Aspen Writes Poetry

Hello, dear readers, Today, I am thrilled to share a poem that I recently penned, titled I am a 7 but.... This piece emerged from a contemplation of how our identities and worth are often reduced to mere numbers, particularly in an era driven by quantification and superficial judgements. Let’s delve deeper into the themes and reflections inspired by this poem. I am a 7 but... They compressed my essence,  Into a single digit,  Like pouring oceans into teacups,  Or trapping sunrises in jars.  How do you measure a heartbeat,  With a ruler?  Or weigh a dream,  On a scale?  They want numbers,  To define us,  As if we were,  Formulae or statistics. The Ineffability of Human Essence At the heart of this poem lies a profound truth: human essence cannot be encapsulated by a single number. They compressed my essence, into a single digit, speaks to the reductionist tendency to simplify complex beings into quantifiable entities. The metaphors o...

This poem is about my mental health struggles, trauma and wait for therapy. I feel lighter for writing it.  I carry the weight   Of shattered memories   In the hollow of my chest,   A mosaic of pain,   Fragments   That cut like glass.   Each one a story   Untold.   I wait   For the light of healing   To seep through the cracks,   Like dawn   Breaking through   A restless night.   Therapy is   A word   That trembles   On my tongue,   A promise of mending   Or maybe   Just a pause   In the storm.   What if the pieces   Never fit   Like they used to?   What if the puzzle   I become   Is something   I don't recognise?   But even broken,   I am still   Here,   Still ...

 I decided to do my first post on this project without revealing too much. I've written a poem on my initial thoughts of seeing my first wonky portraits and my first cross stitch patterns versus my more recent work.  I open an old digital file,   Stored in a forgotten folder.   Pixels stutter across the screen,   Awkward and unsure.   A symphony of mismatched hues,   Each portrait   A hesitant touch   Between mouse and monitor.   I witness the eagerness   Of fingers craving creation,   Yet lost in the learning.   And now I glance at   What my stylus can conjure,   And I marvel at the evolution.   Each stroke, each shade,   A testament to resilience.   No longer mere shapes,   But whispers of spirit.   My art breathes.   It provokes and ponders,   It demands engagement.  ...

 It's Not Too Late to Join the Creation Phase! Greetings, Creative Spirits! We’re thrilled to announce that Week Two of our digital art quilt has officially arrived! If you haven't jumped on board yet, there's still time to dive in and make your mark. We’re currently in the Creation Phase, and we can’t wait to see the incredible contributions each of you will bring to the table. To join you will need to be a full member of the Artocalypse .  Announcing Involvement: I'm excited to share that I’m actively participating in this collaborative journey. Now is the perfect time to develop your individual lines, explore your artistic archives, create new works, and finalize your contributions. Together, we can create something truly spectacular. Please make a blog post announcing your involvement in this project and your current thought processes and how you think it'll turn out! A Quick Reminder of What the Squares Are: 1.Square 1: Early Work  - Dive into your archives and...

Understanding Spoon Theory: My Daily Battle with FND Hello everyone, Today, I want to share a piece of my life that revolves around something called Spoon Theory. This metaphor, originally coined by Christine Miserandino, is a way to explain the limited energy reserves that people with chronic illnesses have to manage every day. For those who are new to this, imagine your energy as a currency, a finite reserve where each action you take is a withdrawal. I’ve been struggling lately due to my Functional Neurological Disorder (FND), a condition that causes a range of symptoms like muscle weakness, pain, and fatigue. Trying to balance my daily activities sometimes feels so impossible. I often feel vulnerable and overwhelmed by the simple act of trying to contain too much. Here’s a poem I wrote that expresses my experience with Spoon Theory: Each morning I count, my spoons. Some days  they are heavy  like lead  on my fingertips. People ask  how do you feel?  I say...

Understanding the Stages of Genocide: Why We Need to Talk About Gaza and Trans Issues In recent months, as I watched global headlines, two subjects have continually demanded my attention: the humanitarian crisis in Gaza and the ongoing struggles faced by the trans community. These aren't just isolated issues; they are interconnected threads in the broader tapestry of human rights abuses that we must address. Inspired by these events, I wrote a poem that seeks to shine a light on these critical topics. The Poem and Its Purpose Before delving into the deeper issues, allow me to share my poem: You met me In the quiet hum Of ignorance When I couldn't see The shadows growing— I thought I was safe. We drank tea And I told you About my fears. You mapped them out Stage by stage Until my heart broke. Classification Is when they tell you You are different, When they separate The us from the them And you start to believe. Symbolization Is a mark,  A yellow star A piece of cloth An echo of...

 I call this one I hate social media (particularly threads today). The sheer amount of transphobic comments and ideology on there today is insane. Worldwide we are on stage 4 of the 10 stages of genocide dehumanisation and propaganda about trans people and as a trans person it is hard not to be scared.  In the shadows of digital corridors,  Whispers grow to roars—  Faceless screens spit venom,  Fangs of words  Sharp enough to carve identities. Dehumanisation blooms  Like dark roses in the garden of hate—  Propaganda, the gardener,  Weaving lies into the roots,  Fertilizing fear,  Cultivating otherness,  Until we forget to see  Each other’s humanity. Click—  Scroll—  Share—  Repeat—  Threads of narratives  Entwined in the fabric  Of our virtual lives,  Spreading poison  Like wildfire on a summer's day,  Igniting minds  With prejudice. The trans soul  Caught in the infer...

First-time dreams Nestled in a heart's corner  With walls of hope  And floors of sacrifice  Labour's savings  Our precious crumbs  Scraped from years  Of silent toiling  We reach for keys  To a door we've painted  In our minds  A thousand hues of tomorrow  But taxes stand tall  Like unyielding shadows  Pressing our fragile hopes  Into corners of doubt  We save and save  Each pound a seed  In a garden where  We long to plant roots  Yet the system  Demands its share  Its hand heavy  On our aspirations  The numbers don't add up  To the sanctuary we seek  They subtract  From the dream's very foundation  We are the architects  Of modest ambitions  Building castles  From the remnants of our sweat  Oh, if only love  And effort were enough  To erect walls  That keep us warm  But we stand  On the brink of desire  ...

 Well 5,538 days of Tories being in power is over now, including the coalition. I thought I'd write something for the occasion.  They said it would last forever,  The iron grip of policies  That tightened around us  Like cold winter air.  5,538 days of watching dreams  Deferred, promises turned to dust.  Yet we endured, holding onto hope  Like a lifeline.  Now the sun peeks over the horizon,  A new day breaking,  And we exhale the years of struggle  Like breath we forgot we held.  The chains have fallen away,  And in their place  The fragile wings of possibility  Flutter, ready to take flight.  We rebuild with hearts  Unbroken by the weight of yesterday,  Because even in the darkest days  We learned to believe  In the power of tomorrow.

I wake up,  With a chest heavy as iron,   A fortress of worry and doubt,   Wrapped around my ribs,  Like a shield against myself. These walls I built so high   To keep the world out, Only make me crumble,  From the inside. My heart,   A delicate flower, Hidden beneath layers, Of steel petals,   Afraid to open. Every breath echoes through, This hollow armour,   Each pulse a reminder, Of how fragile, I truly am. I wear resilience like a mask,   Fooling everyone, including me,   Into thinking, I am unbreakable. But in the silence,   When no one sees,   I feel the weight,  Of my own defenses, And the ache, Of my own need, To simply be,  Naked in my vulnerability. Sometimes,   The strongest thing we can do,  Is allow ourselves, To be soft and to feel. Every crack in this armour   Is a testament   To my survival,   And every ...

In the realm of creative collaboration, there's something inherently magical about blending individual talents into a single, unified work of art. I have the incredible opportunity to participate in an art swap that transforms a digital canvas into a vibrant, collective masterpiece. Our art swap team included the imaginative minds of Chris, Heather, Kimberly, and myself, each bringing our unique flair to the project. Today, I’m excited to share the journey of this collaborative creation started by Chris and highlight how my virtual yarn bombing added a layer of warmth and humanity to the final piece. What is Yarn Bombing? Before diving into the details of our art swap, let’s talk about yarn bombing. Yarn bombing, also known as guerrilla knitting, is a form of street art where yarn is used to cover objects in public spaces. Unlike traditional graffiti, yarn bombing involves creating intricate, often colorful knit or crochet pieces that are then wrapped around statues, trees, fences,...

The calendar Sits heavy on the wall,   Whispers of change   Filling every hall. A date circled in red   Like a heartbeat’s call.   Through the streets we walk,   Voices that sway and hum. The power lies in our hands,   In the hands of the many,   Not the few.   The old stories fade With every new mark.   Each footstep a promise,   Each name a dream   Etched on ballots That flutter like leaves   In the summer breeze.   In every home,   A quiet hum. Discussions at the table,   Debates over tea.   We weigh our future   With bated breath, Hoping for a better tomorrow,   Casting away the shadow   Of yesterday’s sorrows.   All through the house,   A gentle reminder: Our duty,   Our privilege,   To shape the world. To vote,   To speak,   To be hear...

Hello, dear art enthusiasts! Welcome to Day 3 of our exhilarating art swap journey. Today, I’m thrilled to share the transformation and evolution of our collaborative piece. What started as Heather's enchanting skull and garden has blossomed into a multifaceted tapestry of meaning, creativity, and spirit. Heather’s Foundation: The Skull and Garden Heather began with a striking skull amidst a vibrant garden. Her detailed work on the skull was nothing short of breathtaking, grounding our piece with an intense sense of authenticity. The garden she nurtured around it felt like it was showing flaws through the rose's rough and ready thorns but growing from it. It set the perfect stage for what was to come. (Heather explains it better here ) Kimberly’s Contribution: The Spirit and an Expanded Garden Enter  Kimberly , who added layers of whimsy and ethereal beauty by expanding the garden and introducing a lovely spirit. Inspired by the addition, I decided to name her Brooke, which mea...

This post is a part of the  July 2024 Artocalypse Blog Carnival  ran by the lovely Chris.  My Journey From the moment I could hold a pen, I've always been a writer. It's like the words chose me as their vessel. For most of my life, my writing has predominantly been poetry—a form that allows me to pour my emotions onto the page, capturing fleeting moments and deep-seated feelings in just a few lines. However, my creative journey took an unexpected turn during the COVID-19 pandemic. Like many others, I found myself searching for ways to stay sane and connected during lockdown. That's when I stumbled upon digital art. Initially, I started creating portraits and cross stitch patterns as a pastime. Little did I know that this would open up a new avenue for my creativity. The cross stitch patterns, in particular, became more than just a hobby; they became a way to connect with others. I began sharing these patterns online, offering them as a constructive activity for people stu...

 You sat across from me   with metal glinting   off your skin.   Ben, I knew your name but it was   as if it didn't matter.   What syllables wrapped around   your face?   You whispered rumors   like venom dripping from a wound,   with love from Iris.   Said they called me the rat chaser,   said Iris spun tales about me   in places I'd never been.   I laughed it off   because Iris, with your piercings   and your reckless tongue,   who could believe   the web you spun?   But then a stranger's eyes   sliced through the crowd,   found mine   as if they knew   the secrets I had yet to know,   as if they had seen   the chase I had run.   Rat chaser, they called me,   like it was a name   I'd always worn.   And in...

Greetings, fellow art enthusiasts! I have the pleasure of participating in a digital art swap for seven days (we are on day two now!), a delightful exchange where artists trade their digital creations and add their unique touch to the other’s work. It’s a beautiful way to foster collaboration, creativity, and community. This time around, I received an incredible piece from the lovely Kimberly . Her work resonated with me deeply, and I felt compelled to add my own little twist to it. My Artistic Addition: A Snail with a Message As you can see, I added a small yet significant element to Kimberley's piece—a snail. At first glance, it might just appear as a whimsical addition. But if you look closely, you’ll notice this tiny snail has munched on a leaf. This seemingly simple detail carries a powerful message about digital identity and resilience. The 'Leaf Munchers' in Our Digital Garden In the world of digital art and online presence, we often encounter what I like to call ...

 Trigger Warning: This poem addresses intense and potentially distressing themes, including betrayal, financial abuse, physical abuse, sexual abuse, emotional abuse, and gaslighting. The content may evoke strong emotional reactions and memories for those who have experienced similar traumas. Please read with caution and prioritize your mental and emotional well-being. What doesn’t kill you   isn’t always   a lesson   in strength. Sometimes it’s a collection   of traumas: sharp knives   of betrayal   thrown   with precision, the sting   of financial abuse,   each debt   a wound   that never heals. You kept my things   like trophies   of your conquest,   reminders   of possession. Physical abuse   leaves bruises   that fade,   but the pain   settles in the marrow. Sexual abuse   is an in...

Hello, fellow art enthusiasts! Today marks the beginning of an incredible digital art swap, a collaborative journey where artists exchange and build upon each other’s pieces. As someone who has always believed in the power of collective creativity, I am beyond excited to see where this project takes us. For my initial contribution, I decided to infuse my piece with a deeply personal element: brain-like trees. These intricate, dendritic structures represent two intertwined aspects of my life—growth and my neurodivergent identity. Growth Through Art Art has been a medium for me to explore and express my inner world. The tree is a timeless symbol of growth and evolution. Its branches stretch skyward, constantly reaching for new heights, while its roots dig deep, grounding it in the earth. By incorporating these brain-like trees into my piece, I aimed to visualise my personal journey of growth. Every twist and turn of these branches is a testament to the experiences, challenges, and lesson...