Me reading my poetry

This is a series of 7 poems with a bonus story at the end, about how I used Loki to get better sex out of The Fifth. The fifth is in reference to my last and fifth boyfriend.

I had been consumed by this past relationship for a few months now. So much so, I had to stop all my writing, and other creative endeavors, to get this out of me and out of the way of everything else. So here is the youtube link to all of the videos. click the youtube bottom to get to all of them or click the 1/8 in the upper left corner.

thank you

-Silvaan Ruth-


Prose: Horrible Way to Die

When you realize your behavior

shows the abuser

You accept their abuse…

Is a horrible feeling

and a horrible

way to die.

By Silvaan Ruth

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My poetry Pages


Chapbook: More Than What You See poems of dyslexia

Love/Betrayal/Anything Else

Thank you!



Poem From MTWYS: Fourth Grade Evaluation


Fourth Grade Evaluation

I remember bits and pieces of it.
The pattern she showed me,
I could not decipher then,
now has faded completely.

What I remember the most
was how my mother fished for
more of an answer than just,
“I am a ‘learning disability.’”
I remember how the woman answered

voice rushed as if, overheard,
she would be fired.
“Twenty years ago your daughter
would be severely dyslexic.”

Now I’m weirder than ever.
Now I’m a stupid girl with a fancy label.
I am in this world where I am weird,
created for the teasing of my peers.

I don’t want to be weird.
I want to be me, but
who am I at this desk
if not a weird dyslexic?
My mother however, told me when I asked,
“What does ‘dyslexic’

“It means you have to be
really smart to be dyslexic.”
She said.

Sadly, the good things said
are often drowned out by the bad…

for I was a Learning Disability
to everyone who taught me.
“Hopeless”, they thought as they threw out
my test scores to make their
school look smarter.

Thrown into a room with two others
that knew no other label. Really,
just a learning disability?

Pulled out of class
to do work with the Special teacher…
Now I am special? Another way of saying
now I am a weird-stupid-learning-disability.

Another would tell my mother I was…”So severe”
that I would never learn to write or read.

Never amount to anything…
you stupid-weird-learning-disabled-
freak…is all I heard.

By Silvaan Ruth

For more of these Poems click Here

Chapbook: More Than What You See-Prologue: The Cherry Tree

Have you ever waded
through a vat of mud
knowing how hard it was
going to be to move,
or how deep you
would have to go?

I have. It gets thicker
and harder to push through.
It gets so thick it’s
nearly solid earth.

The sticks, rocks, and stones
scratch and penetrate as they grind
by your skin, as you heave each limb
forward pulling your torso with them.

Do you know what it feels
like to struggle against this force?
As you drown in its thick soil
you can’t talk or breathe.
You just keep going until-

your head breaks
the surface tension,
gasping for respiration.
at the base of the cherry tree,
your only ambition
before you, barren, save for
one cherry that you
can never imagine unless
ingested by your taste buds.

You look on
to see other cherry trees.
Vast is the distance between them.
You advance knowing what
it is to get there but
curious as to what you
will find and where,
or who, you’ll end up being.

By Silvaan Ruth

What to read the rest for free, click on this

To My Aquarius

“Why did you have to ask me that question?”
I asked before I held you tighter than ever as
I repeat through my sobbing that I,
don’t want to have this conversation.

I don’t want to say, that despite
the doubt eating away at my heart
I still love you with every fiber of my being.

I don’t want to add myself to the chain
of girls that have called
you friend instead of lover.

Because I want you to be my lover.
I want to love you and keep you
always to myself forever.

I am not leaving because you’re too sweet,
or too kind, or too good for me.
And you are certainly nothing
like my brother.
I want to keep you
for all of those reasons.

I am leaving because
there are things I want
that you can not give me.

I need to grow a maturity that I
feel this relationship
can not give me,
I want a man with a streak of SandM
and a sunnier disposition
and a passion
that only mine can tame.

I can’t stand the thought of what
you will do when I tell you,
nor do I want to see
Tears in your eyes and
me the reason for them.

You try to pull away and I hold you tighter.
For I don’t want this moment to end.
Because the second I let go.
Everything will change.

So, please stop asking me why I cry cause in
me is a wanting for it all to go away.
Just as much as I, don’t want to have
this conversation.


Chapbook: More Than What You See-10,000 hours

It’s not good when every time
someone asks you what
you’re doing with your degree,
it’s never what your degree is for.

“So, you wanna be a massage therapist?”
“So you wanna be a psychologist?”
“So you wanna be an artist?”

No, not really to all.
Still alright at massage.
Ok psychologist if
I had the patience.
I am an ok painter,
be better if I had more
time to spare…

The 10,000 hours rule,
my art teacher told me,
to be the best at
what you want to be.
But I am too busy trying to write.
I have been at it for over ten years
and more hours than I can count.
It’s easier now; less classes to write and read for.
So, I can finally write what I wish during the week
and not just the weekend.

Silvaan Ruth

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Chapbook: More Than What You See-Art

“How hard is it to look up words?”
my first art professor asked the class
with a chuckle, complaining
about student emails.

I laughed with everyone else
hoping to hide the shame
and the tears that threatened.
She proceeded to explain
how some students in college can’t
spell or write
to save their lives
or can’t seem to be able
to use a dictionary.
I swallowed my tears
willing my gut to believe
that she wasn’t talking about me.
Old insecurities still whispered,
but you spell those words wrong too.

I realized I wasn’t breathing.
I breathed,
(She doesn’t know you.)
I thought.
But my insecurities said
don’t you remember…
the time you failed an assignment
because you thought the word
wasn’t in the dictionary?

(I just got the letters switched
around in my head.
It happens all the time)

She didn’t listen to your plea
and failed you anyway.

I shook those thoughts to the back
of my mind. (It doesn’t matter,
she isn’t talking about me
or my failed assignment
with the dictionary.)
I swallowed my tears dry.


(Stop it!
it’s not her, it’s me
thinking this way.)

But what she said
was burned into my memory
and, emails? I never sent her any.

Silvaan Ruth

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Little poem: Second hand Guinness

What is Second hand Guinness?
It’s when you prefer the taste
On the lips
of the man
That just took a sip
Of his Guinness.

by Silvaan Ruth

Chapbook: More Than What You See-Wrong

As a kid
I sat on the couch
my math paper in my stepfather’s hands.
My mom and I spent
God knows how long
to get it right.

Like paper through a typewriter
my math moved through his fingers.
Every time he said “wrong”
to another equation I have to do again
the tears welled up in my eyes
and I sank into the cushions
wanting more than anything
to run and hide from my math problems.
For I wasn’t and will never be
that Girl
I always wished I could be.
It seems She is everywhere
in many faces and forms
as friends and acquaintances.
She who can do it all with little help.
I hated help. I wanted to be Her because

She is right
I am wrong

She is cool and social with ease
but I stutter when I speak.

I wish I were able to write
a three page paper
in one night like Her
instead of taking three weeks or more.

I wish I could tell the professor
I struggled to stay below the maximum
word count like Her
instead of struggling
to reach the minimum.

I wish I could say those words
over the two inch thick
book on my desk
and continue reading
after I am done talking.

I wish I were always right, like Her.
Help is something
I can’t run away from
although I have tried.
But to this day
when I see people like Her
I feel the equation
that equals my Being
will always be Wrong.



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