#poemsworld
I remember a time when
I thought he would change
When I thought that my love
Would take his anger away
What a dangerous choice
I was willing to make
To sacrifice myself for a man
Who could never be saved
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I remember his hands
The way they held me so tightly
The way they let me go
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Everyday I wake up
I hope something will change
But all I see is more lines on my face
The demons are laughing at the angels
That are supposed to protect me
Time passes by
There is only decay
All of my prayers keep running away
The darkness has depression
And there is no escape
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Sunshine is such a good lover
I like the way she burns
She veils my body with her warmth
I am dressed only in her light
She opens me up like a flower
But she never spends the night
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Her face split open from his fists
Her heart split open from his cruelty
Her mind split open from the inability to understand it all
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“Nothing ever ends poetically. It ends and we turn it into poetry. All that blood was never once beautiful. It was just red.”
Kait Rokowski
“Please never forget that the sun rises and sets with your smile. At least to me it does. You’re the only thing on this planet worth worshipping.”
The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo,Taylor Jenkins Reid
“If a man treats life artistically, his brain is his heart.”
The Picture of Dorian Gray,Oscar Wilde
Many wonderful things are invisible, you know. The air we breathe. The breeze that blows. Love. A beautiful perfume. The notes of a song. That feeling that you get at the end of summer.
The world runs on invisible things, Emily Dickinson.
Dickinson 2x08, “I’m Nobody! Who are you?”
do you think the process of metamorphosis hurts ? does the transforming creature inside the pupa understand whats happening to it ? do you think theyre scared ? do you think theyre afraid ?
this is so metal and most would call this poetry but reasonably i know from being on this hellsite long enough that you’re just gay and really into bugs
i’m laying on his bed;
but all i can think about is the tiny bit
of wallpaper that is scraping off
in the corner by your bedroom door.
he’s cradling my fingers;
but all i can think about is the time
we were talking about the universe and
you absent-mindedly started
tracing stars on my hand.
he’s nuzzling my neck;
but all i can think about is the beautiful mark
you left on my collarbone after we got drunk
at 3am and snuck onto your neighbour’s roof.
he’s caressing my cheek;
but all i can think about is the cold touch
of your fingers that night and
i knew that you had slipped into the darkness
again
and my thighs weren’t warm enough for you.
he’s kissing my lips;
but all i can think about is the curve on your upper lip
and the time we made out for hours
and how you left a horrible taste in my mouth afterwards
because you had gone through two packs of marlboro that day
and how i stayed
even though you gave me every reason to leave
and now i can’t be in bed with a beautiful boy
who likes the way i speak
because all i can think about
is how chapped you left me,
just like your lips.
Warmth emanates from
the singular chimney
Housed within the heart
Of a drafty mansion
It’s where the deer go
To lie upon rickety floorboard
As sparrows acquaint themselves
With the abandoned rocking chair
Preening their worries away
Serenity melded with serendipity
The course of the universe
Ivy stretching over bricks
Decomposition of matter
And the soul
“Never make yourself more
palatable for others;
they’ll either eat you whole,
or nibble you away
in bite-sized chunks.”
- d.c.
Louder
I can’t hear you.
Your voice is a whisper.
I’m waiting so patiently,
For some kind of direction.
Every time you speak your words,
I cannot hear a single thing,
Only see.
How long must I wait?
Life feels directionless.
Your guidance comes through action.
Would speaking not be easier?
Tell us our purpose.
Living cannot just be for the hell of it.
Maybe that’s it.
There is no purpose.
Things just happen because they can.
And that’s probably more terrifying,
Then the existence of a creator.
Because then,
It’s all meaningless.
Louder
I can’t hear you.
Your voice is a whisper.
I’m waiting so patiently,
For some kind of direction.
Every time you speak your words,
I cannot hear a single thing,
Only see.
How long must I wait?
Life feels directionless.
Your guidance comes through action.
Would speaking not be easier?
Tell us our purpose.
Living cannot just be for the hell of it.
Maybe that’s it.
There is no purpose.
Things just happen because they can.
And that’s probably more terrifying,
Then the existence of a creator.
Because then,
It’s all meaningless.
Privilege
I used to look at others,
Knowing they lived a peachy keen life.
The surface is often nuclear.
The symbol of status which must;
By any means,
Be achieved.
What I’ve come to realise,
Is that these appearances are thinly veiled.
Privilege isn’t a blanket term.
Where one has it,
Another doesn’t.
And vice versa.
There’s struggles within everyone,
Beneath the mask we wear.
Each experience unique,
Never equivalent,
Yet it’s treated as so.
Why do we continue?
To shroud ourselves in a sheer disguise.
It doesn’t benefit us,
Only the systems we live in.
I tried to lift the curtain,
Cuts, bruises and scars on full display.
Society booed me off stage,
Instead of helping,
They closed the curtain.
Extract from my poem ‘Why?’
Extract from my poem Dissociation. All poetry is on my blog
How early do you learn
What other people think
And why does that make me
So ill
And often whilst we dance in circles
To never-ending music, the spirits play
Your face stern,
And in a brief second, one can learn
That you’re a man of veracity
Peering at the human language,
As if filled with crudity.
But the way you held my hand, slender
I felt something so tender
And on knowing so, your eyes spoke to me:
Darlin’, of my world you aren’t a part
Yet, you fascinate me but why, I cannot tell
So, let me hold your hand a second more before we kiss farewell.
