i feel like i’ve been given this
ginormous responsibility to
be alive in the world-
i’m forced by gravity and                                     
nature to be true to who i am
 
but i don’t know what that means.
 
who am i as a human,
who am i as a teenager,
who am i as a student?
who am i when the moonlight refuses to
shine on my window and my lamp dims out,
leaving me in absolute darkness
with faint scratches from the
staticky radio?
 
i don’t know who i am.
 
sometimes i sit and wait,
and wait,
and look out at the birds on the lawn,
and wait,
and cross my fingers behind my back,
thinking that maybe i’ll have an epiphany
and suddenly i’ll know exactly who i am.
 
then again,
 
i’m never the same person.
i’m constantly growing and evolving
and there shouldn’t be a paper box
surrounding me,
telling me my name,

i’m trying to write in three dimensions
so that every word is echoed
in your ear-
every syllable is resting on your tongue,
every metaphor is tugging on your sleeve
i’m trying to write because
i feel so desperate to make
this poem heard-
i feel like
i’m trying to take out all
my organs at once so that you
know i’m not trying to conceal
anything.
i’ve been in your place before.
i’ve sat slightly beyond your
shoulder and cringed as you
read my title wrong,
left the audience feeling shaky and
unsettled, skipped right over my metaphors
and final words,
made me feel homesick for a better time
when you didn’t maul my poem into being yours,
when my poetry was just my poetry
and i didn’t feel like i was
walking in reverse at every open mic
and letting the stiff plastic chairs
have more presence than me.
i remember a time
when i didn’t call poetry

i don’t want to disappoint myself.
feeling all this weight pushing down
on me, resistance and tension
billowing from my shoulders like a cape.
i don’t care if you think i should have
done something differently,
if you think i was wrong to
move too quickly in the
speediest direction,
it wasn’t what i intended
but that’s how i turned out
origins are messy and
they don’t make sense
if you’re reading upside down.
the walls are only closing in
when my eyes are open
and the gauze has been removed-
there’s nothing beyond the shadows
that will comfort me,
only hidden creatures from
my imagination that watch
and linger long after midnight.
but here i am,
the last one standing,
or the only one who ever stood,
and i don’t know what to do next.
i feel like i’m trying to stay
on two icebergs that are breaking apart;

Hi everyone! This week I spoke with AvaClaire about her poem, "Dandelion Puffs on the Wind," watercolor and art supplies, appreciating things more, and what defines a poem. 
Also- I'll be posting new episodes every other week this summer, so Episode 17 will be out on July 11th. I have a lot of cool episodes planned and I'm looking forward to sharing them all!
I hope you enjoy!
-Iris
 

Hi everyone! This week I spoke with trinirogando about her poem, "Three words," not having to be in a relationship as a teenager, the importance of asking other people if they're okay, and creepy porcelain dolls. 
I hope you enjoy!
-Iris

like bruises, 
the sunken ships
sit under my eyes. 
treasure has long 
since been stolen,
gold doubloons 
counted and celebrated, 
in turn. 
heavy footsteps held
below my bottom lash line,
thick and obtrusive, 
forcing me to exist. 
they carry more secrets
than a best friend,
more than a journal,
more than the inside of a chocolate
bar wrapper. 
they are marking their space,
claiming the soft terrain 
of my skin
as their own,
claiming my eyelashes as 
their outer banks,
claiming my cheekbones as their foothills,
claiming my eyebrows as
their disastrous cousins. 
when i'm struggling the most,
they watch others, 
deepen,
become more involved, 
have more words to utter.
they lean out the 
flower windows
and call to the little lines
lining up beside my mouth.
the lines feel intimidated-

i think i've been lying to myself lately. 
i said i wasn't afraid of the future,
of the open doors and chapter beginnings,
yet i stand in the pluvial dusk
and i know my words aren't true.
i know i've hidden my true feelings 
because-
all elephants out of the shoe,
i'm afraid of failure.
i'm afraid of letting myself down,
because although i have low standards
for everyone else,
i have high self-expectations. 
i don't care what others think about me-
what matters is what i think of myself. 
so as i say,
fingers crossed behind my back,
that i'm not scared at all 
about who i'm going to be
as an adult,
and what i'm going to do
to stay alive
and be healthy
and be happy,
i know that beyond those flashy stickers,
i'm lying. 
words that drop with honey are always false.
i didn't have to look at the stars
to figure out the Tower card 

Hi everyone! This week I spoke with Frostbite about her poem, "Deep end," our pet peeves, writing about experiences, having siblings, and advice we would give to other writers. I hope you enjoy! Also, if there are any writing topics that you think we should talk about in the podcast, add them in the comments! I'd love to hear your ideas.
-Iris

Hi everyone! This week I spoke with Nightheart about her poem, "Closer," the dystopian reality we're living in, the symbolism of the sun and the moon, classic poets, and writing novels versus writing poetry. 
I hope you enjoy!
-Iris

Hi everyone! This week I spoke with hannah.banana23 about her poem, "Assumptions," stereotypes in the media, different communities in our lives, documenting and living through a pandemic, and podcasts that we love. 
I hope you enjoy!
-Iris