Poeaxtry's Prism

Spell. Stone. & Sparks that Ignite Change

Author: poeaxtry_

  • “The Men Who Are Trans” A Poetic Tribute to Trans Masculine Love and Softness💉

    “The Men Who Are Trans” A Poetic Tribute to Trans Masculine Love and Softness💉

    Original Poem by: Axton N. O. Mitchell

    Thank the goddess for men who are
    trans, 
    who will show you exactly how to treat a
    lady.

    The trans men who use their experience
    to fuel the love, they show to you.
    The ones who love just getting to know
    you. 

    Thank the goddess for the men who are
    trans,
    who know what it is like to be hurt at the
    hands of a man who is supposed to love 
    you;

    They use that to dictate everything they
    do involving you. 
    Their own secret map showing exactly
    the way not to love you. 

    Thank the goddess for the men who are
    trans, 
    The ones who really just yearn to hold
    your hand. 

    The simps who brood over you while
    staring at the moon. 
    They forget to text you 
    back while writing verses 
    about their favorite muse
    you.

    Thank the goddess for the men who are trans 
    who have nothing 
    but softness in them
    even though the world rarely 
    shows them in return.   

    Honest footprints are welcome across this page, what did you feel or think?

    links

  • What Topics Do You Like to Discuss? — A Deep Dive Beyond Small Talk

    What Topics Do You Like to Discuss? — A Deep Dive Beyond Small Talk

    What topics do you like to discuss?

    I don’t really enjoy small talk with random people or online. I mean a hi how goes, it is fine. Still, I’d much rather talk to you about the moon, the stars, maybe even Mars.

    Do you think people used to live there, on Mars that is!? Talk to me about religion without forcing it on me. Let’s stand on different beliefs and still be respectful and cool. Can you tell me about the last thing you did that made you feel alive?

    Can we talk about the rights of minorities? How transgender people totally deserve human rights? What was the last thing you came to create? What art do you do?

    I’d love to talk in depth about anything with a deeper meaning. Why do you think we stopped exploring the Ocean and switched to outer space? Isn’t that crazy since the ocean is here and space is out there? Aliens do you believe in them? Do you think we could be aliens? I mean I guess we’re to them.

    Tell me what makes you happy. Tell me your plans for the future. Who or what would you like to be? Let’s discuss our poetry. We could collaborate if you’d like. Artists, what’s your favorite medium. Creatives of every kind, what’s your muse?

    I really could discuss almost anything with anyone as long as they aren’t mean for no reason. If you ever wanna chat, you all know where I am at.

    links

  • Living by “They Tried to Bury Us. They Didn’t Know We Were Seeds” — A Proverb of Resilience.

    Living by “They Tried to Bury Us. They Didn’t Know We Were Seeds” — A Proverb of Resilience.

    Do you have a quote you live your life by or think of often?

    “They tried to bury us. They didn’t know we were seeds.”- a Mexican Proverb.

    I live by this quote because it speaks to the core of how I’ve survived, how I’ve become. I’ve been buried in silence, shame, grief, and rejection. As a trans man, I’ve felt the weight of people trying to erase me. As a creator and as a human being who has known deep loss and deep injustice, I’ve felt small. But this quote reminds me that the soil they thought would smother me became the ground I rooted into.

    Being buried isn’t the end. It’s the start of a transformation they never expected.

    Every painful experience, every time I was dismissed, doubted, or devalued became fuel for something greater. I took that darkness and grew from it. I let it teach me. And through that growth, I’ve found strength that’s quiet, steady, and impossible to fake.

    This quote is also about defiance. It’s about being told I wouldn’t make anything of myself, and deciding to blossom anyway. It reminds me that even when the world tries to erase people like me, our stories don’t just survive. They thrive. Our existence pushes through concrete. Our art blooms in places no one watered. Our lives are proof that growth is still possible in the harshest conditions.

    So when I say I live by this quote, I mean it. I carry it like a seed in my chest, germinating every time I speak, create, or simply exist without apology.

    Much love ❤️

    Axton N. O. Mitchell

    Poeaxtry_

    Add your brushstroke- highlight or smudge.

    links

  • A Beginner’s Guide to Witchcraft: Tools, Types, and Grounding Rituals

    A Beginner’s Guide to Witchcraft: Tools, Types, and Grounding Rituals

    Introductory guide to Witchcraft.

    Your grounding guide for the curious learner, the new witch, and the wild-hearted human.

    Popular Types of Witchcraft:

    📗 Green Witch:
    Focuses on plants, herbs, and nature-based energy. Earth Magic, healing, and growing things with intention.

    ✨Hedge Witchcraft:
    Spirit work, intuition, and journeying beyond the veil. Often solitary & rooted in ancestral magic.

    🥄Kitchen Witchcraft:
    Magic happens in daily life. This can look like tea spells or bread rituals. It involves using specific herbs and stirring intention into meals, etc. The hearth is the altar.

    🌌Chaos Magic:
    The tool is your belief, less about traditions & more about results, highly adaptable & intuitive. Experimental, individualistic practice.

    🌟Eclectic Witchcraft:
    No strict rules, pulls from many paths and systems, personal, and fluid. Think if it works, work it.

    🕷Wicca:
    Modern Pagan religion, has deities, ritual structure, and seasonal celebrations. Not all witches are wiccan.

    ✍Traditional witchcraft:
    Rooted in old folk practices. often ancestral, regional, and passed through knowledge.

    🔮Divination Focused Witchcraft:
    Uses tarot, runes, pendulums, and other tools to access insight and hidden knowledge.

    💧Elemental Witchcraft:
    Works directly with the elements. Earth Air Fire Water Spirit as living forces.


    🔨Common Tools & Their uses.

    Wand: Used for channeling energy and directing it during rituals.

    Cauldron: A vessel for burning incense, herbs, and other materials, and also for brewing potions and activating spells.

    Pentacle: A disc representing a star, often used in rituals for protection and consecration.

    Chalices: A stemmed cup for holding liquids like water, wine, or cider, used during rituals.

    Athame: A ceremonial knife, usually with a black handle, used for ritual purposes like directing energy and creating sacred spaces.

    Boline: A knife, typically with a curved blade, used for harvesting herbs and other cutting-related tasks.

    Kirfane: A knife, often with a white handle, used for inscribing candles or cutting ritual cords.

    Book of Shadows: A personal record of spells, rituals, and other important information.

    Altar: A sacred space where rituals, offerings, and other magical work are performed.

    Broom (Besom): Used to sweep and clear areas before rituals, both physically and energetically.

    Candles: Used for various purposes, including spell work, focusing intention, and illuminating sacred spaces.

    Salt: A purifying and protective substance, often used in cleansing rituals and spell work.

    Crystals: Used for their energetic properties and healing qualities.

    Mirrors: Can be used for divination (scrying) and other purposes.

    Bells: Used to ward off negative energy and unwanted spirits.

    Mortar & Pestle: Used to grind herbs and magical ingredients; blends the practical and the sacred

    Herbs: Core to most craft. burned, brewed, buried, or scattered for purpose.

    Censer: used to dispense incense

    🔊Preparing Mindset & Space for Spell work:

    1. Clean your space & clear the air. Physically tidy up, burn herbs, open windows, clap in corners, and move stagnant energy. Can use tools like bells, chimes etc.

    2. Get Grounded. Touch Earth, skin to skin. Breathe deep, hold a stone, anchor into your body and Earth.

    3. Set intention. Out loud (important) Speak what you are here to do with conviction. let your voice make it real.

    4. Gather tools not with expense but with meaning. Use what resonates with you, a matchstick with your energy is much more magical than some expensive wand.

    5. Cleanse your tools. Smoke, Salt, Moonlight, Sound, and even water not to purify but to charge and align.

    6. Hydrate & nourish. Don’t cast on empty, water and food keep your energy stable. make sure your filled up with your drink nearby.

    7. Sobriety Matters. Be clear-headed unless altered states are intentional and sacred. Clarity helps you channel, see more clearly, and keep safe. Presence = Power. Medicines from doctors and Marijuana not included.

    8.Shun the self-doubt. Believe in your work. You can envision yourself getting somewhere. Act, think, and live in the headspace that you are there. Skepticism in a spell at any point weakens it. If you aren’t 10000% sure don’t do the working yet.

    9. Again, see the goal as already being received. Never cast from a place of lack. Feel the results like they are in your bones.

    10. Cast your Salt Circle. Gather any kind of salt like black, pink, sea, or Mortin. Stand where you want your working to happen. Just breathe. Pour salt in a full circle around you clockwise. Speak aloud or think protective words. Encompass yourself in a mass of white light if you know how. If not, we will visit this soon. If you can’t do the bonus step above, that’s fine. But this one you need to master before doing spells. Visualize the light sealing the circle as you complete it. If you need to leave, make a door and reclose the door when reentering. See memo below list on steps to open a door.

    11. Setting intentions and starting your spell work. Light candles, speak clearly, move slowly. MEAN EVERY WORD. You aren’t simply asking you are shifting reality.


    OH NO I HAVE TO TAKE A PEE WHAT EVER WILL I DO?

    Pause Cut a Door, imagine unzipping or parting the circle where you plan to exit.
    use your hand wand or athame and say: “I open this doorway with respect I shall return in Peace.”

    Now step through the gap slowly and mindfully.

    After you return and step back through the gap in the circle, retrace the salt line at the gap. Say “The circle is whole once more.” Then say, “My work continues protected.”

    When all the work is done:
    Thank Spirits, energies, and or guides.
    Sweep or dissolve the circle counterclockwise and say, “The circle is open, but never broken. May the work be sealed in truth.”
    Dispose of salt responsibly and respectfully. Never scatter in grass as it dehydrates and ruins Mother Earth. Rinse it away using water if possible.


    If you have any questions, I have a contact page. It has every place you’ll ever find me. Alternatively, you can email me at poeaxtry@gmail.com

    link



    Much Love and good luck practicing,
    Axton N. O. Mitchell
    poeaxtry_

  • He Raped Me on Christmas: A Journal Entry from Age 12

    He Raped Me on Christmas: A Journal Entry from Age 12

    Journal entry number 1

    The moment I started writing for survival is not one that would be difficult to pinpoint, especially if you know my story well.
    I’m not sure if I can even claim that story as my own. It was always more Arielle’s to tell; the kid experienced the hell of living through it.
    It is simply a memory we share. I no longer carry the trauma it produced.

    Let me paint you a picture: I was in 7th grade, around the age of twelve, a straight A student who loved
    sports, reading, chorus, and writing both short stories and poetry. I had just started hearing the murmurs in the halls, that boy this and this boy that. I had to hold my metaphorical vomit back. When did this happen? We want to ogle all the boys, since when? Not I, and then I realized my best friend and her thighs. This is not normal, and I am already weird so we can just pretend, go along with the boy trend. Fast Foward 7th grade Christmas break. This is the last place for you to turn around before the moment that changed me, and my reasoning for creating art through words.

    Okay one of us is at least still here…
    I had to go to the house of my enemy for most of the break. I remember feeling defeated. My mom could not stop
    the judge from sending me to what I mistakenly thought was the worst possible layer of hell. A bitch for a father who leaves me on porches for days and days, each weekend, each year (check out my poem still) or just lies to my face either way he’s more than know for abandoning me. Jake the fucking snake. Or the stepmom straight out of R.L. Stein. But they were not even close to the worst, and I would soon learn. I packed my bags and headed to Jakes apartment for what was supposed to be a few weeks visit.

    For once I really wish my evil stepmother was there this night and he had just lied about their goodbyes.
    We went to Uncle Heath’s the evil stepmother’s brother and somehow snake’s best friend. He had a wife, a bug infested house, and a bunch of dirt covered kids. The worst thing in the house was not there because of him. Enter the devil himself at just 17 with teeth sticking horizontally out of the vile thing known as his mouth.
    He’d touch me under the table with his toes through my pants in the kitchen, while his mom bragged about his large member claiming it put her husbands to shame. I tried and tried to tell, pinch me with his toes until i was quiet from fear. Would hold me down as soon as the adults left out of there. He would touch me all over under my clothes, always stopping before “taking it too far” as if he hadn’t already with a child my age, as an almost man.

    I wish I could say that was the end. I begged and begged every time to not have to go to Heath’s but hadn’t told on him. He’d growl at me and threaten to end what life I did have. Jake was usually pretty smart on the pervy way some guy’s minds work…I wonder why. anyway, he’d always tell the devil no when he would ask to stay the night with me. Until that Christmas Eve. The Devil asked and my fucking “dad” said yes knowing it was only us two and now three so my brothers wouldn’t be there to hear anything. My dad got us to his apartment building told devil man to stay in the living room and to leave me be. Jake the snake was always good at one thing sleeping. The devi snuck in and raped me in my brother’s race car bed. I didn’t think it would ever end, he slapped me around, threatened my mother, and left out the door. Although I watched him get up, I never stopped feeling his weight crushing me.

    I waited up all night for Jake to awake, and when I told him what happened He slapped me in the face, called me a whore, sent me out the door to the stoop to wait for my mom. This was Christmas day in 7th grade. I sat on the porch while it snowed and couldn’t shed a tear with my Christmas presents in piles unopened laying on the ground. For years I wish I had never said a thing. I told my mom at the age of 19. As sad as it is to say the reaction she had, the emotions, the pain finally told me everything. To my dad I never meant anything. My mom went after him of course. He lied and said I never told him, and pretended he was going to press charges all those years later, and still never did. Still closer to the man who raped his daughter than he ever was to her.

    This story gets a happy ending finally.
    The devil went back to hell where he should have always stayed.
    And my brother thinks he’s a good man, and wonders why I don’t talk to any of them.

    Thank you Mr. Matthew Mitchell. I sure hope you do better to protect your daughters than supporting the likes of a rapist even in death. To circle back around I started writing to escape the vicious rape at the hands of an almost adult, who was introduced to me as my cousin. This need to escape through writing grew as did I. While the size of the things I was writing to hide from began to shrink. I may be passed a lot of feelings this used to stir but I’ll still piss on this man’s grave.

    Much Love Forever to everyone but my father,
    Axton N. O. Mitchell
    @Poeaxtry_

    Links journal

  • The Spill: Letters from Poeaxtry, Vol. 1: Raw Trans Poetry & Survivor Stories on Trauma & Healing

    The Spill: Letters from Poeaxtry, Vol. 1: Raw Trans Poetry & Survivor Stories on Trauma & Healing


    Vol. 1-April 30th, 2025

    Welcome to Poeaxtry’s Poetry Prism. This is the beginning of our very first newsletter!
    No not the shiny corporate kind, think raw, real, and always a bit chaotic kind. This is the
    section where I will spill thoughts that don’t quite fit into boxes, update you on projects,
    a bunch of behind-the-scenes rambling, giveaways, and maybe I will even spill the tea.

    Thank you for being here, with me, in this moment, wherever you are. Maybe you found
    me from discord, perhaps you stumbled off the gram, or maybe you even wandered here by
    accident wondering where you were going the whole way. Whatever the case maybe I am genuinely
    glad to have you here. Please stay as long as you’d like.

    This newsletter will be an array of mixed and matched things, sprinkled together, including and not limited
    to part:
    blog, confession booth, love letter to the misfits, and always chaotically honest. I won’t schedule these posts
    and they won’t be algorithm polished perfection. They will just be real, honest, and exactly what you should come
    to expect from me, if you do not already

    Expect:
    -Project Updates
    -Themed prompts
    -Poetry that doesn’t always make the main stage, maybe it isn’t sitting quite right with me
    -Notes on grief, gender, politics, that fight to stay soft, and other items I find relevant.
    -You’ll probably get some rants here (by probably I mean definitely), reflections, and freebies here and there.
    -Any new info and details on everything Poeaxtry’s Poetry Prism will be here

    This is a space for survivors and storyteller, for the messy and the magnificent.
    The wonderers and the wandering not all of us are lost you know.
    The women who felt more like Alice than the princess and
    the guys who would have liked to be the beauty sometimes too.


    A quick heads up:
    This site is rated R. Not for shock value but, because real life isn’t censored.
    I speak about a lot of triggering topics, and that is your warning. The topics include but, are not
    limited to general trauma, sexual assault, mental illness, domestic violence, drug abuse, parental abuse, sex,
    body parts, needles, grief, death, sexuality, queerness, minority status, poverty, discrimination, hate crimes,
    murder, disabilities, politics, morality, anti-Christianity, deconstructing Christianity, conspiracy theories, curse words, acts of kindness,
    taking back slurs, self-harm, suicide, suicidal ideation, women’s suffrage, afab things, menstruating, childbirth, resistance, anti-government, estrangement, abandonment, transphobia, dysphoria, homophobia, biphobia, racism, medical trauma, chronic illness, consent violation, toxic relationships, religious trauma, witchcraft, eating disorders, body image issues, systematic violence, state-sanctioned harm, blood, medical procedures, surgery mentions, genocide, war, global injustice, capitalism burnout, financial instability and many more. Sometimes this can get gritty, other times it feels intimate, but it is always mine.

    If you are still here reading thank you.
    I appreciate you!
    It seems like you may belong here too.
    subscribe if you would like to keep walking this path together, or don’t
    I will still be here, writing like the wind forgot its name.

    This is where the wild things write. Where silence softens.
    Where stories spill.

    See you next post.
    Much love always,
    Axton N. O. Mitchell

    Links journal hike

  • “Signs Unseen” A Poem on Regret, Karma & Gaslighting

    “Signs Unseen” A Poem on Regret, Karma & Gaslighting

    Original poem by Axton N. O. Mitchell

    If I would have seen the signs, 
    we wouldn’t be here now.
    And you can fill your friends 
    with all your stupid lies.

    I’ll never care what anyone says 
    especially them.
    We never got along much anyway,
    I’d pay to see the day they actually 
    had one smart thing to articulate. 

    Your family is just the same,
    believing I am to blame.? 
    When they actually know you 
    Just goes to show you …
    They never pay attention.
    Anyway,

    Maybe this is my debt to pay. 
    Karma collected on her bill 
    from so long ago.
    Finally, 

    they always tell you there 
    will be hell to pay.
    Leaving out it comes after 
    you have long since forgotten…
    you even owe her something. 

    But if I would have seen the signs we wouldn’t be here today. 
    I’m not the one to typically play 
    along, but you had me from the
    beginning.
    They all knew I wasn’t winning
    this one.

    And I thought you were the 
    one.
    I guess your friends aren’t alone 
    when it comes to following 
    your line of lies.
    As if they have the answers to 
    life.

    But 
    If I would have seen the signs, we 
    wouldn’t be here today. 

    🖤Tell me where it breathes, or where it falters.

    Links poem

  • United in Difference. A Poem on Trans Rights, T Shots & American Hypocrisy

    United in Difference. A Poem on Trans Rights, T Shots & American Hypocrisy

    Original poem by Axton N.O. Mitchell

    Is he on that 
    Vitamin T 
    A vial that used to be so 

         V

            I

              T 

                A 

                    L

    To my very existence 
    now I have to pretend like 
    never meant a thing to me. 
    This is bordering obscene.
    Obsessing over what is
    in-between the back 
    and the front of my 

         J

           E

              A

                  N

                      S 

    Yet I’m the one who has perversions. 
    simply for saying
    “Hey this is me.”
    Or 
    “Hey, let queers be.”
    I may forget time
    and time again

    A shot or
    A few  
    From the vial 
    Of vital fluid
    But…
    I’m not sorry
    I finally feel kin 
    To this temporary 

    S

       K

          I

            N

                 That I was forced to make a home in. 
    That does not mean I
    would consent 
    lie down or conform 
    to allow anyone of you 
    to take my T away

      A

      S

            If  

    It is not the one thing to thank
    that 
     I have this life 
    the very 

    R

    E

    A

    S

    O

    N
    I lived it as many 
    times around the sun 
    as I have done. 
    Should you not be glad? 
    Within this very skin prison 
    I have made a better home 
    more fit for me. 
    Do you not 

       S 

       E

    ME?

    Mr. president 
    Mr. chairman 
    Mr. big government USA 
    I should not have to beg
    to have the rights of 
    all citizens of 
    this land!

    Since when did 
    every American 
    voice
    not have a say?

    This isn’t what 
    children 
    are forced to learn 
    Or close to what you 
    want to teach …
    Said Americans were fair. 
    The USA believes in human rights….
    Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness for all…..
    Does all not mean a 

    D

    A

    M

    N
    thing?

    If you are not exactly the same?
    I guess you all
    think I am to blame…
    This is simply a choice of 
    hiding who you are 
    forever 
    or 

    living happily. 
    Making queer identities 
    criminal 
    changes one thing
    he ability of some to see
    queer identities still exist,
    naturally… 
    We will 

           A

              L

                 W

                    A

                        Y 

                          S
    be. 
    I want a chance to be me. 
    Not a soul would lose a thing
    human rights for 
    every being 
    will 
    see we all have the 
    same 
    start equally. 

     

    Letting us all be, how 
    We wish to be
    Logically,
    will ensure you 
    never hear another 
    minuscule morsel 
    of queer anything 
    If you’d just let us, be 
    queer instead of living in 
    fear. 

    Would be no sense 
    In being so loud in our difference 
    If our ability to coexist 
    wasn’t so close to
    snatched away from us. 

    This you have to trust 
    You will not 
    detransition us. 
    Death before forced 
    erasure 
    of queer identities. 
    Not a cry for help 
    a battle cry instead 
    for my minority 
    communities.

    Let us band together.
    Now or never
    in an unprecedented movement 
    of equal rights 
    for one another! 

    🖤

    Every poem listens back.

    Add your thread to the weave.

    Links poem

  • Have You Ever Been Camping? | Queer Camping Stories & Great Lakes Adventures

    Have You Ever Been Camping? | Queer Camping Stories & Great Lakes Adventures

    Have you ever been camping?

    Camping is one of my main loves in life. It was one of the first things as an adolescent that I realized I truly enjoyed. My cousins from North Carolina would come up each summer to stay a few weeks with our grandma and grandpa. during this time pap would set up the tent and allow us to camp in the yard in-between their house and ours. No adult supervision (so we thought). We would roast marshmallows for s’mores and tell childish scary stories. The scary stories were always a part I enjoyed because my cousins were rather sheltered and easily scared.

    Through high school I would camp across the highway at the river front with friends. We would always have rotations of marijuana in joints, blunts, bowls, and other various smoking devices. You know we obviously also had our share of alcohol, and underage river front fires. How we didn’t get busted one time I still don’t understand.

    I eventually took my siblings and their friends to their first Ohio river waterfront camping night. I don’t know if they continued going and kept with the tradition or if it was a one off. However, 2 nineteen-year-old baby adults and at least 6 thirteen year olds camping was probably the least fun, most sober camping trip I ever had.

    I also just recently crossed a camping trip off my bucket list and a few hikes. My partner and I camped on Lake Superior last June. It was to die for. The views, the semiprecious stones, the water, and just the relaxing atmosphere Munising, Michigan has to offer is undeniable.

    This summer I plan to add a few more camping trips to different Great Lakes. I do know for sure Ontario is mid June so be on the lookout for that. I hope y’all find something you love as much as I do camping, it’s freeing.

    🖤What do you think about camping? Best and worst memories?
    Link.

  • When Do You Feel Most Productive?

    When Do You Feel Most Productive?

    When do you feel most productive?

    I feel the most productive when I push myself to send emails to publishers and lit magazines. It’s one of the hardest parts of being a poet if you ask me. Followed closely by editing and pruning your own work because let’s face it most of us are perfectionists and nothing is ever quite perfect.

    What do you think you’re most productive? What’s the hardest part for you?

    I thought about this all last night and wanted to add that; as a child my mom used to encourage me to at least make my bed even if nothing else happened or got done that day, so at least I could say I was productive. I think that’s some sound advice, especially for a kid who ended-up growing up into an anxious, depressed adult.
    link.