Rumble, young man, rumble.
Dig deep into the soil and climb
every tree, every obstacle and knock
down the opportunities that you thought
were owed to you, but then you
realized that nothing is owed
so you make it on your own.
Keep rumbling down the
mountain side, through
the cityscape and
past into the
night.

Alex Dang!

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Fractured mirrors forced
into naive knuckles.

Portrait Of An Artist At Age 16 by Alex Dang!

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Haaaaave you met TEDxUOregon?

Hey y’all! I get to do a TEDx talk at my school which I’m pretty stoked about. If you happen to be in the area, stop on by! If not, keep your ear to the internets and watch out for the video being posted on the YouTube. Things are happening.


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There are yawns tucked into
every corner of my body.
I have naps lodged
like bookmarks
and alarm clocks
adorn the lank of my neck.
Some days, I can feel the
drowse slowly roll out
foggy from the back of my throat.

This snow resting
on my bones makes
for shorter springs.

Alex Dang!

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Kick your feet up. You deserve it.
That cubicle you’ve spent 9 hours in today?
Not a prison. Make that bitch your own haven.
This is your tiny kingdom and you rule like
the royalty you know courses through your veins.
Kick your feet up. You earned it.
The library you’ve poured 3 days into?
An asylum? Never. This is the last bastion
in which you are gifted with the sacred scriptures
and only you can interpret them. That essay
is living proof that minds cut sharper than swords.
Kick your feet up. You did it.
Become the stretched leg, relax champion
of your bedroom, of your city.
Take a breather. You’ve been working
so hard. Then grin and look at your
hands. You’ve got so much more you want
to accomplish, don’t you?

Alex Dang!

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Anonymous asked:
Do you currently have a girlfriend/boyfriend/comfy person?

A girlfriend/the comfiest person in the world!


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Anonymous asked:
1. I still love reading your bits of poetry 2. I still love watching your videos because your writing and voice are inspiring 3. How do you think metaphors and fantasy become reality? 4. What things make your heart sing? 5. What do you think of people who can only write poetry by rhyming? (Like me) 6. What subject when you're writing writing, to you has the most meaning? Side note: I think you're a cutie, sorry that's a little embarrassing

1.) i’m glad you’re liking the little bits I’m posting! I am writing longer pieces, I promise! They just take longer to write and college is so time consuming!

2.) Hopefully I’ll be able to film a few more poems! I’ve got some ideas.

3.) I kind of think there’s a middle ground between the two that you never realize. Obviously it’s a little impossible for metaphors to come to life but then again, I don’t think there’s a total reality. There’s always something transcendent about existence.

4.) I have a lot of people in my life that enrich it so much. I owe an immense amount to the ones that are dear to me.

Although spending time with Clementine this weekend was phenomenal. She really has been such a supportive person in my life and truly someone I’m inseparable to. She makes my heart do a lot of fancy things.

5.) I don’t think there is a wrong way to write! I used to be the exact same way (started with my wiggity raps) but no growth can really happen inside your comfort zone. So when I started challenging myself and tried something new, I found something I liked even more. You might want to try it and see what will happen!

6.) Well, of course about the things that have happened to me personally. Most of my poetry (if not all) stems from an individual place, and I never go into writing thinking “This is going to change everybody’s perspective.” It often is just my way of processing my own feelings. It just so happens that people feel like me sometimes. That’s why I write poetry: every individual story has equal weight to anyone else’s. You could be anyone and write.

Side note: Oh shucks! 


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There’s that old saying,
If a tree falls down in the forest,
and nobody is there to hear it,
does it make a sound?
While scientifically we know it will,
I like this thought for myself.
If I do something incredible
and none of my loved ones are
there to share it with me, is it
still an amazing moment?

Alex Dang!

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Some of us are born electricians
with circuit board minds, a handle
and deft precision of slim copper wiring.
They understand the ebb and flow of
currents. While a lot of us,
we are the electricity.

Alex Dang!

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I opened up Stop Being Such A Pussy
and what spilled out was a treasure chest
of insecurities, of wanting too much to play
jump rope in 5th grade, of not understanding
what makes a man and what makes a woman
goes further than the shallow puddle stereotypes.
I opened up my closet and saw nothing but
uniforms fit for a scholar, a traveler, a bard.
I opened up my stomach and out flew
butterflies and moths the size of moon pies.
I opened up my heart and you curled deeper
and nuzzled your head against mine, asking me
to close the curtains and stay in bed a little longer.

Alex Dang!

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We live for a few words in our lives.
Stay with me.
Forever is not enough.
I promise, promise. promise.

Alex Dang!

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I’ve tried desperation: not a pretty color on me.
Everything I touched was left with a streak of grease.
My palms slippery with bargaining and filled with sweet nothings.
Resolve fit better but sometimes it was too stiff;
Starched, rigid, it felt like armor and at times like walls skyscraping,
it became colder. Winds get bitter the taller you are.
Hunger has been my favorite though.
I’ve been leaving behind teethmarks.

Alex Dang!

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You never named me.
Victor, you never gave me
what little humanity
every person is owed.

I understand there are abominations
and monstrosities that should be forgotten and
erased from history but
even hurricanes have names.

excerpt from “Open Letter From Frankenstein’s Monster To Victor Frankenstein” by Alex Dang!

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