poetry – Jordyn Saelor

boy

In the aftermath of fighting for my life at least twice my soul lay like an ash field of nightmares and memories of how I survived, but there

Serpent currents fish up friend food, or shellfish not for you food, dead end dread mood and it says hide hide mine mine shame is the game, this acid on plastic, eating away my pride like it and shame aren’t two halves of the fish scale when in fact they hurt the same (thank you,Continue reading “friend or shellfish”

savage

The village stranger loses her curiosity after a year or so, the adventurer learns the names of the log cabin dwellers

Hiatus for the Unrequited

I’m nervous about sharing this poem, because it’s maybe a little too vulnerable, but…depression really does get like this sometimes. It comes and goes in waves and when the waves go real low, well…it feels like this poem. Sometimes I get discouraged and just existing feels really hard. But I wrote this poem a littleContinue reading “Hiatus for the Unrequited”

moon wave

I didn’t want anyone to adopt me, I could take care of myself just fine probably. Or at least I’d made it this far. But I sort of wanted what

nightiaku

ripple blossom rose glisten, under the moonbeam, thirst at lake’s surface

village of dracans

The dracans lived without roofs, not even invisible magic ones. Their homes looked like log cabins if the logs were woven like yarn

Awareness Month

Disclaimer: the views expressed in this post represent those of a single autistic individual, who does not represent all or any other autistic people. April is Autism Awareness Month. Just like March is the month to notice the melting snow and budding trees. Just like October is the month stirring pumpkin spice in the air.Continue reading “Awareness Month”

in the garden crave

The creature carved fish skins off by sticking a foot inside its wide open beak. Therefore it couldn’t see me that well so I dug a shallow pit in the dirt with my paddle feet and drew oversized runes to start a fire

i miss (this)

Scuttle hug meet the rug hey how you doin’ down there? I miss the act of starting over like I had nothing to lose, no memories, no reputable ruse; instead I start over with all this baggage cuz I gotta know who i am after the rules and stories i used to be– i missContinue reading “i miss (this)”