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Sharifah Husna Nov 2016
1.Ditch your friend. Bring me instead.

2. I love you with all my heart. Thank you.

3. I don't give two cents about things that intrigue you. I fancy you a lot but I'd rather choke on glass than having to deal with whatever character we're playing out as. Don't bother my "Are you okay?" Instead, flush it down the toilet. You don't deserve my concern.

4. I need to see you to talk to you.

5. No. I'm busy dwelling in despair. I don't want to hang out with you, at least not in the mean time.

6. Boo Hoo that *****. Vast vocabulary is not your thing? If that's the case, then expect me not talking to you because my intricacy might provoke your alter ego.

7. **** I look good but ****, I didn't expect you to be so obsessed with me? What was that? I managed to convince you that your head is nicely embroidered by misogyny and that I've always been the ephemeral concept to see so much as something to romanticise and make art out of.

8. I'm sorry but it may take me some time to write it.

9. Have you listened to the song I suggested or are you basically trying to avoid listening to it by suggesting me songs that you like because if that's the case then I'm not interested, unless you adhere to my order.

10. I'm sorry :/
The messages I received from people/friends/ acquaintances, mostly from my dm (replied in my most honest manner) I apologise in advance
Sharifah Husna Sep 2016
Cherish those,
That adore the way,
You push pens.

Letters collide,
Like bumper cars,
On Friday night fair.

Full of emotions,
they say,
Make words out of things,
that doesn't make sense,
but do.

After all,
Nothing is ever sincere,
unless,
it's done hidden.
Words play practice pt 1
Sharifah Husna Aug 2016
You've told yourself before,
How the present you're dwelling in doesn't fit in quite right,
How time travelling would be an ideal concept,
Just so you could tilt your head a little bit higher,
It still doesn't make any sense though,
The past won't chase after me,
They'll lay themselves to rest eventually,
It is an interesting story.

Here's an interesting story,
Jealousy doesn't equal to being caring,
It's more like a venom,
You see,
Being dangerous doesn't make you more captivating,
It makes you more intimidating.

Here's the thing,
I know a girl who swallowed her own venom,
I'm not entirely sure if it's a good thing,
You know the void,
And how dark it is?
Her eyes are like that.
I cannot be more precise,
Because there's nothing poetic about the void,
But her eyes speak the language of a poet,
They begged for a quiet gesture.

But you see,
Poets are weird,
They like to say things indirectly,
Like when she begged for a quite gesture,
It's more like a,
"Don't talk to me.",
Kind of thing,
With a hint of,
"But please, I seek for your attention.",
Kind of thing.
It's complicated,
So don't talk to her,
Just lift your hand in mid air,
Must hold back the urge to speak.

You see,
The only time they tried to seal the bonding,
Was when they said "hi",
Her voice still lingers,
Trust me,
She doesn't sound like lullabies,
Or an angel,
She sounds like,
3 insomniac nights,
A packet of cigarette,
And an hourly coffee,
Her lips curled,
Clearly unhappy.

She doesn't drink coffee,
Nor does she look interested,
In suffocating her already contaminated lungs,
With another killing things,
The luggages underneath her eyes,
Are stating a fact that the world,
Is deadly and tiring enough,
That she doesn't have the audacity,
To risk the last most lively concept of hers.

You see,
When the venom kicks in,
Your body is paralysed,
By hearing the voice of a person,
You once loved,
Your mind kept repeating wishes,
Longing your heart to speak out,
But the painful lump in your throat,
Guarding your voice,
Is just another wild dandelions,
Left unblown.

When I mentioned,
"How the past won't chase after me,
And how they'll lay themselves to rest eventually",
I was indicating on how the past buried themselves,
At the back of your head,
Sometimes I think of them like time bombs,
Those that don't go off,
Recently I felt like they exploded,
They sounded very similar to fireworks in broad daylight,
I know that you're glad they went off,
The echo of it blocking the sound of reality,
That you once were too scared to face.

You see,
Sometimes admitting the truth like,
"I miss you",
Or,
" I took the candy from your bag when you're not looking",
Can be a lot harder that you expected,
When you're the one isolating yourself,
From the person who deserves your honesty.

So when I tell you,
That owning a second chance is a miracle,
I want you to use it wisely,
Like tilting your head a little bit higher,
Vomiting out the stars from the depth of your eyes,
Deliberately stretching your lips to your cheeks,
Swallowing wild dandelions,
And scurrying to a new soul,
Dressing up as your old, worn out self.

It's fun,
You should try it sometimes.
Here's for the long lasting bond between good friends who have been to hell and back and also to a fresh reawaken.
Sharifah Husna Nov 2016
A shapeshifter as a personality,
Constantly evolving,
But changes nothing.

You,

A body,
Filled with so much nothingness,
Empty yet filled,
A sentiment of humane,
So insignificant.

Still,

Held handful of hearts,
Reluctantly given,
By those that held,
Trust,
On the other hand.

Still,

A "got nothing to lose" boy,
A never ending "I won't love you until you love yourself" boy,
A classic timeless "eager for an acceptance" boy.

Still,

Camouflage inside,
A vacant heart.
I have no sense of identity and i regularly mould myself into a certain character with people I'm with or talking to, and I hope you take consideration based on my actions
Sharifah Husna Apr 2016
“How happy is the blameless vestal’s lot!,
The world forgetting, by the world forgot,
Eternal Sunshine of the spotless mind!,
Each prayer accepted, and each wish resigned.”

“Look at it out here,
it’s all falling apart,
Im erasing you,
and I’m happy!”

I’m leaving,
as soon as I arrived,
sprinting right before I stepped,
on the doormat of your heart,
lying dead,
I wonder if it has always had the phrase,
“Please never leave, again.”
nicely embroidered,
as if it was specially kept,
for my dearly eyes,
to send the weight of empathy,
straight to my damaged heart.

My presence wasn’t really,
a continuous series of silence,
you thought I might perhaps be,
a bit out of my head,
but I’m intoxicating,
yet clueless,
by ways of how I managed,
to stitch your heart,
with trust,
and honesty,
but never with love.

my embarrassing admission is,
I really like that you’re nice,
right now,
although,
I don’t need nice,
I don’t need myself to be it,
and I don’t need,
anybody else to be it at me,
your mind possessed you,
into thinking that I was nice,
and for you,
nice is good.

Darling,
I’m telling you right off the bat,
stop listening to what is true,
And what is true is constantly changing,
it’s a loss to spend that much time,
with me,
only to find out that,
I’m only a stranger.
If you would have stopped,
making up movies in your head,
that always end with a perfect ending,
perhaps,
you’ll learn how to stop,
falling in love,
with every woman you see,
who shows you,
the least bit of attention,
or maybe,
you can finally master,
how to make eye contact,
with a woman,
that you don’t seem to know.

I caught glimpse of cars,
falling out of nowhere,
at the same exact time,
you were yelling and calling out for me,
pixels of memories rose,
pervaded into thin air,
from the back and ahead,
from the back and ahead,
from the back and ahead,
I appeared to be unstoppable.

That one night we held hands,
as our back rested on ice,
you told me that you could die,
because you were just so **** happy,
as if you were high on ecstasy,
and that you’ve never felt that before,
you were exactly where you wanted to be,
but your mind is currently a scene,
branching in each and every part of you life’s series
that I am unable to be a part of.

My mementos,
aren’t as disposable,
neither is my love,
I hope you’d have kept,
those pieces of me,
instead of getting them,
thrown away,
during the stages,
of escaping from one’s memory,
me,
say,
“Blessed are the forgetful,
for they get the better,
even of their blunders.”
say,
“I can’t remember anything,
without you."

I’m vindictive ,
impulsive,
truth be told,
I’m an open book,
exposing everything,
every **** embarrassing thing,
oh how I wish,
you would tell me things,
how i wish you would show me things,
you wrote about me,
in your old leather moleskin,
oh how i wish,
you never looked at me,
merely as a girl.

Too many guys refer to me as a concept,
which I’m not,
I won’t make you feel complete,
nor make you feel alive again,
I, too myself is a ******* up girl,
who’s looking for my own peace of mind,
Perhaps,
a ******* up girl,
can never go well with a ******* up guy,
you remember that speech very well,
yet you still thought,
that I was going to save you,
even after that,
i had you pegged,
didn’t I?

You were blind,
unable to recognise my flaws,
said you can’t see anything,
you don’t like about me,
but you will,
you will think of things,
and I’ll get bored with you,
and feel trapped,
because that’s what happens with me,
I’m incapable giving enough affection,
I often crave for the feeling of being inadequate.

“Please let me keep this memory,
just this one,
can you hear me?
I don’t want this anymore!
i want to call it off!”

you said subliminally,
while your gold plated memory,
was taken away from your life,
unconsciously,
little by little,
due to me vanishing,
and you suffering,
more than you intended,
accidentally.

seconds before your mind,
threw itself off the cliff,
we were aware of each other’s existence,
i could feel your words,
caressing my body ever so gently,
and the warmth,
of your breath,
marked territory of kisses onto my skin,
enlighten a spark,
sent current waves to dance in my veins,
electrocuted me with your last valediction.

What if you stayed this time?
what if you never walked out the door?
what if there were still memories left?
would you noticed how I never told you,
I love you?
indeed,
you’ve often bathed me,
with your love,
and your love for me,
was vast,
that you mentioned the universe,
and how your heart,
never fails to orbit around mine.

So go,
if you really should,
nevertheless,
i wish you had stayed,
i know you wish you had stayed either,
you wish you had done a lot of things,
you really wish you had,
but when i came back downstairs,
you were gone,
you walked out the door,
you claimed that you were scared,
you felt like a little kid,
everything was above your head,
it’s like you don’t matter,
perhaps,
that’s why,
I want you to come back here,
and make up a goodbye,
before you leave,
at least,
let’s pretend that we had one,

Joely,
Meet me in Montauk.
Sharifah Husna May 2016
You're a midnight texter,
I'm a conversation starter,
I never will ever stop talking,
As the silence scares me,
But not as much as it does to you,
Not as much as it does to the way your hands,
Shudder,
Whilst talking,
Am I that intimidating?

You tried avoiding eye contact,
Knowing that I'm amused,
Watching your words tremble,
Maybe you didn't notice,
Me,
Staring,
As if I'm like one of those,
Warning ads,
On your cigarette packaging,
That you don't even bother,
To take a glance at.

Hands,
Your hands fascinate me,
Maybe,
It's because you're not used to girls,
Being too fussy,
Too loud,
Too meticulous.

The second time we talked,
I realized that,
I was the only one,
Who's practically speaking,
I yelled at you,
In the fast food restaurant,
Apparently making fun of myself,
It's not that I'm acting dumb,
I'm acting clueless.

I know you well,
Not too well though,
Perhaps,
It's from my acquaintance,
They are acquainted,
Of your existence,
Well,
I do too.

Maybe it's because of your hair,
How it reminds me a lot of Amber,
Nor the depth of the ocean,
Or maybe it's because of your glasses,
Or the way you wear your trousers,
Above your ankles,
That the picture of it,
Makes me wonder if that is how,
You're going to dress,
If Coachella was a candle light dinner,
And they recall a nostalgic vibe from the 60s,
Though I wasn't even exist at that time.

You're soft,
A soft sinner people find you manipulative,
I find you an oncoming danger,
An expected wave,
Come running from the other side of,
"I could've loved you.",
To a new shore of,
"I've loved you.",
But the weight of the world,
Pulls you away from being loved,
So you figured how to love yourself,
By drowning each and every piece of you,
In the middle of,
"I won't fall in love again.',
But that's preposterous,
You did fall in love,
Again and again and again,
Each time you decided not to.

Remember,
That one night,
Your thumbs became tap dancers,
Tapping onto the keys,
Followed by a soft tempo,

You said,
"I love you,
If you don't feel the same way,
Please assume,
That this was for your poem."

So,
If you were to read this one day,
Here's a disclaimer,
I didn't write this poem for you,
I wrote this poem about you.
I don't like you though, but it was nice writing about you
Sharifah Husna Jan 2017
She,
A girl with a face so familiar,
It brings me back to days,
When theater was a thing.

Hair,
Shines,
Moves,
Like the nicest river.

Body,
Delicate,
Like a halfway grown tree,
But stands as strong,
Held the world by bare feet.

Warmth,
Is a traveler,
Dancing on her skin,
They come and go.

But her palms,
Are what I held on to,
When I long for,
Something cold.
A poem for a beautiful close friend of mine, Moni.

— The End —