I killed my dreams
(and it’s killing me inside).
I killed my dreams. I buried them alive.
I sleep. I’m awake. I fight to survive…
I’ve seen some goals revert
(roll back to dreams).
These dreams never had the chance.
Tag: failure
A Prey Does Not Pray
I didn’t put faith in this,
But I realized I was soaring high—
When I saw that I had sunk so low.
I was no bird of prey.
An early bird, but no pray.
And I couldn’t cut it.
Even so, I could have my cake and eat it.
I had a strong
Sense of my own.
I can’t seem to find the right title today—this one will do.
Anthology Reveries that I call Poetry | by T!el Fajardo
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
Pages: Page 1, Page 2, Page 3, Page 4, Page 5, Page 6, Page 7, Page 8, Page 9, Page 10, Page 11, Page 12, Page 13, Page 14, Page 15, Page 16, Page 17, Page 18, Page 19, Page 20, Page 21, Page 22, Page 23, Page 24, Page 25, Page 26, Page 27, Page 28, Page 29, Page 30, Page 31, Page 32, Page 33, Page 34, Page 35, Page 36, Page 37, Page 38
Crumpled Language
̶I̶’̶v̶e̶ ̶n̶e̶v̶e̶r̶ ̶m̶e̶a̶n̶t̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶w̶r̶i̶t̶e̶ ̶t̶h̶i̶s̶
This, on the other hand…
I miss much more than I hit
Crumpled papers into a wastebasket
Five hits in a row
Is’t by chance?
Perhaps a blossom of skill?
Paper toss is quite a sport
You even start mistyping on purpose
For the sake of the game
T!el Fajardo
Jul. 04, 2024
Reveries That I Call Poetry 