fractals spiral and auras dance
along these ink blots we call words,
—and across the entangled wires we call nerves,
—like little dizzies falling from a fairy's wings.
evanescent trails shimmer long after the storm has passed,
but it's no work of art.
these words should have meaning, should have structure
but I only find strange symbols carved into fool's gold.
my senses blur like window panes in this ethereal fog
—one that envelops my brain and these serifed strokes.
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Time spent:
Canary word: Present
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Poem explanation:
This poem is about this weird thing that happens when I read, or just in general; I see static and floating colors surrounding words when I read, sometimes the words also shake or blur. I experience it in other situations too, like sometimes I see glowing rings surrounding objects or people.
Spoiler
I don’t know what causes this? It’s pretty annoying but it’s not severe enough to go the doctor for it (the image in the poem is very exaggerated for poetic effect). This isnt really a vent poem, I just thought it’d be newt to write about
Hello! Catchy title!
I like the way you compared words as ink blots here, it tingles. The bold and enlarged lines at the top act accordingly to your words I see.... I find it fascinating that in language we can make anything normal feel strange after describing it in a specific manner, which you've easily accomplished.
By the way, you should try and find a way to stop seeing blur. Hope you do!
Gengar, hi!! This was SO cool. Right away, I was intrigued by the visual aspect of the poem. I think it's really cool how you distorted the text in no way that helps us understand some of how you feel. The whole thing was just so good that I have to leave a review.
First of all, I am so blown away by how amazing your vocabulary is. You use so many words throughout this poem, that I don't even know, but I love them now. I really love these first two lines of your poem, because I think they set up the scene very well. You describe how these words blur when you read in such an artistic way. I love your use of the word "auras" and "fractals". Combining all of these pretty words into one sentence, create such a poetic masterpiece. You drew me in right from the start!
I love that statement of how it's not a work of art. What you're describing certainly sounds beautiful, but that sentence reminds us that these beautiful words might not actually be so great. At that point, I start to get the sense that this is some thing that bothers you or can affect your life daily. On the second line that I quoted, I absolutely love the alliteration with the F sounds. Seriously, I'm so blown away by how many gorgeous words do you use. It's almost a tongue twister. I tried to say it out loud, but had a bit of trouble xD.
This poem uses such a variety of vocabulary that it was honestly hard for me to follow along a little bit. As beautiful as it sounds to say out loud, I got a little bit lost, because of how many unique words you use. But perhaps that symbolism in itself, showing this distortion of words, and that feeling of perhaps being lost, or confused. I love that, honestly. I also love the font that you chose, and how certain words get blur than others. It had such a strong effect on me and I'm so glad that you shared this, because I feel like I can understand what some people might go through a little bit better. Thanks so much and I can't wait to see your next poem!
Your friend,
Ellie
Deeper meaning resides in the eye of the beholder—
writing a picture, shaping words to show, not tell,
etching emotion into ink and air.
Reading the same lines, over and over,
but the meaning slips through, elusive as mist,
dancing just beyond reach.
I know that ache too well.
You trace the words again, willing them to stay,
to sink in, to make sense—
but the fog thickens, swallowing them whole,
leaving only echoes in its wake.
Artistic stuff aside—
ADD or ADHD is a pain in the rear.
They gave me meds to help with that, but I hated how they made me feel.
It was like they dulled something in me, made my artistic self shrink.
When my craft is flowing—
for lack of a better word—
my brain goes wild, ideas and words rushing past,
a flood I can barely keep up with.
And when I’m drawing, writing, or doing anything creative,
I need that chaos, that energy—
I need that ability to be there, not buried under a fog.
I'm not sure what to say when it comes to the review part of this but keep up the good work.
It sounds really corny just know I commiserate with you and what you described in your poem The struggle is real