right? and i just want to write a poem for how much this world needs you here. for how much i want you here. and i’m not saying it’s always going to be easy. i’m not saying it’s ever going to be easy. i just want the two of us, somehow, someday, even if it’s a million miles away, to make it through this.


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and maybe this matters or something

for flora

and i’m not saying i’m there yet. i’m just saying… you wrote me a poem. you wrote me a goddamn poem, saying my poetry meant something to you. saying all the empty messages and desperate mixed signals actually got through. and honestly, even now, it’s hard to even believe that’s true. even though it is true. even though this is true. and this is mine. and this is real. and i’m not saying that this is it. i’m not saying that suddenly, with something you’ve written, my entire world is fixed. i’m just saying maybe someone cares or something. maybe i’m worth something. maybe there’s hope for me. and maybe someone would listen, if i grabbed a megaphone, and raised my voice a little louder, and a little louder, and maybe if i screamed up at the sky, people wouldn’t just call it mindless chatter. and maybe… maybe i have a chance. maybe we have a chance. and maybe… maybe we’re not alone in this. and maybe that means something. and maybe what i’m doing… what we’re doing… maybe, maybe, maybe matters. or something.


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