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This is the crooked little workshop behind the art —
a place for unfinished poems, scattered thoughts,
ink-stained pages, visual art, lyrics, stories, fragments,
and all the strange things still becoming themselves.
Some works found here may one day grow into
finished collections of their own.
Others may remain scraps, sketches, or
wandering little creatures left exactly as they are.
This is where the roots show.
The drafts.
The late-night ideas.
The beautiful mess before the pieces
find where they belong.
So come wander through the malice.
The Malice World
What Thou Dost Negate
O brother mine, with dreams so vast, thou wish’st thy ambitions true; imploring lady luck to paint thy fancied visions into view. Thou speak'st of kingdoms yet unborn, of futures rich and fine, yet ever doth thy chosen road through fields of omens wind. Where cautious souls would halt and turn at banners dyed in red, thou marchest forth with eager smile where wiser minds have fled. The blind man knoweth not the hue of lantern or of flame— thus mercy often leads his steps, for
Malice Blūm
6 days ago2 min read
Teddy
This is Teddy, a previous neighbor’s adorable beagle. His daughter asked if I could draw a picture of her pup, and I couldn’t say no. He was far too sweet a face not to put on paper.
Malice Blūm
7 days ago1 min read
Silver Tongue
O brother mine, with vows so fair, thou speakest with honeyed grace, yet hours pass, and shadows stretch, and still thou dost not show thy face. Thy pledges, like the morning mist, do vanish with the day, and I, with hope still clinging close, am cast once more away. "Anon!" thou speaketh, bold and sure, “Fear not, for I am near!" but naught arrives save silence, cold, and echoes none can hear. Dost thou not see the pain thou cause’st, each time thy word doth fail? each jest
Malice Blūm
7 days ago1 min read
Pride
The soil makes no demands upon the seed, it does not dictate what the seed must breed. It simply holds, and feeds, and lets it go, to find the light it needs to grow. In one quiet corner, a vibrant blend resides, where pink Foxgloves stand along the mountain sides. Their bells softly bob above Violets cradled deep, while blue Lupines sway above where hidden creatures sleep. Three distinct shades, yet woven in one vine, a proud, bisexual tapestry by design. Beside them, patien
Malice Blūm
Jun 82 min read
Horse in Motion
I scribbled this on some notebook paper as a test to show myself I can draw subjects in motion just as I can stationary subjects. It was quite a challenge, but it was much needed and really helped boost my confidence in my artistic abilities.
Malice Blūm
Jun 71 min read
Rediscovered Poetry
The following poems involve self-harm and suicidal ideation. Some readers may find this triggering. Please read with caution. Pain Falling down a deep dark hole, pitch black soup in a rotting bowl. Fingers twitch in reddish mud, dead roses and whithered buds. Spiders crawling up your spine, webs that stick and pull and twine. Needles stuck in red-blue veins, nothing here can stop the pain. Eyes that hide the years and tears, hidden between the lines — my fears. I write both d
Malice Blūm
Jun 72 min read
No
When a mother says 'no', the sky convulses. Oceans climb their shores like beasts while rivers run red with blood. Temples split open. Ancestors weep ash. Entire cultures are swallowed whole by the sound of a woman drawing a line. When a mother says 'no' to proximity to her children, to private words with her children, to hands reaching for her children, the sky weeps while men clutch their chests as though boundaries were bullets. Hearts stop. Nations mourn. The moon abandon
Malice Blūm
Jun 72 min read
Dandelions
(Intro) (Verse 1) To be a dandelion in the sun, a yellow bloom where the wild bees come, soft little wings in the summer breeze, dusting gold through trembling leaves. Roots in the earth but reaching high, a fleeting glow that still defies, the quiet field, the gentle tide— so full of life, but soft inside. (Pre-Chorus) I watched them fall, one by one, golden heads in brazen hands, undone— (Chorus) We were never yours to take, never yours to bruise or break, you can’t control
Malice Blūm
Jun 62 min read
Dandelions
[Trigger Warning] This poem contains metaphoric descriptions of sexual violence and may be distressing for some individuals. To be a dandelion, bright in the sun, a yellow bloom where bees arrive, one by one. Petals sway and hum with the breeze, tiny wings, gold-dusted from the trees. Roots firm in earth, yet reaching for the sky, a fleeting gold that catches every eye. The field hums softly, alive—a gentle tide; each blossom bright, yet fragile at its side. I watch my peers
Malice Blūm
Jun 62 min read
The Bear
They asked me: "Would you choose the man or the bear?" I replied: I chose the kind smile, and it stole my happiness. I chose the gentle voice, and it convinced me I was nothing. I chose the patient hands, and they left me broken and bruised. I chose the comforting presence, and it stole my innocence. So they asked again: "Would you choose the man, or the bear?" I replied: I chose the bear. We wandered through forests in search of honey, and when he was hungry, it wasn't for m
Malice Blūm
Jun 51 min read
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