I had a little interaction over at the local ~health.mental monthly meeting that sprouted the idea of trying to create a kind of poetry/illustrated book together.

Original comment, for reference

I moved back to my parent's place, and mentally that has been hard because of past trauma issues related to the place.

But I've come up with many coping mechanisms and meditate a lot. So that has been helping.

But I still cry sometimes.

I think the cadence is kind of sweet and an interesting base to tell small stories (either as part of a larger story or independent) from daily life.

As I wrote there I think having each spread of the book in the same format will drive the point across best: that no matter how life is, sometimes we cry and that's probably a good thing.

Well, let's see if we can come up with similar short stories, or just talk about the idea, or share a drawing that you'd like to show us that you think would fit.

an endless blue. my island shore.
my quiet voice. a crashing roar.
my little feet mark steps in sand.
a big red bucket in my hand.

cold water glides across my gills.
it tastes of dark and salt and kills.
i hunt for food hoping to make
what others all of me want made.

i cuff my pants and dip my toes
to cool myself from hot sand's glow.
my bucket drinks with thirsty lips
salt water, sand, and -- wait, what's this ?

in rest i lie where currents go:
to waters warm, bright, and shallow.
a sudden wake from surface stirs:
swimming around a big red blur.

i look at her. i look at him.
i puff in fear. i'm uncertain.
i dip my fingers holding shrimp.
i take a bite. we make friends quick.

The Skibidi Wonderland

Imagine a world with skibidi rizz

Where the rivers run with flowberry fizz

Every tree has a W gyat

Everyone is ruled under Kai Cenat

Everything, even the hills looksmax

Criminals will have to pay a fanum tax

Every December we celebrate Rizzmas

Where we get candy and gifts from St. Grimace

From the screen to the ring to the pen to the king

Every October we celebrate Hawktuahween

Everyone follows the sigma grindset

Everyone thinks with the sigma mindset

The skibidi sky has a rizzy aurora

All citizens have skibidi aura

Can you imagine a world where all is rizzy?

Can you think of a world where all is skibidi?

Can you fathom a world where all cheese is drippy?

'Cause I yearn for a world where I can hit the griddy

The earth, once scarred by shadow’s hand,
Now trembles soft, a waking land.
From soil soaked with roots that bled,
New shoots arise where death had fed.

The storm has passed, its howling stilled,
The air now warm, the silence filled.
With whispers light, the seeds take hold,
Their leaves like sparks of green and gold.

The soil hums with tender grace,
A pulse of life begins its race.
No longer bound by gloom’s demand,
It rises tall, a fearless stand.

Though remnants of the past remain,
They sing of hope, not loss or pain.
The cycle turns, as it must do—
To bury old, and birth the new.

In shadows cast, a serpent sleek,
With bands of black and white.
In self-encircling, fate draws near,
A moment tense, a future unclear.

Yet, ere the bite, a raptor bold,
Descends with grace, a tale unfolds.
Its talons clasp the serpent’s plight,
A dance of choices in the fading light.

Two paths converge, in present’s hold,
Humanity’s tale, a story bold.
Betwixt self-will and forces unseen,
The dance of fate, on history’s screen.

Mythos

A tree unwatched does soundless fall

Without an eye its crash to mark

And starborn light in vain does call

While hearts incline instead to dark

So natural course unseen dictates

The wave of time as life begins

Nor, in our barques asea in fate

Ken we the source of distant winds

Now blown to gale, now to 'phoon —

We strike our sail, but none can dock

Our crafts beset do founder soon

For to the hours we're firmly nocked

In time's swift drifts all 'twined we are

Yet each must pass the stellar door

Through deep'ning age pass on afar

And thus return to astral moor

gusts of wind pick up in pace
and oaken leaves they make to shake.
chirps and flaps as birds make haste
and hooves all trample in escape.

above, the clouds, they morph and move
bearing an ocean in their womb.
forest florals stare in rue;
effulgence dims as darkness blooms.

the rumbling clouds envelope all.
a drip, a drop. and the rain falls.
and though the canopy may stall,
a dribble starts and rends the wall.

a torrent soars towards the floor.
the land, to sea, returns once more.
in time, the green but will restore.
in time, the clouds but will reform.

i wrote this at a creative writing workshop with the following three randomly generated words as the prompt: frequency, dribble, oak.