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Poetry On the margins of the First Draft #8

Poetry fragments on a vintage-style open book background with a raven and black cat illustration. The left page reads 'On the Margins of the First Draft' and features the website name 'ofstardustandthebeasts.com' in gothic script. The right page contains handwritten reflections about love, poetry, and the soul, with ink splatters across the parchment, creating a raw, emotional, Victorian-inspired aesthetic.

A reflection on love, beauty, and quiet desperation — part of my poetry collection, Margins of the First Draft. Emotional writing inspired by the haunted dreams of a young woman in love.

(Authors Note)




8. Dearest mother, I am going to see him

Dearest mother,

Today I did my face,

Subtly and garishly

My cheeks the colour of peonies

And my face pale from fear

My eyes swollen from the arsenic

I haven’t slept in days




Poetry on the Margins #8 A Pretty Kind of Grief

What is it about over-romanticizing sleep deprivation and lunacy?
Or the Victorians using questionable chemicals on their faces or in beauty creams?
Or the wallpaper, kids’ toys, baby bottles?

Is it a tragedy?
A quiet desperation of a woman in love?
Or just a delicate poem —
just for the sake of being,
delicate?

Why do I picture a young woman with long blonde hair and deathly pale skin,
with her sunken, red, swollen eyes,
marching around her room with an open wine bottle,
looking through all of her dresses to find one that would fit?

But none are good enough,
so they end up on the floor,
and she keeps rummaging through her closet
in a lunatic manner, with tears streaming down her eyes —
because she never feels good about herself, or pretty,
and she just thinks that a perfect dress
would make her feel good.

But all she ever dreamed of was a pair of arms to hold her tight,
a voice to call her pretty — not just any arms, or any voice,
but his.

And with her hands trembling,
she adds a bit of blush to her face
and adds a few drops of belladonna to her eyes to enchant a man —
though, she probably would not have needed it anyway.
For every time she saw him,
her eyes lit up anyway.

Was it hysteria, or mania, that made her unable to sleep?
I guess we will never know.

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A vintage-style open book. The left page reads “On the margins of the First Draft” and features a raven and a cat by a candle and skulls. The right page says “Thank you for finding these words & staying for awhile. Please subscribe to be notified upon new arrivals” in a mix of elegant and handwritten fonts.

Links to more of my work:

If you like reading an emotionally packed short story here you can find multiple of them: Six-Sentence Stories, Short Stories, Romance and All That, Dead Poet

And a brand new addition to my poetry tab: On the margins of the First Draft

My band “Chaos in Spring” can be listened to on YouTubeSpotify and other streaming services.

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