for so long
i pushed the last morsels of my wounded heart
on my tasteless mouth to chew like a toy.
resignation helped cease the grief
outside the seams of my racked enough brain,
you rummaged through strings and dreams
trying to reach out to me, violently.
of course i kept fretting on the costs of your unwitting love
soon, illness and fatigue crept within me
my heart, careless of iniquities,
had finally embraced its meekly destiny
stored as a dusty shelf memory
but i, tottering on the brink of the grave
stood still, loving you
curiosity was born from isolation,
questioning myself why you keep running
but i cannot scape you;
perhaps the budding silence that exists
between the comely swears of my adoration
and the elated memory of who you once were
keeps my feebly soul attached to mortal expectations,
even when, quite frankly, we both know
the untold truths hidden within this fondness,
but still i hope i'm not as forgettable
as your silence is making me feel.
i hope to forgive myself one day,
when the sea strands collide with the vastness
of the chaotic ocean, to lay calmly,
safely, into the arms of whoever's devotion
they may fall.
for i pray this sadness to cease
but oh, who i am without this pain, my love.
certain i am for i am not yours,
neither am i the only one,
and i do not wish to step away
but neither do i know how to stay.
today, this dull city looked so beautiful surrounded by the foggy march rain. how lovely the smell of freshly cut out grass. i am not known to fancy sunlight but even a night creature would be fond in such a delight. the covers are no longer needed, although i still get caught under them at times. j, on this marvealous day, for once no bitterness lived within me, instead i sat down next to my window-pane to be amazed by uncertainty, i was left wondering if you would find yourself fond in the mesmerizing beauty of all the things we have yet to learn. dear, i hope this day greeted you well, with the sun shining through, for i fear you stay inside and let no light kiss you enough, for i hope you are well even if things may seem to have no way out at times.
written in my closed curtained room
smiling wide for you
I remember my godmother
secretly giving me a sip of wine at a family reunion
The rush in my veins when thinking
"mom would totally kill me if she finds out"
It was the first time I felt corruption
It sure felt right
even tho I was doing nothing rightful to be proud of
Being a subject of the laboratory
that was creating such bad within me
Exposing my morals so violently
to force the future awaiting me
How was I supposed to do the right thing
when I was taught to avoid the rules in which order and chaos were so thinly divided?
The picture hits me when I listen to politicians on national TV
Promising nothing but a taste of wine
what is left of me to say
if all words taste so like yesterday
sugar coated sour gummy bears
i no longer dream with happy endings
if I ever dream at all nowadays
feels as if you were right there
and i don't know if it's your curls
or the vivid memories of
your velvety soft spoke
i long ago had assumed it was me
creating you, muse of mine
but it was you
it has always been you
you are the only dream
i cannot make true
you cannot dream love
i can only touch your hair
sing to your grief
that in between all the pain
and poems and sad valentine's
i'd take bites every single time
i will taste yesterday's love affair
and i will dry the sower tears
but darling, please
let me dream
i am your valentine.
as far floating dots in the darkest night
as far floating stars in the overwhelming universe
so distant and cold, unaware of each other
but still knowing we are out there (to find)
we expect to catch a rocket
because nothing else stops our way
we have overviewed other constallations
everyone shines but we just don't see it
we told ourselves our space is simple, plein,
but that same simple plein space constains us
and it holds thousands like us.
don't run away. stay.
you may not see yourself right away
but you'll see me
trying so hard to find each other
so we must be a part of it too.
you are like the sun
ready to shine but every now and then
someone gets burnt.
don't be scared.
i may not shine as you do
you may not shine as i do
but how wonderful it'd be
to illuminate the dark sky
to be frozen in time and space
to travel forever into the deepthness of the universe
colliding with bigger suns
finding each other's moons.
they are all so beautifully carved
soft edges and curved corners
all those girls you praise so much
little often do I find them flawed
so rarely, though, ever real
and I'm afraid I'm all sharped layers
cutting in between whatever was together
dividing whatever was add up
folishly believing on wake ups
howling my pain, discomfort
of course the sun still shines
but I don't always feel it
in others, maybe
but never within me
they sure swallowed the moon
and choked on the stars
how violent is beauty
when all beauty ever was
how good must it feel
to be covered in gold
to bathe in the morning dew
to be one of the french girls
to swim in pools of pretty perls
to be written poetry as if making love
but no sunshine hangs from my shoulders
no sky scapes my eyes
i wonder how it must feel then
to be admired with such delicacy
to be hold with tender arms
to be sung lullabies softly at night
how good must it feel
to have you calling my name
to keep you warm and safe
to let the universe be compared to my beauty
but that's just me
always writing pretty words
to people who could never see me
loving those who cannot love me
how profound this grief within
everyone seems beautiful
yet to no one i seem.
how good the smell of roses
and a field full of daisies
how peculiar that they grow so beautifully
but never together
why would they grow to blend into a bucket
if not to be all adored the very same way
but they didn't grow to be a part of anything
could you blame my vanity then
for i want other fields to grow
but not near mine
how could you compare her to the beauty within this world?
who could possibly write pretty words to such a gloomy poet
and expect them to sink in, disolving all pain.
where they sew roses and daisies
she builts burnt wheat fields and desserts
with dandelion hands she holds all her pretty pens
and you keep telling her how good she smells
how beautiful she is
but boy don't you see the dying beauty she is.
it makes her so fragile and delicate
it is such a beautiful thing to be made out of porcelain
and she knows it
so do you
how could you compare her to the living
when she's been dying all along
and you keep telling her
hold on, hold on, hold on...
you once asked me if i was art
or if I was creating it.
i think you were rather asking
if I loved you
or the idea of you,
and even so,
i can't tell you right or wrong.
perhaps i was trying to do both,
perhaps it was neither and could it be
that there is no need to know.
inking, racking, pouring my brains out
bleeding my tongue
slicing open my throat
repeating your name over and over again
like the only mantra that could never bring silence
to the chaos within me.
i never asked for anything
but i made sure to answer it all.
you once asked me if i was art:
or if I was creating it,
you tell me
are you art
or did i make you become one?