To be an Autumn Leaf

I’ve been writing poetry as long as I can remember.

“To be an autumn leaf…” 2011 (Age 13)

Sprinkling through the sky, dancing through the air
Moist, light and destined to be far away from here
They touch down only for a moment,
Swept up by the chilled autumn gales

Twisting, swirling through the city,
Looking for a new home,
They leave behind all they ever knew
and take freedom, rather than life

“Seasonal Effect” 2017 (Age 19)

Never have I felt a fall so fulfilling.
The faint, flippant fluttering
of the falling leaves.

Framed by a frock, I flourish
His feel’s so fantastical,
I’m fated to fawn.

“October Sky” 2018 (Age 20)

October nights when the wind gods roam,
and warm smoke meets my throat in a haze.
I exhale to the breeze and watch,
bracing,
as my cloud disappears in the cool air.

Lonely evenings turned mornings;
burning leaves, breathing peace.
I hear the trees speak their stories to me,
rustling,
as the treetops waltz slowly with the sky.

Ever since I was young, I have been fascinated with the whims of nature. Particularly, I always feel alive on the cool, windy days of a comfortable mid-October. Before the frost, as New England makes its way towards its dark, dreary season, I find a strange sense of peace. There has always been a mysticism around the wind blowing through the trees. Maybe the breeze is telling me something. Perhaps the trees are speaking to us in a language we just don’t understand.

Or, it could just be the wind.

A sensitive soul, raised by two academics, it doesn’t surprise me that I’ve taken to poetry. Over the years, I’ve written a fair amount of short, concise, free-verse poems, and I’d like to think they’ve improved since I was a preteen. Writing, in all its forms, has been something that’s stayed consistently with me as I’ve grown and evolved– and my, have I evolved. The phases of my life have seemed to flicker past me, inconstant as the moon, but noncyclical. My writing has stayed. It grounds me in this world, while allowing me to dream and fly away. Tethered securely to reality, I may float to universes unknown.

Many of my poems, I share under a pseudonym, with people who don’t know who I am. This anonymity provides a modicum of privacy, whilst still putting my words out into the world. What good are they, residing only with me? I’d rather share them with strangers or friends, even if sometimes they might be too personal to share as myself.

Those of you who read this blog know by now: I’m goddamn depressed. Medications on, medications off, I’m still depressed, stressed, but still blessed. There’s a lot in my life that I’m grateful for. Moments. People. My poems reflect that too.

“Vagabond” 2017 (Age 19)

Dance with the stars, lost soul
And in their lights, seek a path to clarity.
Hum quiet melodies with the winds
this melancholy holiday,
and melt your troubles away into a chocolate sea.

Numb your mind,
Free your soul with reckless abandon
You are a speck among millions as insignificant as thee
Shine brighter, explode
like a spark to your rainbow eternity

My heart and soul speak through all my writings, but in poetry, I feel they’ve found a language they truly love. Dreams, rhyme schemes, or lack thereof; punctuation,

line breaks.

I find them all delicate pieces of a carefully constructed puzzle. A poem. A part of me. I don’t expect the world to understand my poems any more than I expect a Mexican child to know fluent French. The world, nonetheless, accepts them. Their beauty persists so long as I nurture it. So long as I let myself shine, even when the world seems dark.

“Daybreak” 2018 (Age 20)

The morning sun rises over wind-rustled trees
Sweet sounds of nature flow on the breeze

Lonely, sad mornings;
a memory today

Forever the sun keeps his watch over me
Eternal, the moon shines her light
In the wake of a dark, dreary evening
At daybreak, I know I’m alright