The Evolution of “Oddities and Entities"
Aug. 22, 2023
First poem of collection is written
"Spindleweb"
July 1, 2023
Joined a writers' group called Ellipsis that helped improve her writing
"Petrichor"
Aug. 23, 2024
Final Poem of Collection is Written
"After Party"
spindleweb. sometimes I wonder if I am made in my entirety of spiders do I feel them itching scratching crawling manoeuvring their bulging abdomens under my skin weaving knitting crocheting their gossamer webs into every crevice of my innards until I am devoured am I just a simple silken puppet driven by creeping arachnids manipulating simulating emulating thoughts into the coddled swaddled fly that is my mind each organ a swelling egg sac preparing to bloom and burst but if I were made in my entirety of spiders I wouldn’t wonder if I was. or perhaps I would. perhaps that’s what they want.
petrichor. there’s an afternoon I remember better than most, more fondly I was far away from home and it was raining in the summer so the air and the grass were mildewy and smelled so strong of petrichor so I stepped out the door of my brick-and-stone dorm shoulder to shoulder with a wonderful girl and we walked side by side in the pouring rain, surrounded by buildings climbing with ivy and older than the dust that blew in the wind and mingled with the rain a baggy knit sweater cuddled my body soaking in the fallen drops and hugging closer to my breathing flesh, and I hugged back and twirled in the downpour, letting out every laugh I could get away with, and when I went back inside, my sweater teemed with a familiar, beautiful scent there’s an afternoon I remember better than most, more fondly I was far away from home and it was raining in the summer so the air and the grass were mildewy and smelled so strong of petrichor.
after party. “what is it like after all the party guests go home?” the room feels so big and empty now they’re gone and I pick at the trash holding each of their fingerprints placing it in the sad plastic bag sweeping the floor alongside me what is it like after all the party guests go home? it’s like waking up from a beautiful, exciting dream still clinging to the haze of sleep it’s like the daze of mind after a long, soothing cry reeling from the catharsis and the weight of my tears it’s like finishing a book and staying in the world the creator so lovingly built for me when all the party guests go home, it’s just me and my bag and the memories of a night long lived and the hope that my guests enjoyed my party just as much as I enjoyed them thank you for coming to my party. thank you for singing my song. thank you for hearing my stories. and thank you for playing along. t
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Transcript
The Evolution of “Oddities and Entities"
Aug. 22, 2023
First poem of collection is written
"Spindleweb"
July 1, 2023
Joined a writers' group called Ellipsis that helped improve her writing
"Petrichor"
Aug. 23, 2024
Final Poem of Collection is Written
"After Party"
spindleweb. sometimes I wonder if I am made in my entirety of spiders do I feel them itching scratching crawling manoeuvring their bulging abdomens under my skin weaving knitting crocheting their gossamer webs into every crevice of my innards until I am devoured am I just a simple silken puppet driven by creeping arachnids manipulating simulating emulating thoughts into the coddled swaddled fly that is my mind each organ a swelling egg sac preparing to bloom and burst but if I were made in my entirety of spiders I wouldn’t wonder if I was. or perhaps I would. perhaps that’s what they want.
petrichor. there’s an afternoon I remember better than most, more fondly I was far away from home and it was raining in the summer so the air and the grass were mildewy and smelled so strong of petrichor so I stepped out the door of my brick-and-stone dorm shoulder to shoulder with a wonderful girl and we walked side by side in the pouring rain, surrounded by buildings climbing with ivy and older than the dust that blew in the wind and mingled with the rain a baggy knit sweater cuddled my body soaking in the fallen drops and hugging closer to my breathing flesh, and I hugged back and twirled in the downpour, letting out every laugh I could get away with, and when I went back inside, my sweater teemed with a familiar, beautiful scent there’s an afternoon I remember better than most, more fondly I was far away from home and it was raining in the summer so the air and the grass were mildewy and smelled so strong of petrichor.
after party. “what is it like after all the party guests go home?” the room feels so big and empty now they’re gone and I pick at the trash holding each of their fingerprints placing it in the sad plastic bag sweeping the floor alongside me what is it like after all the party guests go home? it’s like waking up from a beautiful, exciting dream still clinging to the haze of sleep it’s like the daze of mind after a long, soothing cry reeling from the catharsis and the weight of my tears it’s like finishing a book and staying in the world the creator so lovingly built for me when all the party guests go home, it’s just me and my bag and the memories of a night long lived and the hope that my guests enjoyed my party just as much as I enjoyed them thank you for coming to my party. thank you for singing my song. thank you for hearing my stories. and thank you for playing along. t