Issue No. 6:
Pour Le Grad
from:
July 24’
Yours Truly,
Rococo
Rococo
Class of:
to:
2024
A Collection of poems
for the “Graduate”
Congratulations,Darling
Photography: G r e t a @through.gretas.lens
From the Author:
“I Dedicate this to every age of myself; but especially, to the little girl confined in a dark world with the sun in her heart, and her mind. Nothing in this world would grow without your light, my love.”
I’ve expanded my thoughts past a breach that I thought was incomprehensible. I now view myself as steadfast, unvexed by my erudite perspective.
The woman with a $20,000 brain is how a college views me and my degree, and once I would agree.
Though now, I'm worth far more than the details of a degree.
The prose of personal outlook in one's life is priceless, a point of view that could never be recreated by anyone else but you.
Incalculable brain matter.
Walking across the stage to receive my diploma is not where I found my graduation, nor my intelligence.
I found it in the midst of lecture,
where my mind wandered,
traveling far past four walls and a monotone voice talking at me.
I took that lecture and applied it to the concessions of life,
creating an understanding of society's involvement with my conscience.
A chapter not found in a book: Humanities State of Affairs.
Sonder being the thesis.
My interest in the world's idiosyncrasies.
A prolonged challenge of my life,
believing that my intelligence would arrive once I became someone else, anyone else, but me.
What I did ascertain mid-stride across that graduation stage is that I had been a graduate my entire life.
Every age walked across the stage with me that day, my intelligence never arriving at one particular moment in my life,
But growing with me since my first breath on this earth, graduating to a new challenge that breaches my intellectual peak.
Discovering myself has been the most rewarding graduation gift to myself.
The expenditure of my brain was never for the likes of any certain one, any job that requires, it was for the challenge of myself.
How hard can I work for the sake of myself?
And at times I wanted to give up, but how could I give up on the little girl who never knew how clever she was?
I must show her.
A carousel of conscious thought is what greeted me when I realized that my exclusive existence is what would shock the world, shock myself.
My graduation was finding confidence in my thoughts, something I did long before the diploma was in my reach.
Please, if you remember anything at all, remember that you did this all for yourself: every waking moment working on the philanthropy of yourself.
Pouring yourself into the work that obscures your line-of-sight from the finale. Trudging through the vines of self-doubt, to reach to the willows of wisdom.
Crawling beneath the boulders of deprecation, to stand atop of the mountain that looks across the landscape of your existence.
You did it all for yourself,
You did it with every age.
Hi, doll
Photography: G R E T A @through.gretas.lens
Please if you remember anything at all, remember that you did this all for yourself:
every waking moment working on the philanthropy of yourself.
Pouring yourself into the work that obscures your line-of-sight from the finale.
Trudging through the vines of self-doubt, to reach to the willows of wisdom.
Crawling beneath the boulders of deprecation, to stand atop of the mountain that looks across the
landscape of your existence.
You did it all for yourself,
You did it with every age.
If I Can’t
Work #2:
by:
Yellokhan
For Rococo
If I can’t live here, where would I go?
Is it even a valid question to wonder about?
Or have I grown too old to sit on the fence?
I’ll have to pay in more ways than one for a broken hand, without any benefit.
I think about whether I should augment my own reality when it comes to the depth of my own truth; the fact of the matter is that I don’t know what to do or if now is the time to do “it” anyway.
An expensive piece of paper is sitting in my lap, but that’s not what the world really wants
I could argue that the style of their ways are off, but they’d only read if I used the right font
I’m accustomed to structure, whether time management or APA,
But when I wake up alone in the house I live in, I work on just taking it day by day
I no longer feel secure in the world I’ve walked all these years
It’s ironic to think about the things we push upon one another but never pull for
A broken heart helped me get a degree
The broken lead of a pencil almost failed me
Tears in the dormitory stairway made me a friend
A tissue box placed in front of me; I think she knew I thought it’d never end.
If I could speak to the old me, I’d tell her to accept what she sees
But hollow walls carried her voice, and all I received was the echo of those words
Howling at the moon didn’t solve my problems, and neither did praying they’d just flee.
I’m older now, and the worst thing I face is calling my own name (Amy)
I still hear that forsaken echo.
Maybe moving on is for the best, but there are many a thing I’ve done just that about
The past is meant to be re-lived
only in thought, though.
If you only breathed when you thought it was time, I think we’d all suffocate
We’re never ready for the depth of the meaning of the expensive word “educate”
If I heard that hollow voice again, I’d wonder what she was thinking about now.
Was the piece of paper worth her while? Or will it take more time to figure out?
I’m not mad at the way it goes,
But only if things go my way
I think I’ve spent enough time reflecting
I’ll worry about my future another day.