as she trudged up the mountain
        ^
      / \
    /     \
  /         \
/             \
victory pulsing through her veins

badum badum badum badum

her eyes set intently on the peak

a deathly stare

she knew she could do anything

anything at all

she was anything but meek

this world is not for the meek

Deutsch
The language that connects all of us
It’s complex grammar cases difficult
The linguistic struggles cause a big fuss
Rules are held firmly in place by a bolt

Spelling difficulties are not the worst,
As they can be quiet, different, and new
Gosh, this makes me want a good Currywurst
That along with some tasty ethnic brew

Deutsch macht nicht alles einfach, stimmt es so
Aber Deutsch bring uns alle zusammen
Wir haben “Wer? Was? Wann? Warum? Wie? Wo?”
Also ich finde das ich bin verschwa’mn

Maybe it’s for the best, that I don’t learn
For the memories, each does badly burn

Winter sunrise on my last and longest day

Wrap me in a winding sheet of flaming orange

Take the reds and pinks from midnight blue to make my shroud

Let me rest in heaven fire

Drown my tired soul in colour

Drinking the final carnival

Warmth for my bones

A funeral of skies and wonders

Stop falling
you've been here before
you know it's not worth it
Do you never learn?

Wake.
Every day,
awake.
Daily
routine
is joined.
As if
programmed,
the daily
routine
is joined.
Rote activity
building.
Immersed.
Immersed
in a
deepening
milieu,
a viscous
milieu.
Fixed
in time
and space.
Accelerating.
Existence,
observed,
complex,
accelerating.
­Little time.
Little to
contemplate,
life’s river
too strong,
too fast.
Interactions,
convoluted,
confusing.
Surviving.
Surging forward
tumbling
along the way.
Light at
end of
the tunnel
fast approaches.
The ride is
concluding.
Contemplation.
To what end?

Perfect is not for humans
We kiss and tell,love and forget
We hug and lie,
We are only human anyway, and
Perfect is not for humans
Sometimes, our personal needs and wants make us overlook what the others think,
After all, we are only human

Perfect is not for humans.

©Emanzi Ian.2019.

I wanted to draw what dissociating felt like
But there still was an empty paper

Someone asked me to draw
Draw what heartbreak looks like
I finally got tired of drawing a broken heart
And I started drawing you

you might not
have been my first love
but you were the one
who hurt the most.

People,
Who have nothing to say,
Are worth talking to.

The lights
Are too bright
For my eyes
For my heart
For me.
But which me?

Do you think a girl could love a boy who writes for her a million poems?  That's what I plan to do.

It’s a sincerity
rather than a reciprocity,
it’s to have them not knowing
that you’ll always be secretly praying,
earth to the self; what you’re feeling is indeed
a truth.

No longer a bother
And nothing to ponder
I'll be hitting the hay
Think about all this another day

I am afraid to fall
Yet I find my self tripping over your words

I am afraid to get attached
Yet I find my self hanging onto the little moments

I am afraid that I will not be enough for you but I felt it when you asked me if I am enough for myself

I wish I wished I had it in me
To just hurt you how you hurt me

Leaves falling so slow
Every white petal muddy
Evergreen grasslands
(Visit my FB page "Haiku from my soul to yours")

Statuesque
On aluminum ripples
Soon to take flight.

Lawns will awaken
The sentries waiting
For summers calling.

Before sunset
The sky is an ocean
Of pink and white.

A poet is no more than a person
A mother
A daughter
A lover  
Someone needing release
Or someone needing to recover


It’s the art they create when that ball of ink or stick of led dances on the canvas they so perfectly prepared.
And when the end result and their purpose become perfectly paired.

leggo ma eggo

Remark something so tragically beautiful tonight,

A third life,
My third life.

Just like a fireworks of art
from here to the nearest star,

I was about to the nearest star,
but

I wish
I could lay awake in the night, with you.

and our lingering hearts
and tell you about a tragedy
called life.

I've already told you.

Thank you for listening,
You care for me.
Thank you. N

and i would give anything
to spend a night in your arms
instead of a nightmare

I'm jealous of the rain
It gets close to you
Closer than I ever will
It touches your skin
It combs your hair
It comes when you're sad
It stays when you're happy
I love you but you don't love me
So I say
I'm jealous of the rain

She takes the stand
With the voice of millions on her back
And speaks the fact that we all know,
far too well to be true -                  
                                           Me too.

She is heard but not believed,
She is heard with faith deceived .

When will it be enough -
Is one in six not enough ?
Is one sister, one friend
still - not enough?

one colleague, one mother, one wife, one lover -
one teacher, one doctor, one preacher, one author -
one husband, one son, one brother.
Which one will it take, to stop
the non-consensual clock
and make us realise that -

Time. Is. Up.

If you could read my mind,
You’d see a thousand papers
Filled with broken poetries
And deadbeat proses
Full of woeful verses
With mournful pieces
Of unfinished stories
That are yet to be written
And failed to be spoken;
If you could read my mind,
You’d hear horrible screams
And earsplitting weeps
From shattered dreams,
Kept in a nasty notepad,
Scribbled on a bed
Of bloodstained words,
Ringing in my head.
If you could read my mind,
You’d see the shadows
That lurk within me;
You’d hear the bellows,
Screeching the words
“I’m tired,”
“I’m a failure,”
“I’m stupid –”
I know it sounds stupid,
It’s pathetically foolish
And seems too *******.
If you could read my mind,
You’d feel the tears
I had ever failed to cry;
You’d see the people
That make the weak weaker;
You’d see the monsters
That consume my head;
You’d hear the hollers
That failed to be freed;
You’d see the heart
That still bleeds and bleeds.
If you could read my mind,
You’d see the face
I’ve failed to show back then,
The face I’ve faked back then.
If you could read my mind,
You’d see a character
I had ever failed to become
If you could read my mind,
You’d be able to read
A book you never wished
To touch and read,
But sometimes I still wish
Someone could read my mind.

What is this feeling?
Or rather, lack there of.
A constant longing…
For what?
What need do I have for love
if all it will bring is pain.
Perhaps pain is the very thing I seek.
At least then this void would be filled,
And I could pretend to be whole.