This poem helped me arrived at its truth through a patient accumulation of attention—to silence, to fire, to the small losses that shape us , that sometimes, acts against wills. I found myself drawn to the image of the flame that bends toward its own becoming, a figure for the person who creates not for recognition but for the sake of the act itself. My recurring mustard field memory functions as a turning point, a moment of grace that the I always carry forward into every subsequent attempt to write. What moves me most is the final declaration: that witnessing is enough, that the poem's purpose is not to capture or preserve but to stand present before what passes. This feels like a necessary truth, one I am still learning to inhabit. The poem resists closure because closure would be a lie—the fire/knowledge, inherent want of prose and poetry is always burning, the silence is always speaking, and the work of the poet is to remain attentive to both, to hold them in the same gaze and call it living.
For context, I became a vtuber fan (specifically for Holostars EN) around 2022-ish and used to have enough time in participating fan-made zines as a writer. Last year, I was losing more time as I figured I need to lock in for college graduation. I am currently participating as a sensitivity reader for one project. I would like to join more projects but HMMMMM. I don't think I'm ready for any mid/long-term commitments.
If you’re a fan of Tedium in digital form, you should know that we’re going to create a physical form. But not just any physical form. Zine form.