Poeaxtry's Prism

Spell. Stone. & Sparks that Ignite Change

Author: poeaxtry_

  • “The Little Girl Inside Me” A Poem on Self-Discovery and Acceptance

    “The Little Girl Inside Me” A Poem on Self-Discovery and Acceptance

    Axton Mitchell age 5 preschool photos 1996 the little girl inside me a poem on self-discipline and acceptance
    Axton Mitchell age 5 pre school

    Best-For:

    Gender nonconforming individuals navigating gender identity or transitions, people engaged in inner-child healing, and readers of contemporary confessional poetry who value lgbtq+ narratives on self-awareness and personal evolution.

    The-Vault:

    • The-Top-Shelf: A metaphor for reaching adulthood and the high vantage point of self-actualization.
    • The-Key: Representing the name and identity that finally fits the lock of the soul.
    • The-Equation: The mathematical necessity of adding my true name, Axton, to find the correct sum of self.
    • Split-in-Two: The internal fracture caused by denying one’s true nature to satisfy societal expectations.
    • A-Real-Boy: A heavy literary and personal nod to the finality and truth of my transgender identity.

    I wrote this piece as a direct bridge between the past and the present. It serves as a vulnerable dialogue with my younger self, Arielle. This poem takes a swing at acknowledging the weight of the lessons learned while navigating the road to becoming Axton.

    It is about the clarity that comes with self-awareness and the profound shift of finally standing in my own truth. It is an exploration of identity and the liberation found when the equation of “I” finally adds up.

    “The Little Girl Inside Me”


    An Original Poem by: Axton N.O. Mithcell

    Dear younger self, you grew up enough to reach the top-shelf. 

    The road there was laden with hard lessons,
    you will wish you got at least one more try at a few,

    or more.

    To settle the score. 


    Kiss mom before and after school, 
    the day will come she’s no longer there, physically.

    You will miss the tedious “annoying” things she did out of love.

    Arielle don’t worry about making guys you don’t have interest in

    grow fond of you…

    This will save you a mess or two. 

    You don’t know who you are, don’t go wondering too far,
    down the road of life without any sense ….

    self-awareness is needed for 
    you see the other side of me.


    Arielle, the realization that comes with, Axton will fit like a key. 

    It’s quite humorous, that’s not a name we are used to anymore. When you look inside you
    at the real me…

    you will understand.
    What’s understood doesn’t need explanation. 

    Love yourself enough to add Axton to the equation 

    Will be the path to finding your true self. 

    You will really know what life is about

    No one could love you before you knew the real you 
    Split in two denying the fact, you are you. 

    Gets us nowhere.
    Either way you are 
    still “a real boy” 
    now and forever. 

    Poets-Note:

    Writing this was an act of reflection on my personal experiences as well as an act of rebellion against a system that says people like me do not exist. For a long time, I viewed my younger self and my current self as two separate entities, but they are inexplicably linked.

    By addressing the girl I used to be, I am not erasing her; I am thanking her for surviving long enough to reach the top shelf and see him. This poem is the moment the “split” ends and the unity begins.

    If there is one thing I hope you take away from this, it is that self-awareness is the key to every locked door on your road to figuring out yourself. You cannot truly be loved by others until you stop denying the person staring back at you in the mirror.

    Transitioning is not just about the destination; it is about having the courage to tell your younger self that it is okay to let go of the names and roles that no longer serve the soul.

    I want to mention that I included an actual picture of me at approx. 5 to 6-years-old to accompany the poem. “The Little Girl Inside Me” is an original reflection on life from a 33-year-old transgender man, Axton N.O. Mitchell.

    🖤 Help me see it through your eyes.
    What would you refine or change?
    Feedback?

    Comments, Questions, Concerns?

    TLDR:

    • Self-Discovery: A honest letter to my younger self about the journey of transitioning and finding my true identity as Axton.
    • Identity-Alignment: Breaking the cycle of seeking external validation to focus on internal self-awareness.
    • Unity-of-Self: Moving past the “split in two” feeling to embrace being a “real boy” now and forever.
  • Taking Risks: My First Literary Submissions & Early Wins

    Taking Risks: My First Literary Submissions & Early Wins

    Daily writing prompt
    When is the last time you took a risk? How did it work out?
    View all responses

    Best For:

    Indie Poets especially who are hesitant to send their first submissions in, creative individuals looking to channel personal loss into professional growth, authors looking to balance self-publishing with traditional literary credits.

    The Vault:

    • Submission Stats: Two approvals and one rejection recorded as of 4/25/25.
    • New Platforms: The launch of the WordPress site and the poetry Discord.
    • The 5-20% Rule: The statistical success bracket for poets that I am currently beating.

    The Leap Toward the Page: Taking Risks in Literature-

    Taking a chance on yourself is often the most terrifying thing a creative person can do. It is much easier to keep words, art, and creative ventures tucked away in a private notebook or your mind than it is to offer them up to the world for critique.

    However, growth only happens in the space between comfort and uncertainty.

    The Heart Behind the Ink:

    In 2021, I lost my mother to nonalcoholic sorosis of the liver. She was my first audience and my most consistent supporter. I used to share all my poetry with her; every line, every stanza, and every real emotion went to her and it rarely went anywhere else.

    When she passed, I was left with a silence that was deafening.

    For a long time, the grief made me feel like my words had nowhere to go. Eventually, the silence turned into a catalyst. I realized that the best way to honor the connection we had through my writing was to stop hiding it.

    Losing her led me directly into the world of self-publishing and, eventually, to these recent submissions. I stopped waiting for someday and decided that my voice deserved to be heard today.

    The Vulnerability of the Submission:

    The last risk I took was two weeks ago when I sent out submissions for the first time to literary magazines. As of today, I have received back two approvals and one rejection. With success rates among poets often sitting at a slim 5-20%, I count this as a significant win.

    This process is incredibly nerve-wracking. There is a specific kind of anxiety that comes with an editor holding your personal history in their hands.

    Yet, it is an essential move for indie poets and authors. It bridges the gap between our private creative worlds and the larger community of readers. Also it is validation of the work we do while it pushes us to refine our craft.

    Since receiving my first approval, I have started a poetry Discord to grow with other artists and launched this WordPress. I plan to continue seeking professional publications while maintaining my roots in self-publishing.

    Creative Risks:

    Taking a risk is not about the absence of fear; it is about acting in spite of it. Whether it is a “Yes” or a “No,” the act of hitting “send” is a victory in itself. It is a tribute to where I came from and a commitment to where I am going.

    TLDR:

    After losing my mother in 2021, the person I shared all my work with, I pushed through the grief and began self-publishing. Now as of two weeks ago I have started to submit my work to literary journals.

    Are You Taking Risks?:

    I took a leap that resulted in two approvals and one rejection, proving that taking risks is the only way for indie creators to truly grow.

    🖤 What do you think about the risk I took? Would you or have you taken it? How did it turn out?

    Feedback

    Comments, questions, Concerns?

    Be the Change. Bucket List?

    Photo shows Axton Mitchell walking a dirt path in Turkey Run State Park, Indiana near very large boulders. This is directly before a imminent danger threat for tornado was issued. Another way the outhor takes risks.
    Risk it for the biscuit.
  • “The Good Guy” A Raw Poem on Betrayal and Toxic Friendship

    “The Good Guy” A Raw Poem on Betrayal and Toxic Friendship

    Best-For:

    Readers navigating the fallout of a toxic friendship, individuals healing from the sting of a brother turned into a stranger, & anyone who has ignored the neon-red flags of a habitual liar.

    The Vault:

    • The Metaphor: The Chucky reference is a childhood favorite weaponized.
    • The Contrast: The perpetual self-inflicted rain clouds versus the wasted positivity poured into a one-sided bond.
    • The Ending: The stark, modern embarrassment of being “left on delivered” after a lifetime of history.

    I wrote this piece as a confrontation an ex-friend; he suffers from the “Good Guy” archetype. Thus hiding a much darker reality to his personality.

    This poem explores the moment the nostalgia wears off and you realize the person you called a brother was actually plotting on your misery. While kt is also about the heavy lifting you do when carrying someone else’s negativity until you finally drop the weight.

    “The Good Guy Friends Til’ The End”

    An Original Poem by: Axton N.O. Mitchell

    You said it just like chucky 
    “We’re friends ’til the end!”
    My favorite childhood movie 
    You pulled a nostalgic string, loose.
    Thread worn and weathered as my soul 
    already was.

    I ignored the neon blinking red flags 
    blame it on bpd blacks and whites. and
    always needing to see it for 
    myself, won’t take the word 
    of someone else. 
    When it would be the one thing to save me.
    The end on your screen.

    Somehow my mom dying prepared me
    for many things.
    Though you aren’t close to dead
    you are worse than buried to me
    I see you as below the enemy
    supposed to be my brother
    from another.
    Is this why you lost your 
    living family? 

    Can’t stay ten toes down for 
    someone always plotting on
    worsening 
    anyone’s misery. 
    so full of fucking 
    negativity.  No matter how much positivity
    is wasted on your perpetual 
    self-inflicted rain clouds
    and yet…. 

    we’re both still breathing.

    I should have known words have no meaning instead I listened when you said 
    “We’re friends til’ the end” 
    Hey, how come neither of us
    Is dead? You use people like a
    habitual liar does lines 
    neither can keep anything straight 
    from the chaos they create 
    and pretend is out of their control.

    A pussy who can never 
    stand by his whole
    truth, open your eyes… 
    blinding them to the truth 
    Won’t change 
    Their root… here’s a clue 
    The problem is always you.
    Change your name until you
    find one to
    fit a chameleon,
    changing its skin.

    Problem, liar, and other choice 
    phrases you’ve heard 
    a time or two. 
    Pos but you’re good at your game.
    When your friends go through 
    Emotional pain plan your attack.
    You are that fucking Wack.
    Sabotaging every good thing 
    sent your direction.

    Maybe you deserve 
    wallowing in your
    self-inflicted emotions.
    Alone for eternity.
    But I will keep pressing send 
    sitting here left on delivered 
    not even making it to seen 
    embarrassing. 

    🖤Praise, questions, critique are all invited.

    Contact, Questions, or Concerns?

    Feedback?

    Poet-Note:

    I’ve always felt the need to see things for myself, even when the red flags are blinking right in front of me. This piece reflects that struggle. While also acknowledging my tendency to see things in black-and-white only.

    Watching me work at trying to find meaning in words that were ultimately empty; my realization that some people stay in a cycle of chaos because they refuse to look at the root of their own problems.

    The poem ends with the harsh reality of being “left on delivered.” It serves as a final word to someone who is “worse than buried.” A man who is still breathing but is functionally dead as is the bond we once shared.

    I am choosing to stop wasting positivity on a perpetual rain cloud and acknowledging that the problem was never me.

    TLDR:

    A visceral takedown of a fake friend which uses childhood nostalgia to show his manipulation of others. The poem tracks my journey from ignoring red flags to recognizing a habitual liar’s pattern of sabotage. Where I ultimately concluded that some people are better off left in the isolation they create for themselves.