#female poets
we kissed to the beat of
voices in our heads
that said
this is forever, this is all there is
we ran off, away from the streetlights
into a pitch-black oasis
where we could see all of the stars
the way we wanted to then,
when we were seventeen again.
When girls go to museums
with their fathers,
they don’t turn to the paintings and ask them,
“Why is that man so upset?”
or
“When will he be okay?”
Because good girls don’t tell their fathers
that they are in mourning, too.
Or that they also wonder when they will be okay.
Because girls don’t think of their fathers
as men who have lived with their own private sorrows, fears, or loneliness.
Young girls don’t see the paintings’ beauty
or the artists’ ability to represent the human face and form.
They just see themselves,
a mirror that reflects their sadness.
Good girls don’t ask
what made their fathers so sad,
why they are so distant,
why they, too, are so alone.
The boy in the old photograph
Is not the boy in the old photograph
I see you growing up
from the inside out
I see your beauty collide with your demons
and I’ll always wonder what it felt like
your body crashing against the pavement
with poison in your veins, leaving lost hope
scattered all over the sidewalk
a part of your past
holds you
under
and you’re so exhausted
you don’t even know how to move
you just sit there and stare, your mouth open
you think this is the most exhilarating feeling
and it’s not
it’s not
We’re sobs punctuated
by unspoken words
we whisper in our sleep.
We wake up in empty beds with
full-throated cries,
but that’s when
we’re whole.
We eat our hearts out with closed eyes
and can’t find our way back
to those moments when we were open-eyed and on the cliff
when we could’ve gone over,
could’ve taken the leap; but didn’t.
Sweet sister,
you’ve known me longer
than anyone.
Intertwined yet-
visibly divided,
we’d been on different planets
while under one roof.
A puddle of sweat
forms just above my lip
instead of salt, I taste dirt
and while my heart was beating fast,
I had to beg my mind to catch up
I take a breath,
run a bath.
As I undress,
I watch myself
examining all the new places
that have now been touched
and suddenly
someone new appeared before me
I am constantly in a state of metamorphosis-
Transforming between me with you,
and me without.
But like the joints that ache within my hands,
you flare up at the most arbitrary moments.
Negligent to the damage
then pretending to banish me to oblivion,
as if I was ever easy to forget.
I try to forget you too,
until that ache in my hands extends to the rest of me
and becomes too painful to ignore.
I could play pretend
like my parents
and theirs before them,
and who would know any different?
I can fuel the facade they’ve illustrated
and paint the presence of our ancestors
each curse carefully intertwined with the next.
I could relive tradition-
and point the finger at my offspring
as a scapegoat for my misery
but when all you show is ignorance,
it will linger
long after you’ve gone
Suppressing emotions
has grown concerningly easy.
However,
when it comes to you,
I feel everything
all at once
You arrived like the sun
during the snowfall that left me frozen
Eyes bright, despite
the dullness of mine.
Your hands hold my cheeks,
melting the ice masking my face
to reveal rosy cheeks
that blush only for you
A storm is happening in my bedroom
She is vicious and violent
Removing her costume,
while the room is silent.
When I lost you
I pushed aside a part of myself
that no longer felt safe.
I created a new girl,
one who didn’t overstay her welcome
This girl knew distance,
and how to only show just enough
and never too much.
A girl who built herself into a corner,
because being backed into one
can’t be so uncomfortable
if you’ve made it your home.
Sobs traveled through empty halls,
and I listened from my bed.
Unable to make out lost words
I Inched down the staircase,
until I could see the keeper of the cries.
In the distance, she collapsed.
Cradling her head in her hands
knees locked firmly beneath her,
she reached for him,
screaming
“please don’t leave me”.
“Fire”
Remember what you must do
when they undervalue you,
when they think
your softness is your weakness,
when they treat your kindness
like it is their advantage.
You awaken
every dragon,
every wolf,
every monster
that sleeps inside of you
and you remind them
what hell looks like
when it wears the skin
of a gentle human.
Nikita Gill, Wild Embers
There is a maiden
running around
with a cylinder
and she is wearing pants
head held high
going straight towards a goal
carriages make a sudden stop
kids look curiously
the police are on their way
I stop and stare
and smile
wondering why
everybody else seems to care
-mayapoetbe
baby gopal by radhe gendron, poem by me
“Dark Water”
another from my illustration series
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“HERHERHER”
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“Bones”
From my second prompts series, prompt provided by @/abrochine on Instagram
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“Goodbye”
tried something different for one of my series’
the poems in this style were dubbed my “rambles” series
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another semi-sad illustration piece
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from a prompt by @/evanviolets on instagram (a lovely poet and friend)
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another from my illustration series, as I share more of them you’ll probably notice they’re all on the sad side (oops)
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“(beware of the ghosts) they are why no one loves me”
Another prompt piece with from a prompt by @/abrochine on instagram
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“Knuckles”
From a prompt list by @/zharaeripoetry on instagram
Prompt: have a discussion with the personified version of a nervous tick of yours
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Echoes on a forest path
Birds calling out your name
Nothing really changes, yet
Nothing is the same
Is this a rip in the pattern
Or was this the plan
Whatever the case
We lost a great man
The best ones always go too soon
And it is rare to find
Someone so gentle
And smart, patient, and kind
Can you still hear him
He is out here with the birds
Listen very closely
They don’t speak with words
Need another eight years
To say goodbye
But it’s true after death
Love will fly
- Nikki Tajiri
It was October, and I was happy
because October is my favorite month
and it was raining
because I’m a fan of generally bad weather.
I was tired of all the hot, dry, merciless heat,
and had been counting the days for the rain
to come to town, knock on my door,
let itself in, take its shoes off and put on a kettle of tea–
chai, warm to the touch and spicy to the taste,
because it was cold outside and rain needs to be warm
sometimes, too.
I waited until the day when the rain came in,
sat down on my worn-out, blue
armchair, stretched itself out and said,
“By the way, thanks for not using an umbrella
or a hat or your hood. I know I got you wet,
but it’s nice to know that you appreciate my work,
because how insulting is it when you put all this time
into trying to hydrate the world and then people
just try to block you with umbrellas and raincoats?“ Then I said, “You’re welcome. I know
how you feel, and also, I’m a big fan of yours.” In this moment, I realized that not only
am I a fan of generally bad weather,
but that I am a hater of generally good weather, too.
Maybe that’s why the sun never comes to visit.
“Never a Movie Came to an End” ~ poetry
In my dream you came to life
You are now so out of my sight
Your body, I can’t touch no more
You don’t feel real, just like before.
Your voice softens my heart
And I wish I could go back to the start
Years and years I would rewind
Just for you to again be mine.
In you I’ve never seen cruelty
Only the day you’ve turned against me
There wasn’t any wrong that I made
But I lost this game we played
We were nothing but we had it all
Yet you made me feel super small.
Perhaps you never cared about this
That’s why your hands danced in my hips
Never a movie came to an end
So easy it was for you to pretend.
After all I know what was going in your head
‘I wanna take her to my bed’
I thought it was fine, because you’re a man
But I wanted to be loved instead…
~By 2SoulsCollide
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Pump liquor through your veins love is such a pain.
