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Evander

Starting Over

current poetry + lyrics

Throughout the years.
  • cardboard castles

    summers bleed into autumn that bleeds into spring. i cannot remember how old i was.

    • Poetry
    • Realistic · Dramatic
    2 min read
  • quartz (and that's only what you were told)

    The ocean's beaches.

    • Poetry
    • Realistic · Other
    2 min read
  • obsessive compulsive

    maybe these stars will unlock the universe inside of my head

    • Poetry
    • Teen Fiction
    2 min read
  • fin.

    why would one turn away from what i had to offer?

    • Poetry
    • Dramatic · Other
    2 min read
  • i am unafraid to die

    i tried to experiment with what was going through my head after bad news + roller coasters

    • Poetry
    • Realistic
    1 min read
  • 2009-2015

    Broken bones, skipping stones, and childhood.

    • Poetry
    • Dramatic
    1 min read
  • Black Lives Matter

    This is incredibly rough and my point could probably be better stated. Thank you for taking the time to read it.

    • Other
    • Politics · Realistic
    5 min read
  • reality doesn't work

    I've never posted lyrics before, so feel free to rip this to shreds.

    • Lyrics
    • Realistic · Other
    2 min read
  • we matter

    This shouldn't be a political statement. Yet, here we are.

    • Poetry
    • Realistic · Politics
    2 min read
  • what is it like to disappear?

    what is it like to go away? i asked, my cold legs wobbling

    • Poetry
    • Realistic
    2 min read
  • impression.

    It burns. It burns her.

    • Poetry
    • Narrative · Realistic
    2 min read
  • In the Rain

    A so-so poem.

    • Poetry
    2 min read


It had a perfectly round door like a porthole, painted green, with a shiny yellow brass knob in the exact middle. The door opened on to a tube-shaped hall like a tunnel: a very comfortable tunnel without smoke, with panelled walls, and floors tiled and carpeted, provided with polished chairs, and lots and lots of pegs for hats and coats—the hobbit was fond of visitors. The tunnel wound on and on, going fairly but not quite straight into the side of the hill —The Hill, as all the people for many miles round called it—and many little round doors opened out of it, first on one side and then on another.
— JRR Tolkien