While I wait for Medium to let me post again, here are two of my most recent poems. I’ve uploaded my poetry book draft here too. It’s missing page numbers, a table of contents, and maybe a little dignity. The formatting’s rough. The vibe’s a bit dorky. But it’s alive.

Many of these pieces were sparked by quotes and reflections from Karl Marx, Mao Zedong, and Vladimir Lenin—not as ideological anchors, but as creative catalysts. Their words lit something. I metabolized the rest.

I’m still working on it—before it lands on Kindle Direct Publishing. Rhythm first, then refusal.

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The Sound of My Soul Dying

10/10/2025

Lately, I laugh when I should ache—
flattening grief into punchlines,
irony as shield,
sarcasm as script.

Topics that should land heavy
get trimmed to fit the stage.
I shrug when I should speak.
I perform when I should bleed.

Is this me hardening?
Or just rehearsing detachment
until it feels familiar?

I wonder if I’ve traded
vulnerability for performance,
if my refusal to assimilate
has morphed into
refusal to feel.

Maybe it’s armor.
Maybe it’s exhaustion.
Maybe it’s both—
a mask stitched from ache
and aftermath.

Still, the quote loops in my chest:
“It’s unavoidable, it just happens / When you grow up, your heart dies”

A quiet hum beneath the noise—
the sound of my soul dying,
not with a scream, but a settled sigh.
A heap of ashes where a fire used to be.

—T.A.

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Fuck Feelings

10/08/2025

When does it end?
The ache of rejection,
The shards of heartbreak,
The weight of grief—
When does it all cease to sting?

I chase distractions,
Fleeing the relentless tide,
Wishing for an end,
To this emotional onslaught,
As if a wound could be traded for numbness.

If only someone,
Some force, could twist the valve,
Shut off the spigot of feelings,
Let silence reign in this chaotic storm.
Physical pain, a familiar friend,
Might feel lighter than this burden of the heart.

So I scream into the void,
A raw, desperate plea,
For a moment of peace,
For a breath untainted by ache,
But here I remain,
Drowning in my own emotions,
A captive of the heart’s relentless tide.

Fuck feelings—
not because they’re weak,
but because they trespass.
Because they linger
long after the door has closed.

—T.A.