Skip to content
nathanael.ink

nathanael.ink

  • Poetry
  • Art
  • Blog
  • Books
  • Contact
  • January 16, 2025

    i went to the gender store

    A pair of pink pants—
    Dad says,
    “Strange, isn’t it?
    Pink once stood for boys
    before it got swapped from some marketing push.”

    I see some sparkly high heels—
    Mom nods,
    “Men wore these first—
    Persian soldiers, French nobility—
    heels meant power, not ‘girliness.’ back then.”

    Further on, a glittering eyeshadow palette—
    Dad taps it and says
    “Powder and rouge
    were symbols of status
    in the 18th century;
    kings and courtiers wore them a lot.”

    We come to a crib—
    Mom’s voice turns soft:
    “Not all women carry children—
    it doesn’t make them any less,
    and even my being a mother
    does not make me any more of a woman.”

    Beyond that were diaper bags marked “For Dads”—
    Dad shrugs:
    “Plenty of men don’t become fathers,
    some fathers have wombs—
    biology isn’t as simple
    as this way or that.”

    They pause and look at me:
    “So… which one are you?” they ask
    I swallow my questions,
    feeling unsure.
    “I am not certain,” I say.
    They smile,
    “Then let’s keep walking! I’m sure you’ll find something.”

    I pass some bright sequined pants,
    Mom remembers,
    “There was a time
    women weren’t allowed to wear pants all—
    but nobody bats an eye at that now.”

    A well-tailored suit catches my eye—
    Dad runs a hand over the fabric:
    “Men often wore fancy skirts, too—
    think of kilts, or robes of old kings.
    Clothes don’t tell us what is inside of a person.”

    They ask me again,
    “So… which one are you then?”
    I look from item to item—
    pink and blue, glitter and denim,
    cribs and caps,
    it’s a swirling centuries of things!

    My answer rises, clearer this time:
    “I don’t want to be either,” I say.
    “Why do I have to decide?”

    Mom and Dad both pause
    and then softly smile
    I hold each of their hands
    and we leave the aisles behind.

  • January 14, 2025

    with regard to losing everything

    i was always going to die
    some people are never born again

    i was always going to lose everything
    think i’m lucky to be alive for it

    you can be born as many times as you want
    without asking anyone

    i was always going to die
    some people are never born again

  • November 28, 2024

    Americans 3:4-12

    4 If anyone thinks they have reasons to be confident in their spiritual accomplishments, I have more:

    5 Baptized as a child and baptized in the Holy Spirit, speaking in tongues; raised in a devoted Christian family, an evangelical among evangelicals; regarding purity, I strictly adhered to purity culture from my youth.

    6 As for passion, I worshiped fervently—lifting my hands, singing and dancing with all my heart without reservation in both private prayer closets and public services. As for prayer, spending daily hours in intercession and communion with God. Regarding knowledge, I regularly read through the full of the Bible and intensely studied apologetics for years upon years. I manifested spiritual gifts—prophesying, healing, and discerning spirits.

    7 In evangelism, I actively shared the gospel, converting people at parties and at work. I participated in mission trips, street evangelism, and community outreach programs. Demonstrating faith in action, I trusted God in all circumstances and shared testimonies of His work in my life.

    8 I was deeply involved in church life—attending every service, joining small groups, serving in various ministries, and submitting to the guidance of pastors and elders. Practicing generosity, I faithfully tithed and gave to charitable causes. As for righteousness based on religious orthopraxy, I was blameless.

    9 But whatever were gains to me, I now consider them loss for the sake of Christ.

    10 Indeed, I count everything as loss because of the surpassing worth of truly knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For His sake, I have let go of all these things and regard them as insignificant, in order to gain Christ

    11 And be found in Him, not having a righteousness of my own derived from following religious rules, but that which comes through faith—the righteousness that comes from genuine understanding and love.

    12 Not that I have already obtained it or have already become perfect, but I press on so that I may lay hold of that for which also I was laid hold of by Christ Jesus. Brethren, I do not regard myself as having laid hold of it yet; but one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and reaching forward to what lies ahead,

    For in Christ, there is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male nor female; for we are all one in Him. [Galatians 3:28]

    Therefore, I seek to imitate Christ in His boundless love—embracing all people without distinction of gender, class, or status. [Ephesians 5:1-2], [John 13:34-35]

    Committed to nonviolent resistance to evil, I strive to overcome hatred with love, injustice with righteousness, and conflict with peace, following the example He set. [Matthew 5:39, 44], [Romans 12:21], [1 Peter 2:21-23]

    If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. [1 Corinthians 13:1]

    Without love, all my achievements are nothing. So now, these three remain: faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love. [1 Corinthians 13:2-3, 13]

    Thus, my true communion with Christ is found in imitating His selfless love for all people and His unwavering commitment to justice through nonviolence. [Ephesians 5:1-2], [Micah 6:8], [Matthew 5:9]

  • November 23, 2024

    11.23.24 [54/100]

    i clasp
    the curve of my back
    i have watered and watered myself
    only to hide what i have grown

    disappear my sex into my soul
    before god split man in two, we were whole

    i have claimed myself o’er and o’er
    i have burned my body up in truth

    the rash of beauty along my body
    was never owed to me
    it betrays the sex of my soul

    i clasp the curve of my back
    to grow old & old and run out of time & strength
    to keeping hiding and hidden
    what has grown


    [art]

  • October 23, 2024

    two hundred and forty dollar walk

    two hundred and forty dollar walk
    i’ll have a new brother by the end of it
    five hundred and ninty nine songs on my discovery playlist
    and not one more
    for almost four years

    i’ll stall and stall until i have something to say
    on a two hundred and forty dollar walk
    i’m heaving
    a fat burrito in my gut
    it will at least be downhill on the way back
    two pistols
    i worry for my own pressing eyes

    right to Grand Blvd
    to the UPS store
    a two hundred and forty dollar walk
    i’ll never hear the end of this
    not one more
    for almost four hundred years
    the Neanderthals looked like us
    that’s where the uncanny valley came from

    someone looks like my brother
    but everything is off enough
    that i know it’s not
    someone looks like my family
    but they hate the immigrant and refugee
    so i know they’re not

  • October 21, 2024

    it’s nights like these that i’m glad i don’t
    own a gun
    there’s a butchers knife in the kitchen
    i heard that elliott smith had to stab himself twice
    to make it last
    i’m not sad enough for that
    i’m sad enough for a gun
    but not two stabs from a butchers knife

    on my birthday i was born
    and every year, to the day, since then
    i’ve wondered why
    i’ve wished upon a star every year, to the day
    since then,
    to not have been

    i’m not two butchers knives
    but i’m a gun, i’m a couple hundred pills
    and if my fingers were electric motors
    i’d drive them through
    but i’m cartilage and bone
    i’m a lonely skull

    i haven’t felt this way in a long time
    i’m two large windows without a single screen
    all i hope
    is to feel this way again
    (i mean, to live long enough, to feel this way again after feeling this way today, tonight, ends)

  • October 7, 2024

    i know we like looking forward to —

    i know we like looking forward to —

    and    what of
    when we don’t?

    a force
    to wonder what is here

    worth living for

    and when we wonder
    what may we find?

    i know we like looking forward to —

    and    what of
    here    may we find?

  • September 17, 2024

    it is a wide door

    it is a wide door
    it must be the city
    lighting the uneven wall on the other side

    we manufactured rain
    my body fakes to be held down
    by fifty pounds of news and paper

    a beachside is remade
    by three blades in a humming oscillation

    i am as awake as you are
    whatever eeks into you
    so eeks into me

    my little pinky finger holding this phone up
    aches
    the spiritual place where everything is
    i know i must be

    does jesus ever go on holiday?

    i wonder if it rains to help him sleep
    and if he made the ocean just for its sound
    was he man enough to get stuck awake
    or always god enough to sleep?

  • September 16, 2024

    Guest 2

    i don’t have
    what you have
    to say

    someday
    i’ll die

    it won’t matter
    what a fool i made
    how i wrote
    to nobody

    but i wrote
    a while
    and died
    how we all die

    the spiritual place i live
    is too big for god
    and you
    and all these kids
    it’s too big
    i want to move

    to a little place
    where all that fits is my hand with a pen
    a little paper
    where i squeeze in words
    and press them out the mail slot
    i’ll know, in a spiritual place like that,
    what meaning is
    and how lovely i am


    Host: Welcome, everyone. Let’s dive into this intriguing poem. It touches on themes of mortality, isolation, and the search for meaning. One line that stands out is “the spiritual place I live is too big for God and you and all these kids; it’s too big; I want to move.” What do you make of the space being “too big”?

    Guest 1: That line immediately brings to mind Rainer Maria Rilke’s exploration of vast inner spaces in “The Duino Elegies.” The poet feels overwhelmed by the enormity of their own spiritual or emotional world—a space so expansive that even God and loved ones don’t fit. It’s a powerful metaphor for existential isolation.

    Guest 2: I see where you’re coming from, but I think that’s giving the poem too much credit. Unlike Rilke, who masterfully navigates complex emotions, this poem feels like a half-baked attempt at profundity. The notion of a space being “too big” for God seems forced and pretentious.

    Guest 3: I disagree. The exaggeration serves to emphasize the speaker’s sense of alienation. It echoes Emily Dickinson’s reclusive tendencies, especially in poems like “The Soul selects her own Society.” The desire to “move to a little place” reflects a craving for simplicity and control over one’s environment.

    Guest 4: I think there’s also a nod to the minimalist ethos of poets like William Carlos Williams. The focus on “a little paper” and “squeezing in words” suggests that meaning is found in the small, tangible aspects of life. The poet wants to distill experience into something manageable.

    Guest 2: But that’s precisely my issue with the poem. It tries to mimic the minimalism of Williams without achieving the same impact. In “The Red Wheelbarrow,” every word carries weight. Here, the language is flat, and the imagery is lackluster. Pressing words out a mail slot? It feels contrived.

    Guest 1: I think you’re being overly harsh. The mail slot could symbolize the limited means through which the poet communicates with the outside world. It’s a poignant image of isolation, similar to the confinement in T.S. Eliot’s “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock,” where the speaker is trapped in his own indecision.

    Guest 3: Yes, and the admission of “writing to nobody” reflects a sense of futility in creative expression, much like Franz Kafka’s struggles with obscurity. Yet, the poet continues to write, which highlights a resilient dedication to their craft.

    Guest 2: Or perhaps it’s just self-indulgent rambling. Unlike Kafka, whose themes of alienation are profound and universally resonant, this poem reads like a personal diary entry that fails to engage the reader.

    Guest 4: I think there’s value in the rawness of the poem. It doesn’t hide behind elaborate metaphors. The straightforward confession “I’ll die… and died as we all die” connects the personal to the universal, reminding me of the stoic acceptance in Philip Larkin’s “Aubade.”

    Guest 2: Larkin’s work is far more nuanced. “Aubade” confronts mortality with elegance and depth. This poem, on the other hand, states the obvious without offering any new insight.

    Guest 1: Not every poem needs to reinvent the wheel. Sometimes, reaffirming common experiences can be powerful. The line “how lovely I am” at the end suggests a journey towards self-acceptance, which is both intimate and relatable.

    Guest 2: It comes across as narcissistic rather than enlightening. Claiming self-loveliness without demonstrating any growth or revelation feels empty.

    Guest 3: Perhaps the poet is critiquing the idea of seeking validation externally. By moving to a “little place,” they find meaning within themselves. It’s akin to Thoreau’s retreat to Walden Pond—seeking simplicity to discover deeper truths.

    Guest 4: That’s a compelling interpretation. The poem could be seen as a modern reflection on self-reliance and introspection, themes prevalent in the works of the Transcendentalists.

    Guest 2: If that’s the case, it lacks the philosophical rigor of Thoreau or Emerson. Their writings inspire contemplation. This poem barely scratches the surface.

    Host: It seems we have a divide in opinions. Let’s consider the poem’s structure and style. Does its simplicity enhance or detract from its message?

    Guest 1: I believe the simplicity enhances it. The unadorned language strips away pretense, much like the poetry of Charles Bukowski. It’s raw and unfiltered.

    Guest 2: Bukowski’s rawness had grit and authenticity. This feels more like a rough draft that needed more time to develop.

    Guest 3: Sometimes, the unpolished nature of a poem can be its strength. It captures a moment in time, a snapshot of the poet’s inner world.

    Guest 2: Or it simply shows a lack of effort. Poetry is an art form that demands precision and care.

    Guest 4: While craftsmanship is important, emotion and honesty are equally vital. The poem conveys a sincere struggle with meaning and existence.

    Guest 2: Sincerity doesn’t automatically equate to quality. Without engaging language or innovative ideas, the poem falls flat.

    Host: Let’s circle back to the concept of the space being “too big.” Do you think this is effectively conveyed?

    Guest 3: I do. It evokes a feeling of being overwhelmed by one’s thoughts and emotions. The vastness is suffocating, which is paradoxical and thought-provoking.

    Guest 1: Agreed. It also touches on the limitations of language to express profound experiences—a theme explored by poets like Rumi.

    Guest 2: Comparing this poem to Rumi is a stretch. Rumi’s work transcends cultural and temporal boundaries with its depth. This poem lacks that universality.

    Guest 4: While it may not reach the heights of Rumi, it offers a personal perspective that can still resonate with readers.

    Guest 2: Perhaps, but for me, it doesn’t. The poem needs more refinement to truly make an impact.

    Host: Thank you all for your candid insights. It’s clear that this poem sparks diverse reactions, which in itself is a testament to the power of poetry to provoke thought and discussion.

  • September 13, 2024

    i know you

    why would i ever share me — with you?
    i know what you say about people like me

    why would i ever let you close — to me?
    i know what you do —

    why would i ever call you — family?
    i know —

Previous Page
1 2 3 4 … 32
Next Page
  • Subscribe Subscribed
    • nathanael.ink
    • Join 73 other subscribers
    • Already have a WordPress.com account? Log in now.
    • nathanael.ink
    • Subscribe Subscribed
    • Sign up
    • Log in
    • Report this content
    • View site in Reader
    • Manage subscriptions
    • Collapse this bar