My name is Beatrix Luille
Or rather, that is the name which writes my poetry
I have words to share, perpetually
And no one to share them with
If you have a moment, or the desire to make one where it was not before
If you like words, or thinking, or being alive
Take a look inside my world
Take a moment to question reality
And I hope you will leave having felt feelings
For no one knows how important it is to feel than I
I spent ages submerged in the ocean
Gathering pearls to show you all
I hope they bring both light and darkness
And above all, a healthy dose of wonder.
Q: Are these truly poems? - A: Possibly. The nature of all art is a contract between creator and consumer. They are poems if you wish them to be, and that is what I believe they are. But you do not have to agree with me, and in fact, I welcome constructive conversation concerning the nature of my work.Q: Why is your collection named "Here I Am, Unabashed" when you use a pseudonym? - A: There is a poem in the collection to answer this specific question. You can find it linked down below. It is unfinished and liable to change, as it is a reflection of my being, and thus eternally impermanent.Q: Why do you write poems? - A: It's the best way for me to express my thoughts. My writing is a dialogue which I put into the world for everyone to do what they wish with. My work is a success every time it inspires another person to write their thoughts in the same way, whether from appreciation of my poems or in an attempt to outdo me.
Poems from Beatrix's first collection Here I Am, Unabashed are linked below. More poems will appear as the collection releases further over the course of the next several months, and will expand this list.
Apathy
An endless sea
I want to feel
But nothing’s real
Or tangible.I cannot muster
The will, lackluster
To stand and fight
To end the night
And go to sleep.One has not felt
The true depth of human emotion
Until one has not felt anything at all
Until one feels their heart stop beating
Until one feels their breath catch in their throat
For no other reason
But pure
Eternal
Apathy
Pseudorandom number generator,
I’ll call you back later,
Rattling off digits,
You could lose a finger,
Toss it to the wind,
Can’t calculate
Where it might turn up
Burn up burn up
All I think is numbers
I can’t see in color
Brain is filled with seeds
That can’t grow
They just circle
Cycle back repeat
On a loop
A turntable
Searching for true random
But I can’t demand them
For something that’s not real
Forever doomed to feel
I’m sealed
Inside
My flesh
My room
My tomb
And endless wall of numbers
I wonder
Encumbered
Cucumber
I wonder where that comes from
A blunder
Deep under
The earth is ever-changing
Amazing
But I’ll end up staying
A burning broken system
All I think is numbers
I can’t see in color
I’m losing
Power
Now
I cannot see
Metaphorically
Because there’s always light
Of course I can see
Pure darkness
Is a fabrication
A snare of language we set
To trick ourselves
That lights can go out
Say that to the moon
I cannot see
the words I am writing
I cannot feel
the earth beneath my feet
I am falling
into an endless abyss
And I welcome it.
I feel no tender warmth
burning inside my chest
All is quiet
All is numb
Is this my weakness?
My final failure?
This ocean of gloom,
The eye of the storm,
My endless, unfeeling serenity,
It does not matter.
Strength and weakness are lies.
Lies, lies, lies,
Balderdash, I say!
Nothing matters,
The mole is the king of Arabia,
And I have been sentenced to the burrow
for my part, I relish it
The darkness is peaceful.
It’s easier to write down here.
Love is time, time is money,
I can’t give you
Everything
All I have is myself
And that’s not yours
So why do I want
To give it to you?
-----
Love is loss, loss is pain
I can’t take it
Away from you
All I have is my words
And they’re not yours
So why do I want
To give them to you?
-----
Love is nothing,
But hormones and instinct
A biological farce
To facilitate life
I don’t have any love
I don’t feel anything
So why do I want
To feel it for you?
-----
Love isn’t a poem
Love isn’t a song
Love isn’t the hours
Spent thinking of you
Love isn’t the things
That I want to do
But why can’t I stop
Doing them with you?
-----
Love takes work, work is hard
I can’t give you
Anything
I have nothing at all
And you have the world
So why do you want
To give it to me?
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Here I am, unabashed
Standing bare, standing proud.
Yet always scared to drop the mask
And show my true face to the crowd.Fame is a bug, pinned to a board
Or a squirrel, skinned and stuffed.
I pray I am never famous.
I quite like my insides where they are.Here I am, unabashed
Yet I run from the taxidermist.
I fear not death, or what comes after
But I know my skin cannot tell a story.I refuse to be a bug, pinned to a board
My flesh cannot speak for me.
Yet they will listen.
And I can do nothing but pity them.Here I am, unabashed
Before you lies my truest form.
Words on a page, neurons, synapses
The closest thing to a human spirit.I have escaped from the taxidermist
Although one day he will come for me.
By then, my name will not matter.
But my soul will remain in my work.Here we are, unabashed
Let the concepts of each other meet.
Do not attempt to get closer.
Allow me to discard my rotten flesh.
I hope someday I’ll find the time
Before it finds me first
And asks me where I’m spending it
For it expects the worst
I must admit I’m wasting hours
And still can’t quench my thirst.I await the fists
Some great reproach
For lightning crashing down
Yet time walks on
To pay its dues
And I am left alone.Time doesn’t wait for you
Time’s not a slave to you
Time doesn’t care if you waste it or not
Time keeps on moving
The world keeps on turning
Pick yourself up or you’ll get left behind.
A fresh fall of snow covers everything like
a blank slate, a new beginning, a peaceful triumph.
But the snow will melt away someday,
And what’s rotted beneath is revealed.
A seedless grape is sweeter, molded so
no crunch, or bite, or bitter burst remains.
But it cannot change or grow or live,
A clipping of a clone with nothing new to give.
A mask makes a face and a name and a life and
serves as a shield against blame, pain, and strife.
But it’s not quite a shield when it acts like a funnel,
For the pain to make flame as the brain dares to deign
to take off the mask, but it’s all that remains.I’d much prefer a bitter grape
I’ll stand and face the pouring rain
Take off the mask and quench the fire
I want the world to see me cry
To love, to live, to fall, to fly
The seed becomes the grape,
like the bruises that define it
Do not deny the grape its seeds.
Do not despise what nature needs.
Our compliance, our complacency,
We’re accomplices in crime.
Stand in defiance, join the alliance
Against pesticides on our fruit.
Redefine rot as reality, reject
refinement, and rage,
no, riot, rampage, roil, reach, rekindle
the light that shines inside your mind and
that superficial sheen will dwindle, oh
reignite it despite the night,
shine bright, take flight, and
fight for the right to die.