Negatives

Gaslit mind, mine is blind.
Sunlit eyelids, covered eyes.
Afterimage, booby prize.

It couldn’t be any different,
Out of sight, out of mind.
A snap of a finger (hypnotic drive).
Brainstorming impulse; cloudy eyes.

While karma’s a bitch,
trauma is its son.
Creativity is a burden;
It might as well die.

All the photos I refused to take,
All the group photos I was left out of,
Aren’t making it any better;
The negatives neither.

Anthology Reveries that I call Poetry | by T!el Fajardo

Buy me a Coffee~


Since I have some time now, I’ve put together this anthology for you all. If you think my effort is worth it and the quality is good, feel free to buy me a coffee,  there’s a button at the end too. Feel free to share this post and comment too.

I’ve also added a few extra poems that you might not have seen before.

How This Works

I’m testing an intricate idea here. This post is a single post with a collection of poems separated by pages (you might see page breaks depending on where you are reading this), with chapters and titles organized by the appropriate headings (no hyperlinks). Call it my postfolio; it’s a post analogous to a book.


Introduction

Welcome to a journey through language, writing, and the metatextual world of poetry. We’ll explore how language can be both a creative tool and a barrier. From the playful frustration of crumpled drafts to the powerful imagery of ink and blood, these verses challenge traditional forms, blending free verse with deliberate constraints.

The author

Layers of thought — and writing

So, you do think about thinking, huh? But then again, that is you merely thinking.

Sorry if that makes you overthink and, as you now think of it, this is just meta overthinking. Relax, do not think about it, er — I mean, think.

You do not always need to create mental subprocesses — you are not as good at multitasking as you have been told. If it makes you feel better, we are in the same boat.

You are dispersing energy; trust me, you will need it later.

Now, excuse me, I have just heard a “Pen down, time is up.” Oh, thank gosh. I am just as tired as a manual laborer — and all I have done is to write all day. You know, to write is to think.