TEEN: Nori's Poem Anthology

Nori · Jul 17, 2019

Rating: Teen because some of the poems imply a yearning for death in a suicidal sense. Hopefully this is the right rating anyway… :x

I decided to first categorise the generalised time period when each poem was written, and then it'll be further sorted chronologically (based on what I can remember, since some of these are old af). Future poems (assuming I write more) will have its own post, linked to in this post, and threadmarked. (Also there's at least a few items omitted from this anthology because I either didn't feel like it was poem-y enough or deserved to be "unburied".)

2019-07-24:

Moved author commentary to before poem body
Changed "the literary magazine" to "my high school's literary magazine" in author commentary of "(Cavort of Spring)"
Added commentary to "Torment of a Paradox"
Added commentary to "(untitled - Haiku Pair)"
Added commentary to "Shamandalie the Vanished"

2019-10-25:

Moved "Le Masque" from the master post to its own post to take advantage of the new hover bbcode.
Moved "名前" from the master post to its own post to take advantage of the new hover bbcode.

2020-09-02:

Added link to Anthology Addendum 1

2022-08-17:

Added link to Anthology Addendum 2

2022-12-26:

Added link to (mis) guidance

1998 - 2005 (first-half of the year)

This was my first "poem" written sometime between 1998-2000, and it was something that provoked my thought one day.

When I look at the moon,
I not only see the moon,
I see the other people looking at the moon.

This was written sometime between August 2000 and 2002… It was written when I was in a "weird mood", and I definitely hadn't dated anyone at that point, so hard to say exactly where this came from. XD :x

The sound of the crashing waves bring back the deep memories
within the heart,
the moonlight reminds me of the first moonlit date,
the wind reminds me of the last kiss.
As I remember the moon on that last date,
it was like the one tonight,
till the day I see her again, I will always only adore her.
The memories are as powerful as the fierce tornado,
as serene as the summer breeze,
as lovely as the rose
as remembered as one.
The first kiss I remember like the summer breeze in autumn,
she is like the rose that is so delicate,
so beautiful
so precious.
The love is like the love I have never known before,
I give the love of my soul,
she gives the love of her heart.
Beside the crashing sea,
we kiss.
When I'm with her,
I see nor hear anyone else but her.
She is my heart,
my soul.
I miss her in the wind,
love her in the winter,
kiss her in the rain,
dine with her in the moonlight,
share feelings in the summer.
There is no one else like her,
she is the only one for me;
she will be the love of my life forever.
I will always remember her smile,
her kiss,
her love,
her beauty,
her passions,
her gentleness,
her delicate heart,
her soul,
her preciousness,
her.
I think thoughts about her,
she thinks thoughts about me,
I talk under her sweet fragrance,
she talks under mine…
We kiss.
Love is the greatest thing of all,
intelligence,
talent,
age,
these things do not matter.
The most important bonding element of all,
the love…
The love in one's heart is all that's needed,
no one can go living without the love.
Remembrance is to remember her,
the soul is the words of the heart,
the body is the language,
the words are the message of the heart.
She will be remembered forever,
I will be remembered forever,
the moonlit dinners will be remembered forever,
the first kiss will be remembered forever,
the love will be remembered forever.
The last wish is the wish to remember each other forever.

This was written around the same time period as "Love and Memories" (sometime between August 2000 and 2002), but I'm pretty sure was written after it (I could be wrong, it's numerous years ago). Same weird mood thing and still haven't dated at that point.

She is like the rose,
so delicate, yet precious.
She is lovely in every way,
her hair,
her eyes,
the way she speaks,
the smell of her sweet fragrance,
her soft skin
her delicate heart.
I love her not for her beauty,
but to be with her,
and protect her delicate heart.
Questions arise in my head like the break of dawn:
Does she love me?
How does she feel about me?
Does she know I exist in her mind?
Does she know I love her?
Does she know she exists in my mind?
But as questions are answered, the sun sets behind strong mountains.
The days grow longer with each unanswered question.
I tell her,
“You exist in my mind,
I love you.”
I ask her,
“How do you feel about me?
Do you love me?
Do I exist in your mind?”
I tell her,
“Each day grows longer when I don't know the way you feel about me.
I grow lonely,
restless,
driven to depression.”

This was written sometime during the first half of the 2002-2003 school year, and was what I submitted to my high school's literary magazine upon my girlfriend's suggestion… I never titled the haiku from what I can remember, but I think the literary magazine staff gave it a name. Not entirely sure the order of this poem in comparison with the following three.

Floating petals of
Cherry blossoms dancing in
The breeze gracefully

This was written roughly September 2002 when I first dated someone… I'm pretty sure this was the first poem, based on the centre-justified text…

In the cool Autumn breeze, we sit under a cherry tree, looking at the golden lake at dusk.
I have yet to tell her my secret.
The sun then sets, turning the sky a dark blue at first, then slowly into it's blackness.
We look at the endless stars for hours.
She falls asleep quietly on my shoulder.
I whisper "I love you," the words of my secret in her ear, she smiles.
Then I wonder how long will we really be together?
The answer is an answer I do not care much about.
I fall asleep as well, thinking only of her.

This was written roughly September 2002 when I first dated someone… This is maybe the second poem? Might be the third… I really don't remember that well any more.

I sit,
by the window of loneliness.
I have only been with her for a short time this past day.
I stare at the rain.
Wanting to be with her,
wanting to talk to her,
wanting to kiss her.
But I,
a simple individual,
a single entity,
a lovesick person,
could never understand why people can be so demanding,
so afraid,
misunderstanding,
about two people in love.
And so I sit.
Sitting at the window.
Staring at the rain.
wondering,
waiting,
wanting,
loving,
wishing.

This was written roughly September 2002 when I first dated someone… This was probably the third poem or the second, idk.

I kissed her today,
not knowing before what it would be like.
I kissed her today,
not because I'm self-centered.
I kissed her today,
because I felt courageous.
I kissed her today,
though it was awkward.
I kissed her today,
and I loved it.

This probably was written late 2002 or early 2003, since I'm pretty sure I didn't watch any theatrical productions at my school in late 2001/early 2002… Funny how sometime after I wrote this, I ended up seeing her at school… At least I'm pretty sure it was her.

As I stand there all alone,
Only thinking about the past,
And staring into the falling white snow,
A person,
Who is the converse of my gender,
Talks in her sweet voice,
Not about the past,
Not the future,
But the close present.
I hold a conversation with her,
Thinking about what is happening,
And then,
My ride comes,
The minute of evil,
I must leave the one I have found,
One who could have been a companion in my life,
And so,
We say our goodbyes.
While riding home,
I think of her,
And what has just happened,
Feeling only tears of joy running down my face in my own room.
Then last,
I think,
About the short past I share with her.

This was written sometime within the 2003 - 2004 school year during creative writing class. Not a whole lot I remember besides the teacher liking it a lot.

Walking
in wet,
shifting sand,
it swallows a segment of your shoe.
Its flesh chilling saliva
seeps in,
soaking your sock,
tasting your hide.

Using this monster created
unnatural barriers of sand
that transparent water streams around,
all for the sake of amusement.

One man climbs a lifeless, nearby tree,
relaxing on this limb momentarily
breaks the will of the bough
and plummets to the hard, grass-covered ground.

This area is left
altered and alone
while two men
roam further away.

(Anthology Addendum 2)
(mis) guidance

This was written in the last half of the 2004-2005 school year for world literature class. We were assigned to write an ode, and I ended up writing this before I felt that it wasn't really an ode.

Computers are design-able buildings.
They sometimes are greyhounds,
Or sometimes are toy spaniels.
Some are sprinting gazelles,
And some are creeping slugs.

Some computers are glowing,
Motley fireflies,
Lighting up the space around them.

Some are hidden away
In little,
Suffocating
Caves,
Others are free to
Roam the vastness
Of the plains.

Some blare car alarms
If you buffet them,
Some don’t turn on
Without a key.

Some are blind,
Some are deaf,
And some are mute,
But rarely
Are blind, deaf, and mute.

They speak
In audio feeds, and
Communicate with relatives,
Everywhere in the world in their own language.

None can cut a sheet of paper,
But all
Are just swords
Waiting
To be sharpened.

This was written in the last half of the 2004-2005 school year for world literature class. We were assigned to write an ode, and I ended up writing this after "The Compy". While I did struggle a bit to write this, it became easier when I figured out a direction for it.

Oh, such a wondrous feeling
To be stuck
In the middle
Of writing
This poem
And to drag on
For long hours
Figuring what to write.

You are my uninvited, most-loved mother-in-law
With a key to my house,
And just when it seems like you are leaving,
You don’t walk through the open door,
But close the door and announce you are staying longer.

I love the way you bind my creativity,
Using stranded steel cable
As thick as climbing rope.

I love how you
Jump on my sleeping muse,
And deprive it heavily of sleep.

I love when you paralyze
My hand from writing,
Forcing me to draw little scribbles that
Aren’t understood whatsoever.

I am always nice to you
When you arrive and stay
And even when you leave.

I am always glad
That you abuse my muse,
And shuffle papers off its
Desk and all over.

I am happy that I can’t
Concentrate on work
When you bother me so.

In fact, why don’t you stay longer?

I wrote this sometime during high school (2001-2005) and really don't remember when. I never gave it a title since this might've been originally written on paper.

I sit alone wondering,
trying to find answers to my own questions.
Does the world need highly educated people?
I think not.
When life ends,
status doesn't matter,
we all leave the world,
not ever coming back.
I sit
wondering
why
why do we do the things we do?
Live the way we live?
The only answer,
I don't know.
To stop caring for the one you love?
I would not.
For I'd rather suffer hell
than to stop loving,
so therefore I think.
What to say
when the one I love so dearly
goes to a further place
that I can't travel.
To say goodbye is like a harsh winter's wrath.
And so I sit
and cry,
knowing that it's too early
to think
of this.

2005 (last-half of the year) - 2012

I think this was written around October/November 2005, but regardless it's the first in a series of notepads I have. I never titled it, and I just used the ending line to help me remember what poem it is. And yeah, depression… >.>

The world sleeps
in eternal darkness
and finds comfort
inside wooden structures
protected from the rain.

Do they know the rain?
Have they felt it?
They take their shacks for granted.

I've been left in the rain
hour by hour,
minute by minute,
day by day.

I'm sick of this pneumonia that I've caught.

I stay in this rain, and cough myself to death.

Tombstone of happiness.

Dunno when I wrote this, but it was sometime after the previous one. It was one of the few poems (if not the only poem) I wrote a draft for before physically rewriting it. Yeah, more depression… >.>

Lost in a cloud
of emotions
and thoughts.

Trapped in a maze
of morals
and ethics.

I knew not
of when this cloudy maze
began.

I love…

This thing I'm
about
to do…

Is it right?
Is it what I really want?

Love without…

But around me,
everyone has
done that thing.

without being…

And also around me
they come in pairs…

being loved…

I want to rid
this pain
forever.

I love
without
being loved.

I'm going to stop posting the approximate time of posting since there's no doubt on the chronological order of these, and the fact that I can't really remember approximately when it was written… Anyway, this one is really straightforward and simple… I was wanting it to be something longer when I was writing the first line, but that didn't happen…

And here I sit
(with a skateboard as a table across the armrests)
dreaming about a perfect girl
who will never appear.

Kinda more depression stuff… Idk what else to say really… :x

Drink
from the bowl of life,
and taste
its sweet nectar.

Vomit
into the bowl of death,
and be relieved
of the bitter pain.

I named this when it was being digitised (early this month or late last month, idk)… And I guess not much else to say…

Mr. Death
why have you not stricken me down
yet?
You know I have no reason,
no will
to live
and carry on.

But you insist that I live
to see tomorrow.
And I should be happy?

Oh please, kill me now
with your long scythe
to rid me of my misery.

But you won't move,
you say it's not my time to die.
And I should be happy?

Your scythe,
I cannot wield,
I am grabbing a shadow.

But you refuse to let me perish
in any way.
And I should be happy?

It was kind of an ironic thought when I saw some strangers talking to each other while none of them knew of each other's backgrounds… given that most people aren't horrible people… Anyway, I wrote this around Christmas 2005/New Year's 2006 when I was at the airport, and I only brought one of the three notepads, so I had to find some "dead" space on the back of a used sheet to write it down. (Also this is, probably obviously, the last item from the first notepad of the set of three that I bought…)

People huddle around in groups,
talking about various things,
not giving another thought
of who they're talking to

But the flight arrives
and all leave.

Don't really remember when this written, but obviously sometime after the previous poem (along with it being the first in the second notepad of the 3-pack set). Side note, while at this general location, we walked around in the daytime and saw a baby pine tree, it was so cute and vivid green. I really wonder how it's doing and what it's like now… Oh yeah, kinda obviously not titled originally, but a sort of title to remind myself of what it is. Even though it's kinda "titled" as "Ocean Gaze", it was sometime after the sunset, so it was kinda dark, but at least there was no one around (that I could tell).

I walk with her
to a place very special
and feel the shackles of society
crust away.

I am consumed by her loveliness,
kindness,
and gentleness.

But time fades away
and we are forced back
and new fetters are attached
to us.

(Anthology Addendum 1)

Dunno what to say… It's pretty much more depression stuff…

Again, I feel weird,
but it is indescribable
and mysterious.
I can't do anything,
my body refuses to sleep,
and my heart pounds away,
someone help me,
tell me what I am feeling
because I don't know what it is
and I want to know what it is.

I'm stuck here with a miniature jukebox, playing that song over and over.

But still I can't figure it out.
I want to know the truth,
I want to know what I am missing,
why I am still…

This one's pretty much the last of the second notepad.

When the glare hides the hands
of the clock,
time is empty and
meaningless,
providing me the same
empty,
meaningless
emotions to deal with.

Kind of a poem, kinda not? Idk any more… Anyway, the notes were written in the second notepad after the previous poem, but I ended up writing this sometime later on the computer, and I was trying to turn it into a story, but that didn't happen.

Each blade of grass stands still for a moment,
but it is only a moment
Until the breeze struggles to push them over.

At this time, the grass is pointing toward a concrete sidewalk
which is met with a shadow of a person at the edge.

Casual is the way of dress,
seeming blank is the way of the stare,
unfazed is this figure.

The reflection of a building,
in this mortal's eyes,
is all that is seen.

What is in the mind
sight cannot pickup,
but will it become communicated?

The lips part,
but only a passing of air comes from this hollow orifice.

There is finally movement,
which only consists of bringing an arm partway up,
and the eyes now fixated on the watch face.

A sound finally colorizes this scene.
What is this short, reciprocating sound of metal buffeting together?
It only last for a moment,
before the last of the reverberations fade away.

The individual now turns around,
and proceeds away from this building.

A mass now begins to stream
through various gateways
away from the building;
mundane is this clamor.

Just some thought-provoking thing… Also the first and last of the third notepad…

To write
is to kill a pen…
or pencil…

So then
are writers
and poets
murderers?

Perhaps the pen was doomed from the beginning
and fated to be murdered by a writer…

then one who types
does not murder pens or pencils
but… are they murdering something else?

Dunno when I wrote this, but file metadata says it was sometime in 2008, which I'm not entirely sure of…

Reach,
For the one who was born for you,
Because tonight,
Death takes that one away.

Savor,
This precious moment,
Because tonight,
Death takes the flavor away.

Mourn,
Without a tear,
Because tonight,
A precious life has been taken.

2013 - 2014

This was written late April 2013 when I thought I was falling in love with a friend, to maybe sort my feelings out… After I felt I had my feelings sorted out, I talked to her about it and she handled it well - our friendship didn't change any. It would've helped if I had heard of demisexuality or demiromanticism back then, since it would've added to my understanding of myself.

A conflict, one of which is perhaps paradoxical, is waged between my heart and my mind.
Am I as confused as I think I am? Is it what I think it is? Or is it what I hope it is not?
This division sends me into a deep trench of gloom.
The conclusive answer, logical and rational, is what I hope for…
But, a different answer, illogical and irrational, is what I fear.
Why must this battle torment me with its permanence?
Why can't it be over like I want it so?
Why her?
Why now?
I am drawn in with the strong tide of emotions, grasping desperately at the sand in futility.

Weeks, I have trudged through this disorienting swamp, and many times I have seen the false light.
It is from console I have sought… And what matters most to me I should hold.
And though the conflict should have concluded, it still remains.
Is it because I am lonely? Is that why I refuse to liberate myself from this paradox?
I hold my head while I seek the answer in vain.

To tell her of these feelings, I am not sure of… The uneasy outcome, I am fearful of.
That false emotion that has fled, I have made a memory of.

Another problem adds to the conflict, and that is one of if she will leave.
I know I will miss her most,
I know my loneliness will grow,
I know I (perhaps) should forget her,
But I am unable to.
I have spent time with her,
Developed a close friendship her,
And it pains me to see her leave.
Perhaps she will visit sometimes,
But how will I feel when she's gone?
I cringe alone as the thought persists.

She,
is the one who freed me from a confining rut,
And I am sinful for my wrongful attraction to her.
I repent fanatically for forgiveness.

A little after the previous poem, I ended up dating another female friend for a couple months before I (stupidly) decided to go visit her because I needed her touch, and it didn't turn out too well (nothing bad happened when we were together, it was more of that she sorted her feelings out after the couple days we were together). Had I heard of touch starvation back then, it would've helped me immensely understand what I was going through, and things definitely would've been different. I wrote this when I couldn't sleep after the trip to visit her. Well, it was more that I was visiting my bff after visitng her and I didn't feel like going home (I had somehow developed some sort of anxiety), so I tried to sleep there instead. I realised later that I screwed up the syllable-count of the first or second one, but I didn't want to fix it. No title to this one, but I refer to it as "Haiku Pair".

A sea of branches,
monochromatic color,
and rustling leaves.

Sky lightens slowly,
silhouette against the sky,
silent surroundings.

This is one of three poems I wrote sometime after mid-July 2013 after my girlfriend had broken up with me… I think this was the first I wrote… Idk

I once knew a breeze
whose beginning was
a needed cool
on a hot summer day,
which shifted to a warmth
for a cool summer night,
and ended as a stiff, chilling wind
on a night without covers.

This is one of three poems I wrote sometime after mid-July 2013 after my girlfriend had broken up with me… I think this was the second I wrote… Idk… "Shamandalie" is actually the title to one of Sonata Arctica's songs (of which I've listened to numerous times before and after writing this), and I hadn't realised it was "sham and a lie" as one word without spaces until sometime after writing this poem, so I had thought it was some sort of fictious name.

I once went
to Shamandalie,
I found bliss
and all which I wanted.

I was granted a day's visit,
but
I became too greedy;
tried to take a part of Shamandalie with me,
and I was then met with horrid punishment.

It is now a lost city.
Lost
in winds of time.
Lost
in the memories of those who traveled there.
Lost…
forever.

The more I want to forget,
the more I seem to recall
the memories of that day.

I cannot forget,
I cannot erase…
I can never forgive my greed.

Oh Shamandalie,
though you are nevermore,
you plague me
forevermore.

This is one of three poems I wrote sometime after mid-July 2013 after my girlfriend had broken up with me… I think this was the last I wrote… Idk

Hurt never perishes
overnight from the heart.
Instead, it fades
like the setting sun…
Like the light from a compact fluorescent bulb,
dimming ever so slowly away
as atoms lose the energy they gained,
becoming more and more still…
part of the blackness that fills the empty room,
part of the blackness that fills a wounded heart.

Time
is one of two healers,
the other being
a love beginning anew…

Some choose solitude and time to heal them,
some choose to constantly find someone to heal them,
some choose to express their pain in some form…
Some choose a wrongful path
of death.

There will be one day
where this pain
is no longer,
but
for myself,
I(t) will continue.

I wrote this probably sometime after the previous three poems, but not sure when… And this is one of four poems that I don't know the order I written them in.

Draw me a line
where others shall not pass.

Lead my memories
that I wish not to remember
to the field of forgotten memories.

Shelter me with the comfort of
that one person.

Feed me horrible truths,
not sweet lies
because I cannot
do more than vomit.

Bathe me
with uncomfortable sunlight,
for there is no purity in the shadows.

I wrote this probably sometime after those three poems, but not sure when… And this is one of four poems that I don't know the order I written them in.

Again, I think of that instance…
Again, I peel the scab away from the wound
that has not fully healed.

Why must I do this to myself?
Why is it that
I cannot shake it away?
Is my desire to return to that time
that strong?
Is it that I need to find a stronger distraction
to help me forget?
Perhaps one to heal?

If I could take a long slumber,
and awaken to something new
that brings me the emotive necessity
to help trudge through the murky marsh
toward where the light shines down beautifully
on the meadows of tomorrow.

I wrote this probably sometime after those three poems, but not sure when… And this is one of four poems that I don't know the order I written them in (though this could've been first, hard to say).

It began with a sweet, alluring kiss,
and it took me…
I let it take me.

But then (when it was sweet)
it took my eyes.
Had I known, I could not cry.

Desire overtook…
Distance shrank…
Things changed…
too fast…

Stabbed by words of betrayal,
it shredded my heart…
Puréed into bitter turmoil.

What had I done?
What had I touched?
What had I kissed?
What had I desired?

I had seen a bright star, I thought,
but it was the inverse,
and the star did not take me to renewal,
but to death instead…
Death…
of my heart.

I wrote this probably sometime after those three poems, but not sure when… And this is one of four poems that I don't know the order I written them in.

This sleepless night,
my thoughts persist
in circles,
in circles,
in circles,
in circles…

A point?
A curse?
A problem?
A purpose?

To run, would be
childish.
To sort, would be
mature…
but problematic.

Circle…
of life?
Circle…
of hate?
Circle…
of trust?
Circle…

Dunno when I wrote this, but it's still probably between late July 2013 and late November 2013…

There are those shadows
that the light will never touch,
yet there are those
who try to bring light to that darkness
when it is unnecessary,
and it provokes those who have cast it.

Those silhouettes exist for a reason;
they are not to be disrupted by others looking for answers in them.
But there are those
who refuse to understand this,
and incite an unnecessary confrontation.

Also dunno when I wrote this, though I'm sure it's still within the late July 2013 - late November 2013 time period. Also decently sure I wrote this before "le masque".

A mask that others see
is the mask that we show to them.
Only certain people
are allowed to see
what is behind the mask.

But what happens
when the mask is old?
A new mask isn't something
easily made…
especially
when certain ones
are used to that old mask.

A mask
for every occasion,
a mask
for every situation,
a mask
for those who merit it…

A mask that hides
the pain,
the sorrow,
the grief,
the struggle,
the anger,
the fear,
the hatred,
the neglect,
the scars,
the true self…
as ugly as it may be.

The mask…
is our self defence.

le masque
the mask

I think this was also written in 2014, maybe early in the year or towards the end of the previous year?

Cracked is my face,
ragged are my clothes,
but
I am still whole,
I am still dressed.

I sit in the corner
looking at the world,
with my golden yellow eyes,
of all those who
pass their eyes over me
only once.

I have sat here for many years,
watching it all happen
over,
and over,
and over.

Not one has picked me up,
not one has reached out to me,
except
one.

The one
that keeps the store tidy
is the one that keeps me clean,
keeps me upright,
and keeps me from losing hope.

But it is here,
where I must sit
staring at the world,
wondering when
that time will come
where someone will love me
without regard.

I seriously don't know when this was written, and it could be in the following time frame. I also didn't title this, but referred to it as "Sleep Haiku"

When one cannot sleep,
because there is too much heat,
sleep is fleeting treat.

2015 - Current
名前
Name (Romanisation: "namae")

Nori · Oct 25, 2019

名前
Name (Romanisation: "namae")

Pretty sure I wrote this in 2015, at least that's what the file tag says anyway.

what is
a name?

what is in
a name?

what is it
to be named?
to have a name?
to carry a name?
to share a name?
to give a name?
to take a name?
to receive a name?
to rescind a name?

what is a name?

a name
makes something unique
but makes things the same.

we give names
to make something known…
to give something a spirit…
to give something a soul.
to bind something.

do we have a right
to give something a name?
to take a name from something?

what is it when something
rejects the name given?
takes another name?

if something
is renamed…
takes another name…
does the soul change?
is it reborn?

if a name is taken away
does it cease to exist?

what is the meaning of a name?
what is in the meaning of a name?

to carry a name
is a burden.
to rescind a name
is to break the bond.

to have a name
is to be.

Nori · Oct 25, 2019

le masque
the mask

I think it might've been sometime in 2014 when I wrote this? I think "Porcelain Doll" might've been between this and "Mask"? And I'm also decently sure this came after "Mask".

i am the mask you see,
i am the mask you choose,
i am the mask that's yours.

i am the mask you wear,
i am the mask they see,
i am the mask you become.

i am the mask you chose,
i am the mask that stays,
i am the mask you became.

Nori · Sep 21, 2020

These poems were written between 2006 and 2007 when I was physically in a not-so-great place (which I won't specify beyond this). Most if not all of these were typed as it appears on the paper, since either I can't figure out if some lines are supposed to break or continue, and also because I condensed the height of my writing because of the wide-ruled paper (my least favourite) to fit about 2-3 lines.

Hi(, Gene's at the sea) gull

I had a lot of anger towards a person in this not-so-great place… This person put me through cycles where they would build me up and knock me back down… I don't remember how many cycles it took before I figured it out, but that's besides the point. "Take these needles from my ankles, and throw them into the sky," is a reference to part of the lyrics of "Machete" by Moby (said lyrics being "Took the needles from my arms and put them to the sky"), and what the purpose was, I couldn't remember for the life of me. I made part of the title the sound of the person's surname, but I feel like I shouldn't elaborate more than that.

A world where everyone
is seemingly against me…
These people I tried to ignore
from the beginning… So why
must I be in the proximity
of these uncivilized barbarians?
These people know not of how civiliz-
ed people behave. Take these needles
from my ankles and throw them into the sky,
and with it, my sanity.

I can feel the breath of your eyes
upon me, your denials I refuse to believe.
The black smudge of death, I am not afraid,
for you will be punished for your beastly ways,
and I, though missed, will be many times above
you.

And you, great man of s(in)trength, have sent
yourself in to the awesome void of nothingness,
where you are eternally bored, and have eternity
to think about this, even if you can't find
your sanity.

There's some rap-style songs (three, specifically) that I also wrote (either before or after the previous poem), but they're pretty bad, I'd probably have to change content warnings, they're a huge departure from the other poems, and the voice is vastly different than the other poems, so I won't include them.

(untitled - religious 1)

There's a few points in my life I was religious (albeit not very long), and this was one of them, but unfortunately, I have no idea what the "trigger" was. Don't have much of a clue about why I wrote this poem either. Seems like I meant to have some sort of metre, but seems to fall apart in the middle before kinda coming back at the end.

To some the world
seems unfair.
To some the world
seems not to care.
And I am locked
in this high tide,
and with no one I can confide.
An end to the world as He planned,
is just, because man
cannot learn any way to control themselves and cage
the animal that lies beneath their skin.
And when it comes the world will be complete,
and furthermore the sky I'd like to meet.

(untitled - observation)

Maybe obvious I don't remember what book it was that I read from about 14 years ago? Not so much a poem, but neither is "Four-line Observation".

I find this fact of life intriguing
where there is at least one novel
the reader can feel connected to
almost entirely.

(untitled - religious 2)

Learned in my humanities class in high school that some people write a slash instead of the o in God. Maybe no surprise, but I really don't remember anything else about this poem.

The sinner, in the presence
of a good man,
will cower,
and tell the good man to go away
but the good man knows
that this sinner is trying
to hide from G/d.

(untitled - children)

Probably no surprise at this point, but don't remember anything about this chunk of text that's not really much of a poem either.

Children who are
Eighteen and over
refuse to act like adults
So they are merely
treated like little
immature toddlers.

(untitled - oblivious)

I think this is one of the better-fitting post-named titles out of the above untitled ones. Don't remember anything about it though. I don't think I can agree with the fourth line now… maybe still bad, but slightly less than the line before it?

can you not see your
own wrongdoings?
One is evil if he says he is perfect
one is bad if he does not see his faults
one is neutral if he sees but does not correct his faults
one is good if he sees and corrects his faults
So if you must continue,
I might as well leave,
and let you blabber on to the empty air.

(untitled - music)

Remember nothing, and probably written when I was out of the not-so-great place.

As I replace anger
with music I feel
a strange hollowness…
un(A void)able, and so I
fill this nothingness with sleep.

(untitled - time has come)

I think there should be a comma somewhere? Remember nothing otherwise.

Tonight the stars fall
into an empty void
and the sky will tear.
Across, the moon travels
from the chaos of
the Earth.
But I am settled
here, comforted by
this catastrophe,
knowing darkness
will be soon.

Along the rows and
rows of rubble,
I come to find
what someone lost.
I give this something
to nobody and feel
complete nothingness.

For days and days I've fallen
among the jagged stony terrain.
I can't compete with the thirst and hunger
inside me.

I lay unevenly, facing the void
and finally, my time has come.

Nori · Aug 17, 2022

These poems were written between roughly February 2004 and June 2005, and were in a small notebook I used for notes and other things, which I found yesterday while attempting to find something else. Luckily, I ended up putting slashes where line breaks should be for most of the beginning ones, some I was able to kinda figure out, and there were a couple I was completely unsure of, so I left them as a block of text. All of these will just be numbered since none of them have titles and I don't think I can apply the same schema to these as I did with the previous addendum.

(untitled 1)

I guess this might've been the start of my depression?

Seems the world to me,
all is lost and not free
similar not are we.
To think for meaning
seems unprincipled toward
the short life
of individuality cannot exist long
nor be continued perpetually.

(untitled 2)

Not much to say here.

Does the world know the danger
from corruption,
greed,
the fatality of following
ones that you trust most.
But is the world unliveable
with these menacing difficulties?
I think not.
But is the world safe?
I think not.

(untitled 3)

Not entirely where the sense went in the middle of this one.

So cold the world is,
feel not remorse
toward the immaturity
in the world
there is but nothing else
life, death
is all that matters not.
The part of life
is but all nothing,
a fabrication of one's mind
do find not the meaning of life.

(untitled 4)

I was likely somehow convinced back then that I'd find happiness if I found love, but there were other problems that I wasn't aware of.

To look at the world and say all is fine
is to lie.
But where does happiness lie?
Perhaps in the fountain of love?
But if the fountain of love can't be reached,
then happiness will not be found.

(untitled 5)

Along with my depression, I also became fairly cynical.

Such immaturity, where did it come from?
Perhaps from social corruption.
Can the world not see beyond its corruption?
They are their own undoing; they know not of this.

(untitled 6)

Kinda wish I remembered what sparked this one.

Ambivalence the world runs constantly with;
wanting to do something,
but wanting not.
All at once.
It is too much for the human mind to bear the weight,
for ambivalence is far too heavy,
and the human mind not any stronger
than a flawless stone of quartz.

(untitled 7)

Now that I kinda think about it, perhaps there was some sort of societal pressure I might've been under that I wasn't aware of?

Society corrupts the lines
between good and evil
but so few know
of society's false security.

(untitled 8)

Must've wrote this while stuck somewhere.

Sigh, for the time passes slowly.
The perception of time
based solely on the reality of society
but society is corrupt
distorting the strings of time
and any meaning is invalid.

(untitled 9)

Yay more cynicism. Thinking about it now, the "societal pressure" I mentioned earlier might've just been because I really felt out of place in high school?

Finding reason within emotions is idiocy.
In emotions, there is no meaning, only feeling.
But is there such love as mature as I?
A love who can understand my view?
Most likely not.
Anyone can claim they are for me,
but they lie, wanting nothing by sex.
I see through that opaque facade;
I see through your lies;
anyone can go through life lying,
but what truth lies in it?
None.
I say that the world
is corrupt; only a test
to see the corruption of society
and oneself.
Perhaps the world will change,
but I have a grim outlook for the future.

(untitled 10)

Dunno where the sense went with this one.

Stillness
my heart runs
black
the blanket of stars
and then again
stillness in my heart.

(untitled 11)

Pretty sure this is separate from the following entry, since it's different in style and didn't have anything relevant at the top of the page, but because it was the page before it, it's hard to be entirely sure.

In times of struggle,
look to a full moon,
and I'll surely be watching.

The moments can pass without a care,
but to freeze them,
one can remember that moment.

Though I may leave,
do not be saddened,
for I am with you always in your heart.

(untitled 12 - riHa)

This really isn't much of a poem, but probably more of the musings when dealing with an internal struggle. "riHa" was written at the top of these pages, which is the way I abbreviated names during the time period. It actually took me a bit to remember who riHa was, but eventually I did.

The one I love repudiated me, but that mattered not to me. I took to the matter to think, to surmount the opposition of life. Alas, life is full of surprises and ironies. I thought to myself: am I sanctioned to defeat life by my means of force? I resolved to throw down my weapons and find some other method of sorting the struggle of life. But I, a flimsy tree in the malevolent winds of life have felt the wind's powerful vigor uproot me from the ground below. But I clutched to that firm ground, leaving me bare and appearing unsuitable to take life on again, but I did. The winds may have uprooted me in every occasion, but the roots grow stronger. There may only be one force that can overcome the malevolent winds of life, and that force may very well be two entities becoming one through love and overcoming the winds of life together.

(untitled 13)

This actually wasn't formatted in the way it appears here, but I think this is how I intended it to be (or at the least this format makes the most sense).

The wind runs cold,
not feeling anything;
seeming uncaring to the world.
The wind runs cold,
passing life by;
seeming uncaring to the world.
The wind runs cold,
remorse and chained to its master;
seeming uncaring to the world.
The wind is cold,
and uncaring to the world.

(untitled 14)

This one is just musings, so probably not really a poem.

Just sometimes, it seems odd to look at a blank page and think what to write onto it. But it's worse to write something that takes thought and then think what to put next in an unsuccessful attempt to fill the page up.

(untitled 15)

I think this was kinda supposed to be song-like? Not sure what the point was with the strange formatting change towards the end. While I only had slashes as newlines after the first four periods, if I hadn't intended this format, I would've used up the extra space.

Find a girl,
who buys no
expensive
clothing brands.
Find a girl,
who is pretty
without any makeup on.
Find a girl,
who don't act
like anyone else.
Find a girl,
who got some
common sense.
Find a girl,
who don't like
big crowds and
big city-towns.
A girl who
lives a hum-
ble life. One
who does not
mind using
technology.

(untitled 16)

Wasn't sure about how this was supposed to be structured and if it was just another sort of "musing".

The annihilation of one starts with corruption, corrupted by the evils of society. Find no comfort in the security of society, but find friends who will die with you.

Nori · Dec 26, 2022

(mis) guidance

Written around 27 March 2005, since that's when I had emailed it to my friend to share (I had been doing stuff with that email address and happened to find it). Not really too much that I can say about it since I don't exactly remember who it was about (I have an uncertain guess), and that it technically might be within the addendum 2 time frame? Oh right, I originally misspelled guidance with an e instead of an a, and eccentricity as eccentricy.

What (th)is feeling?
I love, but
I also feel
uneasy.
Perhaps she did
not receive my messages?

I want(ed) to talk
to her. To see how
her day went. But she
is a cat running here
and there
quicker
than
the
mind
can

e
v
e
n

c
a
t

c

h

u

p

.

But I love (her)
because of this quality of
her, eccentricity of her,
personality
of her.

How am I supposed to
(capture) this run(ning)-away kitty?
Surely not by force.

A bite results from petting(?)
Starvation results from helping(?)
Is her (cause of) death from me?
I wonder....

But I want to (caress)
care for this little,
unguided kitten. Give
it a place to return
when rain comes.

TEEN: Nori's Poem Anthology

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