ALI - Hello Poetry

# I am summoned by the pulling Of my heart strings, singing This shall suffice. This day, tomorrow, And tomorrow’s tomorrow — Bountiful in its boundaries. There is more to monotony Than pure ebb and flow. This pain, this breath, This flash of light Will come and go. This shall suffice. The enduring nature Of grief and relief — This cycling of life. This shall suffice. #

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Dec 9, 2021

Dec 9, 2021 at 11:12 PM UTC

Circles

# I am summoned by the pulling Of my heart strings, singing This shall suffice. This day, tomorrow, And tomorrow’s tomorrow — Bountiful in its boundaries. There is more to monotony Than pure ebb and flow. This pain, this breath, This flash of light Will come and go. This shall suffice. The enduring nature Of grief and relief — This cycling of life. This shall suffice. #

18

if there’s a will there’s a way to a place unscathed where the willows grow unbothered and the fortress of destitute is the safest space to lay where reclusion is a promise of pleasure not punishment and a herd of deers is a kindred comfort the most if any

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Oct 21, 2021

Oct 21, 2021 at 11:11 AM UTC

cabin

if there’s a will there’s a way to a place unscathed where the willows grow unbothered and the fortress of destitute is the safest space to lay where reclusion is a promise of pleasure not punishment and a herd of deers is a kindred comfort the most if any

11

there’s a half empty suitcase by the doorframe damp footsteps echo from the hallway they mark the hardwood floors the way ink stains fingertips a deep dark violet lightened only by serpentine strokes revealing a singular identity knock knock I am me invariably

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Oct 20, 2021

Oct 20, 2021 at 11:50 AM UTC

thumbprint

there’s a half empty suitcase by the doorframe damp footsteps echo from the hallway they mark the hardwood floors the way ink stains fingertips a deep dark violet lightened only by serpentine strokes revealing a singular identity knock knock I am me invariably

10

If I was in your way Why didn’t you just say so Just toss me to the side And head north Instead you took me along with you Kicked me across the street Dragged me through the dirt Until the air in me had deflated Until you got to your destination Until I had served you my purpose Until you left me just as you’d found me — In the way, now flat and lifeless

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Sep 9, 2021

Sep 9, 2021 at 9:56 PM UTC

Collateral Damage

If I was in your way Why didn’t you just say so Just toss me to the side And head north Instead you took me along with you Kicked me across the street Dragged me through the dirt Until the air in me had deflated Until you got to your destination Until I had served you my purpose Until you left me just as you’d found me — In the way, now flat and lifeless

12

Once again, September has come. And just like that, the air thickens Like the year before this And the one before that. Only this stubborn September Marches in heavy-footed, loud-mouthed Like a fascist on a podium, claiming comic Uncertainties behind a lectern For the hopeful to hear — The wide-eyed, rose-colored seekers. We are silver bobs hanging on a wire, Stricken by Achilles himself. It is December soon. By then, our ankles will be sore, Our heels pierced, Our pockets empty. The arrows come shooting Like eagles on a mission, As we swing endlessly Back and forth, Suspended from a fixed point — Praying that time, Hoping that gravity Makes the clacking stop at once.

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Aug 31, 2021

Aug 31, 2021 at 10:58 PM UTC

Pendulum

Once again, September has come. And just like that, the air thickens Like the year before this And the one before that. Only this stubborn September Marches in heavy-footed, loud-mouthed Like a fascist on a podium, claiming comic Uncertainties behind a lectern For the hopeful to hear — The wide-eyed, rose-colored seekers. We are silver bobs hanging on a wire, Stricken by Achilles himself. It is December soon. By then, our ankles will be sore, Our heels pierced, Our pockets empty. The arrows come shooting Like eagles on a mission, As we swing endlessly Back and forth, Suspended from a fixed point — Praying that time, Hoping that gravity Makes the clacking stop at once.

23

if tables could talk they’d echo all the life I once knew they’d tell you I take my coffee black and my friends seriously they’d chant the names I no longer call and share the stories I no longer tell if chairs could speak they’d say I sit with my legs crossed right over the left they’d tell you how my feet burn when I sing how my hands tremble when I dance how the world spins ever valiantly around the four corners of this couch where I lay on nights the bed feels too vacant if stairs could scream they’d yell from heights I never could take and count the steps I never did make

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Jun 25, 2021

Jun 25, 2021 at 10:20 PM UTC

furniture

if tables could talk they’d echo all the life I once knew they’d tell you I take my coffee black and my friends seriously they’d chant the names I no longer call and share the stories I no longer tell if chairs could speak they’d say I sit with my legs crossed right over the left they’d tell you how my feet burn when I sing how my hands tremble when I dance how the world spins ever valiantly around the four corners of this couch where I lay on nights the bed feels too vacant if stairs could scream they’d yell from heights I never could take and count the steps I never did make

17

there’s a softness to the drumming of a breath the halting of the chest at the top of an inhalation the release that follows shortly after there’s a loudness to the crying of a soul darkness exudes at journey’s end or is it the other way around? still, heaven falls at every whisper of your name no matter how sharp or faint and while ashes rise and rise, I sigh until the last, the very last complaint

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Jun 4, 2021

Jun 4, 2021 at 12:31 PM UTC

release

there’s a softness to the drumming of a breath the halting of the chest at the top of an inhalation the release that follows shortly after there’s a loudness to the crying of a soul darkness exudes at journey’s end or is it the other way around? still, heaven falls at every whisper of your name no matter how sharp or faint and while ashes rise and rise, I sigh until the last, the very last complaint

10

There’s a house at the end of the road between the oak and the willow with a gate too high to ever see what’s inside and a living room too large to fill. In every barren room, there patiently lies windows that cry — to be kicked open, and balconies that talk — only to each other. There’s a thin line between being too roomy and too lonely. Space has the damning ability to make such distinction. Perhaps the real luxury after all is to live loudly amidst intolerable noise than to perish placidly in deafening silence.

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May 19, 2021

May 19, 2021 at 10:47 PM UTC

The Mansion

There’s a house at the end of the road between the oak and the willow with a gate too high to ever see what’s inside and a living room too large to fill. In every barren room, there patiently lies windows that cry — to be kicked open, and balconies that talk — only to each other. There’s a thin line between being too roomy and too lonely. Space has the damning ability to make such distinction. Perhaps the real luxury after all is to live loudly amidst intolerable noise than to perish placidly in deafening silence.

16

When I grow up, I want to wake up alone each morning. I want the air to be so quiet, I can hear the wordless tunes the birds sing to each other from distant branches and barbed wires, every last note. Silence never scared me, neither did solitude. What frightens me most is finding comfort in the noise. If one day, you find me in a crowded hallway — not wanting to die, **** me right then. When I grow up, I want to wake each morning alone. Though sometimes I forget, I’m already grown.

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May 16, 2021

May 16, 2021 at 1:02 PM UTC

Barbed Wires

When I grow up, I want to wake up alone each morning. I want the air to be so quiet, I can hear the wordless tunes the birds sing to each other from distant branches and barbed wires, every last note. Silence never scared me, neither did solitude. What frightens me most is finding comfort in the noise. If one day, you find me in a crowded hallway — not wanting to die, **** me right then. When I grow up, I want to wake each morning alone. Though sometimes I forget, I’m already grown.

20

I am an irony. The medics often call it an emergency. Though I assume, the poets would argue and claim it a masterpiece. To call it as it is, I prefer the term tragedy. Moronically, I am a walking clock ticking until the time is up. A camera clicking until the film is out. I am a miracle and ten. An excuse for a daughter. A waste of a warm seat. Extra space in the luggage, never a carry-on. I am the embodiment of sand drifting through the desert. A pebble stuck in a shoe. A wet sock with a hole at the end. As inconvenient as may be, I am a testimony. A promise waiting to be met. A memory that hasn’t happened yet.

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May 16, 2021

May 16, 2021 at 1:58 AM UTC

Isn’t It Ironic?

I am an irony. The medics often call it an emergency. Though I assume, the poets would argue and claim it a masterpiece. To call it as it is, I prefer the term tragedy. Moronically, I am a walking clock ticking until the time is up. A camera clicking until the film is out. I am a miracle and ten. An excuse for a daughter. A waste of a warm seat. Extra space in the luggage, never a carry-on. I am the embodiment of sand drifting through the desert. A pebble stuck in a shoe. A wet sock with a hole at the end. As inconvenient as may be, I am a testimony. A promise waiting to be met. A memory that hasn’t happened yet.

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