Sam Alexandra Rose

Author: writersamr

  • daydeath

    thin clouds streak through the air
    once white and untouched, now
    made beautiful by a hidden
    yellow benefactor
    who watches from a distance.
    feeling peachy, the pale blue
    winter sky
    blushes
    and the sun knows it has completed
    its best work of the day
    right before
    it dies.

  • Book Spine Poetry

    image

    How to practise
    man’s search for meaning?
    Join me –
    I’m doing my best.

    The limited amount of books i currently have here combined with my partner’s extensive collection of I.T. books meant that the only offering I thought I was going to have was my partner’s suggestion of the following:

    Stephen King [presents]
    OS X Support Essentials

  • Second String

    I’m stuck somewhere between
    an apology and a “fuck you,
    this is the way it is” because
    you are the way you are
    with each other; there is no
    look-in for me.
    So why be surprised if I
    don’t always turn up to play
    second-string to your special
    friendship? There is obviously
    nothing you need from me
    and that is nothing new.

  • The self-care of not searching the internet

    One of these days I need to get better at realising when spending time browsing the internet for blogs about cancer and Lynch Syndrome goes from reading interesting stories and finding people who empathise, to just fucking torturing myself.

    Today is not that day.

    Tomorrow probably won’t be, either.

    (more…)

  • semi-colon

    The two most enchanting things you can do for me
    are to use a semi-colon correctly
    and to understand mine.

    Written on Saturday 27th December, 2014 at 21:02

  • Silence

    Every silence is diagnosed,
    assessed for awkwardness.
    Why can’t quiet be peace?

  • Self-exploration

    I am walking by a dark building
    What’s inside is bad news.
    Why must I always go in?
    Self-exploration ensues. 

    What’s inside is bad news
    But I can never just walk past.
    Self-exploration ensues
    But I don’t have all the answers. 

    I can never just walk past.
    Why must I always go in?
    I don’t have all the answers.
    I am walking by a dark building.

     Written on Tuesday 23rd December, 2014 at 23:01

    OH MY GOD

    I started off this poem asking why I always go inside the metaphorical dark building even though I know it’s awful inside, and saying I don’t know why I do this and that I don’t have all the answers to my questions about myself… and I ended the poem by answering myself – why must I always go in? because I don’t have all the answers, so I keep going back in until I find them. Holy crap, I’ve just accidentally figured out something about myself by writing a poem. I love that. I adore trying to psychoanalyse myself!

    [This isn’t the best thing I’ve ever written, but I thought I’d have a go at writing a pantoum for a change, and I’m so happy with the result, not because it’s well-written, but because having some kind of revelation about myself through poetry is one of the best feelings ever!]

  • Things I would say to myself if I were my friend

    #1
    “Are you okay? You’re wearing that look
    you sometimes wear when you’re
    listening to My Chemical Romance’s
    The Black Parade album. ”

    #2
    “Worse things have happened but it’s
    okay if you don’t always remember that.
    Nothing bad will happen just because
    you sometimes forget to be grateful.” 

    #3
    “I understand you wholly – I know why
    you feel and act the way you do, and
    I feel the same way.” 

    #4
    “Now you know I feel the same, you
    can take a break from being emo.
    You have to try.” 

    #5
    “You do this to yourself.” 

    [because I can’t put this on anyone. I can’t
    expect anything from other people;
    it’s only fair to rely on myself.]

    Written on Monday 22nd December, 2014 at 20:55

  • Sunset

    Just looked up from Tumblr and realised there’s a sunset outside demanding my attention.

  • Bad things and good things

    Further to my last post, this is my attempt at writing something cheerful. It’s kind of happy and unhappy at the same time, but at least it’s some sort of transition, and I’m happy with it. I love being able to be so honest in my writing and share it with whoever comes across it.

    Happiness can come out of bad things,
    you just have to squeeze the bad thing really hard
    and look really carefully at the mess that’s been made.
    It might be hard to find the happiness,
    but if you don’t at least try to look
    then you’ll never have a chance of seeing it at all.

    Since I was given my bad thing I’ve spent a long time
    turning it over in my hands, putting it down,
    picking it back up, staring at it from all angles,
    so now when I look at my good things they look
    even better than they ever have, and I feel extra glad
    that I have them, but at the same time extra scared
    that one day I won’t have them anymore. 

    My appreciation is love, wrapped up in terror,
    wrapped in a heightened sense of the mortality
    of everything and everyone, but essentially
    it’s very warm and soft with a hard, tough centre
    made up of too much knowledge of the world.
    And I say I feel 17 instead of 27, but sometimes
    I feel wise beyond my years in ways I never wanted
    but at the same time am grateful for,
    like I’m grateful for [you].

    Written on Saturday 20th September, 2014 at 23:54