If the Night Could Speak

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astrology, ifthenightcouldspeak, internationallove, inthenight, newyorkcityartist, poem, poetry, poetrycontent, storytime, studyabroad, teenagers, tellingstories, weeklypoetry, youngadults

stories that end in wit and regret:
memories overseas, encounters with domestic lovers
revealing truths about ourselves, the world:
astrological placements, society’s racial cleverness

“I’ll probably write a poem about this tomorrow”
so where do I start? maybe at your destination
which really are intentions that you carry around
the things you want to achieve, waiting on you
weighing you down, you fall into regret

The City Night is a greedy audience with a promise:
we will never know who it brings our stories to.
So, maybe we’re not really strangers
after all, my stars prophesied about you

We’re sitting on rocks as you describe the effect your sister left
A shadow constantly seen each time you finally fix the lights onto you
an inheritance following you, so your success and failures exalt her glory.
You speak to me like you knew we shared the same story.

Take me around your world, around the world;
leave this night to experience the nights in other cities
While here, sitting on rocks.

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My Soxy Collection

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lettertoafriend, Lifestories, mentalhealth, oddfashion, oldfashion, sockcollection, sockfashion, storyaboutmylife, storytime, tellmeastory, writemealetter, writing

To my dear Sock Buddy,

I have the utmost respect for people who appreciate funky socks. Believe it or not, I actually do not own a single pair of black/white or single-colored socks. I started collecting funky socks (yes, I collect them and they’re called my “Soxy Collection”) towards the end of my senior year of high school. By my Sophomore year of college, I had quite the impressive collection of socks.

Sophomore year was also the hardest year for me in college. I was in and out of the hospital at least once a week, I ended up switching my major—which felt like giving up on my life’s dream that I had since childhood—I strongly considered dropping out of college, and I was in a losing fight with depression. I was fighting a monster that was not physical, yet, it was taking so much from me.

This story sounds a bit crazy whenever I tell it, but something that helped me through that hard time in my life were my socks. Every morning when I slide a sock onto my foot, I looked at the funky design, felt silly, blissful then I cracked a smile—despite what I was feeling or what I wasn’t looking forward to for the day. The socks played a crucial role in my mental stability back then, and they still do till this day.

I hope that, in your beautiful life, you always find bliss in the smallest things, in the most unreasonable things—no matter how people may judge you about it. I hope you’re able to find joy in the simplest things until that joy has a permanent place in your heart, being with you everywhere you go.

Cheers,

Charles

@sircharlesthepoet

STORY TIME!

Tags

art, humanbeauty, humans, journey, journeyoflife, path, people, poem, poetry, Story, storytime

Freshmen year of college, I met this girl who I became pretty close with. One day, I went to her dorm to visit her (like I would do annoyingly too much). After knocking, she opened the door. There was a lady friend of hers calmly sitting on her bed. The three of us hung out, I was introduced to the friend, we cracked some jokes, and then I went about my day.
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A few days later, I saw her in the school cafeteria, and so we ate together. While eating, she asked, “Charles, what do you think we were doing in the room when you knocked?” I looked at her, smiled, then responded, “you two were kissing.” Shocked, she blushed and exclaimed, “omg how’d you know that? Wow, you’re very perceptive, Charles!”
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That was the first time I was called perceptive. Very often, in my normal interactions with people, I would naturally feel something about them/observe something from them. When I’d express it, they would react in surprise, saying that no one had ever noticed that about them or that they’ve been trying to find a way to express that part of themselves–thus I’ve given them the words to. As I develop into and embrace my personality, I find myself constantly seeing people in ways that not many others see them in. I find myself observing and feeling things about people that I think are SUPER obvious, but soon enough I find myself alone in these observations–with a subject filled with shock and amazement.
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Something else that I want to do, and that I am already slowly doing, is put my descriptions, perceptions, and understandings of people into my writings. I want to write poems about people. I want to extract the poem out of the person. I want to turn the person into the poem. The more that my eyes open up to it, the more I am able to see the poetry that each human is. We’re all human, but I think my special blessing is to be able to see that we’re actually more than that. If I could open each person’s eyes to that fact, I would. I’d be content if I could spend the rest of my days trying to write people into poetry. Extract the work of art that is in them. ✨

@Sircharlesthepoet