Madison's Final Submitted Poems
Prior to High School Graduation
April 4, 2023
Madison Kay's Artist Statement.
Artist Statement
As an artist, I value creativity and the freedom to express myself in whatever way I see fit. I find inspiration in the world around me, especially in the people and experiences that have shaped my life and my perspective. I value the power of poetry to connect people and to bring them together in a shared experience that is specific to every person. I believe that art has the power to inspire, and to transform the world around me.
As a poet, I feel my role is to capture the beauty, the horror, the exhaustion, and complexity of life in a way that will resonate with others. I seek to illuminate the human experience in all its light and shadow, to explore the depths of the human heart and soul.
And in doing so, I hope to inspire others to see the world in a new light, to feel more deeply, and to connect more fully with the world around them.
​
My process of creating these poems was to first jot down all of my thoughts that I had during the days. I then listened to music and wrote down things that resonated with me, ideas, concepts, and words that I associated with those songs. After that I just started messing around with some ideas, usually writing the premise of the poem first, then diving deeper. I tend to write the first thing that comes to my head and then slowly edit it from there.
The poems that I wrote all have different premises that I wanted to be able to coexist and share a space. I wanted to make a bunch of contrasting pieces that alternated between light feelings and tones to dark ones. I wanted to show the “ying-yang” of life— the good and the bad. I wanted the contrast to be uncomfortable and uneasy.
​
Many things influenced my work. For my darker works, I mostly draw from personal experiences and my perspective on the world. For the lighter poems I tried to look at the world in a perspective that I used to have. One of a child who only sees the good.
I wanted to have opposites attract for this manuscript. I definitely draw a lot of inspiration from nature and also the idea of childhood and fairy tales.
I am very proud of my work. I only hope people feel the emotion and depth in what I was trying to portray. I hope that people will take away from my poems the complexity of life. I want people to see and to feel the exhaustion that comes from being able to see so many perspectives of the world.
ALL OF MADISON'S POEMS
helpless
how vicious this unkindness is
how cruelly vicious
as you're mourning the day after
whilst i am contending with a past replayed
battling memories of earlier nightmares
i wasn't made for this god awful madness
i wasn't made for this intense melancholy
why did i wake up screaming?
is there nothing more we can do,
to make it stop?
this rough draft of
an indecent aggression
carrying on in this way
could it really be?
i guess it's a sad affair
heartache has put everyone on notice
going from here to there
with no one real around anywhere
an unmeasured mediocrity
with broken parts
an unendurable craziness
by all accounts
it's in no one's hands
time
i’ve seen rundown gods
left with the details of ash
i’ve seen strident freaks
banging against heaven
keeping vigil
yet turning the other cheek
so yes,
perhaps i’m searching for what to say
and i am filling up the time that is left
with fear of what's not there
it's of no use
this is what is
it's only that it's gonna hurt
and i don’t mind the pain
but
don’t worry
i’m not scared
i can’t wait to see
rundown gods
left with the details of ash
trident freaks
banging against heaven
keeping vigil
yet turning the other cheek
(*ANNOTATED TRANSCRIPT - May 1, 2023 (Nicholas Hupton) - "Another powerful extended metaphor. I can only hope there is no literal truth to this poem? Can we talk about it?")
​
The Acts
The first act was a struggle,
As I tried to keep up the facade,
The pain inside was too much to handle,
But I kept performing, acting,
Applaud.
I tried to reach out for help,
But my cries were ignored,
So I hid behind my magic,
And kept my sadness stored.
As the second act began,
My desperation grew,
I felt so lost and alone,
And didn't know what to do.
I tried to make sense of it all,
But the darkness closed in,
And as the audience watched me perform,
I knew I couldn't win.
I started to prepare for the end,
And rehearsed it every night,
For the final act was looming,
I knew I had to get it right.
For the final act, I will disappear,
And end my pain and sorrow,
My final trick will be my last,
And I'll be gone by tomorrow.
The crowd watches in silence,
As I step onto the stage,
My heart is heavy with sadness,
As I take center stage.
I take a deep breath, and begin to speak,
And the audience leans in,
But as I say the final words,
I feel my life start to dim.
And with a wave of my hand,
I disappear from sight,
The crowd is stunned and confused,
As I fade into the night.
(*ANNOTATED TRANSCRIPT - May 1, 2023 (Nicholas Hupton) - "Another powerful extended metaphor. I can only hope there is no literal truth to this poem? Can we talk about it?")
Apocalypse
As the crows circle high,
Foretelling the end of time,
The sky of red and black dye,
A bloodstained hue void of design.
The apocalypse is here,
Its wrath unfurled upon the earth,
The end is nigh, we fear,
And we face the oblivion of our worth.
No more do we stand tall,
No more do we rule the land,
We witness the crumble and fall,
As we're consumed by the apocalypse's hand.
Our blood taints the ground,
As we fight in vain,
Against the end that's found,
And the coming of eternal pain.
With each passing moment,
We slip further into the abyss,
Our fate marked with torment,
As we face the end with no bliss.
The crows scream and screech,
As they feast on death and gore,
Their darkness beyond reach,
A dire omen for us to deplore.
In the end, all fades away,
No trace of what we've been,
And in the silence we lay,
Mere relics of a world that's been.
Autopilot
Days blur together in a routine haze
As I wander through life,
lost in a daze
Trying to find my place, searching high and low
But everything feels distant,
like a faded glow,
A bystander to my own existence,
a show.
Living on autopilot,
feeling dissociated
A life that's muted, yet still so complicated.
Lost in the crowd,
like a stranger, underrated
I yearn to break free, to be seen and
heard
To be more than just a bystander,
a blurred image
in a world where identity's slurred
My true self hidden behind a mask
A jumble of identities,
a daunting task
Looking for a way to belong, to fit in
But the more I try,
the more I spin,
Lost in the chaos, searching for kin
I want to be perceived in a certain way
To be understood, to have something to say
But my identity's vague,
like a dream that won't stay.
Succubus
In the woods so dark and deep
Lies a cottage, one must not sleep
For inside dwells a succubus vile
Her presence is felt for miles and miles
Surrounding her home, mushrooms grow
Fantasy creatures in the shadows below
Their eyes gleam with a wicked glee
As they spin dreams of what might be
But these are not harmless figures of fun
For they are servants of the succubus, every one
Luring in unsuspecting prey
To this den of evil, where they'll stay
Once inside, the victim's fate is sealed
For the succubus's touch cannot be healed
She feeds on their very essence
Their will, their soul, their very presence
And so, the cottage stands alone
A place where darkness has made its home
Beware the mushrooms and heed this call
Stay away, or risk losing it all.
Mother Rabbit
Mother rabbits eat their young
When they sense danger
Or when they cannot provide
For their litter anymore.
My mother didn't eat me
In the literal sense
But she consumed me
In other ways.
She devoured my dreams
Tore apart my aspirations
And chewed on my self-worth
Until there was nothing left.
She feasted on my potential
Until it was just a memory
And swallowed my confidence
Leaving me empty.
I was once her precious creation
But now I am just a shell,
A hollow carcass of who I could have been
All because she couldn't handle the responsibility.
Like the mother rabbit,
She saw me as a threat
To her own security and comfort
So she devoured me whole.
The wounds still remain
Raw and bleeding, never quite healing
The pain lingers on, a constant reminder
Of what was lost, of what was taken away.
And though I try to move on
To let go of the hurt and the anger,
The memories of her devouring me
Haunt me still, in the darkest hours of the night.
For even though I have rebuilt myself
And forged a new path, a new life,
The scars of her consumption remain
A testament to the sorrow and the loss.
So I mourn the person I could have been
The life that could have been mine,
And I grieve for the mother who devoured me
Leaving nothing but sadness and regret behind.
Shipwreck
Life is a shipwreck,
and we are the hapless sailors lost at sea.
Our dreams, once hopeful beacons,
now lead us astray into treacherous waters.
The storms of adversity batter us relentlessly,
tearing our sails and drowning our spirits.
The reefs of challenges puncture our hull,
leaving us adrift and broken.
With each passing day, our will to persevere diminishes,
as we succumb to the weight of despair.
The stars above, once guiding lights,
mock us with their distant, indifferent gaze.
Our journey becomes a futile struggle,
devoid of purpose and meaning.
Siren’s Song
​
Amidst the rocks,
the siren sings her song.
A haunting melody that fills the air,
her voice,
a lure that draws the ships along.
Her beauty,
fierce and wild,
can do no wrong.
A temptress in the depths beyond compare,
amidst the rocks,
the siren sings her song.
Her hair,
a tangled web,
where seagulls throng.
Her eyes,
a sea of blue,
beyond compare.
Her voice,
a lure that draws the ships along.
Her song,
a mournful cry,
both sweet and strong.
A melody that sailors cannot bear,
amidst the rocks,
the siren sings her song.
Her heart,
a fathomless abyss,
so long.
A love that cannot be,
nor can repair.
Her voice,
a lure that draws the ships along.
The sailors' fate,
to crash upon the throng,
to meet their end amidst her deadly lair.
Amidst the rocks,
the siren sings her song.
Her voice, a lure that draws the ships along.
HELPLESS POEM! Artist Statement GOOD/BAD
For the child, it is a helpless descent into being controlled by the alienating parent and to safeguard their own mental health, psychological splitting into alienating parent good and rejected parent bad follows. From there, the enmeshed and distorted negative feedback loop is complete, the alienating parent’s mental health issues are stayed for the time being and ‘peace’ such as it is for the child, reigns.
The problem of course comes when the rejected parent knocks at the door. FAMILY SECRETS!
The problem of course comes when the rejected parent knocks at the door. This is viewed by the alienating parent as a huge and often overwhelming breach of ‘the rules’ these being that no-one but no-one interferes in the world of the alienating parent and anyone who dares to try is seen as the enemy. When the fused and enmeshed dyadic relationship of alienating parent and child is thus disturbed, the child is put out to defend the coalition. It is then when the child will display the eight signs of alienation, often in text book terms and by this stage almost always completely unconsciously.
​​​​
The fight over whether the issue even exists as a problem for children, has become mired in false claims, personal and professional attacks on anyone who does this work and vicious campaigns designed to obscure the reality of what is happening to children’s relational health in divorce.​
COMMENTS on Everyday Trauma GRIEVING - MOTHER RABBITT
Nov. 11, 2019
“Which means that our work is focused where the reality lies and where reality lies, new insights are made possible.
This everyday trauma, this drama of the alienated child is the next child abuse scandal to come to light in the western world.
Suffering little children, who as adults still do, will have their day.”
Only by recognizing and fulfilling the NEED to GRIEVE the life the alienated child deserved and should have had will HEALING the SCARS begin.