Centaurus

United States

Centaurus. He/She/They depends, just use my name.

Message from Writer

"Before I got my eye put out,
I liked as well to see
As other creatures that have eyes,
And know no other way.

But were it told to me, to-day,
That I might have the sky
For mine, I tell you that my heart
Would split, for size of me.

The meadows mine, the mountains mine,
All forests, stintless stars,
As much of noon as I could take
Between my finite eyes.

The motions of the dipping birds,
The lightning's jointed road,
For mine to look at when I liked,
The news would strike me dead!

So safer, guess, with just my soul
Upon the window-pane
Where other creatures put their eyes,
Incautious of the sun."

~Emily Dickinson, Sight

Published Work

do you want me?

when you look into the mirror what do you see?
do you see a beautiful man?
do you see the embodiment of light?
what do you see?

when i look into your eyes what do i see?
i see soul, the kind that keeps you at ease.
i see a labyrinth of emotion, easy to get lost in.
but do you see me, truly me?

when you hear your voice what do you hear?
do you cringe on reflex of hearing your voice?
do you hear an unknown man speaking the words you spoke before?
what do you hear?

when i hear your voice what do i hear?
i hear smooth satin, calming chamomile for my upset void of a mind.
i hear the soft smile, the humor in your melodic speech.
but do you want to listen to me?

a dream

a quixotic dream,
where we embrace each other,
but then i wake up.

clouds.

there was a thunderstorm today.
it wasnt really a storm, just the thunder.
when you looked outside you could see the clouds.

on the ride home i leaned onto the vibrating bus window.
above me i could see the skys texture.
it was a new perspective.

the thunder continued.
an opening in the cover of clouds opened showing the cumulus above the nimbus.
bright blue and stark white colors.

and then i realized.
the clouds werent just a backdrop.
they were real.

 

Words Are But The Wind.

"Words are but the wind." ~ Shakespeare

Words are but the wind, fickle, and not dependable.

Words are but the wind, eroding, chipping at my soul.

Words are but the wind, blowing under a kite of imagination, sending it to the troposphere.

Words are but the wind.
                                                                             
Words are but the                                       d.
                             w                         n
                                          i

...

Yggdrasil

Norse mythology’s plane of existence is placed within an ash tree. The tree’s name was Yggdrasil. Each of the 9 realms of Norse mythology were interconnected throughout the main body of the tree. Each branch extending from the center trunk shows each reality connected through an intricate maze of wood. 

In this story, the girl is the central hub, the trunk of this universe, from which multiple twigs and arms extend, an amazing network of pure beauty. Everything grows from the trunk and it supports the entire universe. But without the trunk, the tree is no more, the tree is nothing but a chaotic mess of confusion and panic.

Without the girl, it is Ragnarok.
 

the trees.

today i looked up for once.
around me, trees rose up towards the sky.
wooden trunks, creaking with decades of age.
their arms spreading outwards, spreading over the great blue canvas of the sky.

the individual branches, the bronchus of the lungs of the earth.

today i saw:
the lungs of humanity.
breathing in and out, wisdom and time.
supporting this organism we call home.

 

the boy of p.

theres this boy.
amazing hair.
amazing eyes.
amazing personality.
hes cute and makes you want to hug him.
so why cant i approach him?

Anonymous

Oh, what freedom it is to have no identity.
No one to judge you, no one to harm you.
Oh, what freedom it is to stay anonymous.

A new beginning, a blank slate, a painted-over wall, a white canvas.
Of course, I have a name, and of course, I have an online name, but here I can let loose. 
All of these words pouring out like a torrent, eternal flooding. 

Even then, this flood is cleansing. 
A purge of the corrupt population.
In Greek mythology, Zeus floods the mortal realm; in Christianity, God floods the human plane.

An interminable rain.
A downpour of words.
A hurricane of sentences.

Oh, what freedom it is to be invisible.

What If?

What if we removed gender in the world when raising our young.
Everything unisex.
What if we let the young decide their sexuality and gender instead of forcing them into a niche because of their genitalia.
Everything their choice.
What if there were people who could truly be themselves, their gender changing as they feel and not because of their body.
Everything how they feel.

What if?

212

Our school has a motto.
212º, go the extra degree!

Basically what it means is that on 211ª water is just simmering.
The moment the water gains a degree, the water starts to boil.

This boiling causes steam.
This steam powers engines, mechanisms, automatons, vehicles.

With this steam, the world is kept in motion.
With this steam, the world is able to be alight.

But I found a different meaning.
The temperature is my stress.

Some days I'm at a cool 32º.
Some days I'm at 211º.

On those days if a singular thing pisses me off I blow.
The kettle whistles and I get aggressive.

But sometimes boiling water is needed to do things.
Boiling water makes tea, boiling water purges imperfections of bacteria, boiling water calms.

I guess it's a juxtaposition.

A Haiku About Chaos.

We are lost children.
Lost in our thoughts of chaos.
How do we get found?

 

Debut

The Universe was born in chaos, a singular explosion, an outward fabrication, the void rapidly expanding. Reactions seemingly manifesting compounds and complexity. A whole plane of existence was created.

Let me introduce myself. They call me Centaurus. My name originates from the constellation Centaurus, and I too was born by chaos. The numerous stars create an astronomical projection onto the sky, and that's how I want my existence to be. 

On this site, I want to post multiple art pieces and together they will combine into a singular blinding light, a searing burn, a scar left in your soul.

As I rise from the horizon, a new shining figure among these other amazing writers, I want to make a lasting effect as you read my work. 

Thank you,
Centaurus.