The Alchemist (a Poem)
Written and edited in 2020
Written and edited in 2020
My solitude used to be a refuge, and now it seems as though I’m conditioned to consider solitude the very thing from which I need refuge.
A poem for my friend on her 25th.
I find myself craving the simplicity of incoherence, wishing to retreat into a state of brazen, youthful, unapologetic existence, where I am allowed expression without the constraints of language.
In this life, we are sentenced to freedom. So do we exercise agency? Or do we resign ourselves to outsourcing our values, judgements, ideas, desires, and rules?
It had escaped my notice, by some miracle, that People always seem to be salivating over absurdist fiction without any mention of female writers.
what i hold dear and true
sadness as subjective as a shade of blue