MistressJosephine
18/F/Ireland
I write my poetry as an attempt to both express and understand my emotions. Please follow if you find my poetry interesting or engaging. I encourage you to comment on the pieces with criticism or how you relate to or understand them. Lots of love <3
I will cut you out of the picture of my life.
I will take a scissors, to these complex memories and
hack your influence out.
It took me months to buy the scissors,
years to get to the shop
but I got here, I have them.
I will hear sharp snips as I cut across
the images that are burned in my mind.
No longer will my thoughts wander towards you.
No more, will I allow my feelings to be
clouded by a person who dug their words
into my lungs and shattered
my ribs, with boots made of malicious intent,
of careless incompetence, of clueless mockery.
I will use the scissors to cut your burning strings,
wrapped around these cheap candles.
A chord cutting spell. Dust beneath my heel.
The memories I cannot cut I will burn.
I'll light a match on the bridge you
ignited.
You always said people never change, so killing current you’s influence
In revenge for past you’s violence is righteous, it is fair.
I'll sharpen their blade on the soul you hardened.
I'll rip up the pictures if I have to, claw you out.
I'd sacrifice that part of my memories,
I'd happily **** the old me entirely to take you too,
To cut you out of the picture of my life.
Apr 11, 2021
Apr 11, 2021 at 4:06 PM UTC
There are tears.
There is always tears.
a fight,
an expertly written poem
a short story.
All cause my emotions to cascade
and seek to overrule.
But for only a moment
is that allowed.
The river is stopped.
a tear or two displaying the
appropriate level of sadness.
Then I must stop.
I mustn't show you more tears than that.
The concern's differ
The questions heave the painful truth
on to the tip of my tongue.
But I swallow them. I will always lie.
It's better this way.
I'm just tired, I've a slight headache.
I am only a bit upset.
Apr 30, 2020
Apr 30, 2020 at 10:26 AM UTC
The emperor’s dinner was served.
Finally cooked fresh fish tonight.
And when the emperor had finished,
He felt perfectly alright.
Later the emperor felt queasy.
The pain in his chest was dull.
As he fell in a faint,
His stomach was unbearably full.
The emperor lay on the ground.
Trying to breathe with all his might.
In the end all he could do
Was accept he could see the light.
As the emperor lay dying
And contemplating his fate.
Servants raced to find the poisoned food.
But alas, they wouldn’t. It was the plate.
Apr 10, 2020
Apr 10, 2020 at 7:08 PM UTC
Is this love?
This steady heartbeat
These interlocked arms
and entwined feet
The gentleness of us.
Is this love?
Is this love?
No overwhelming passion found here.
Only a few nerves
No encompassing fear
The acceptance of us.
Is this love?
Is this love?
Not the film promised romance
No tidal waves of emotions.
Just the calming dance
Of supportive partnership.
Is this love?
Is this love?
No ridiculous expectations
Of grandeur had
Just equal participation
In the life we share.
Is this love?
Is this love?
I've never seen it before
Portrayed in fiction
I worry I'll start to want more
but feel this is enough.
Is this love?
Is this love?
Existing simply with our friends
Movie days, complaining.
Knowing that this has no end
No arguments here.
Is this love?
Is this love?
Having held you in my arms,
And wanting you to stay.
Hoping you never come to harm
That I could protect you from.
Is this love?
Is this love?
Where I can see
That you will always
Be there to support me.
As I will for you.
Is this love?
Apr 10, 2020
Apr 10, 2020 at 2:15 AM UTC
I adore the colour blue
Not the pale blue of assumed gender
Or the gloomy blue of english
Teachers; seen in poems everywhere.
It's a royal blue
Regal
Ethereal
But without the fakeness of an emperor’s purple.
It's heavy.
You could drown in this colour.
Or you could wear it really well.
It's rarely seen.
Though it can be found if you look hard enough;
Seen in the gleam of sapphires.
The light on computer monitors
That one poster on the wall.
Sometimes I cannot picture the colours
Simply the feeling it gives me
Security
Encompassing stability
Power.
The feeling of a home I've forgotten.
To me this colour is a happy one.
(so no, these blue curtains don’t mean I have depression)
One day
After the too bright sun has passed for a final time.
I will pass by,
But I will be happy
Because my heaven will be blue.
Apr 10, 2020
Apr 10, 2020 at 1:58 AM UTC
As she believes
And says her daily prayer.
As she relies on her faith
Knows her guardian angel is there.
As she asks for guidance
In being good and fair.
As she listens for answers.
She knows her God is there.
As she takes communion.
At least four times a week.
As she works to feed the homeless,
To defend the meek.
She's aware of her own sins
And how the church pretends to care.
As she asks for forgiveness.
As they pretend their sins aren’t there.
As they ask for collection
To add to their hills of gold.
She tries to be a good Christian.
To repent for their sins of old.
As the children make communion.
She looks with watchful eyes.
In case the priests take advantage
Using the sin, they so despise.
As she says her prayers
For the young, poor women.
She asks for forgiveness for
How they treated them.
As she asks for protection
for children all around the world.
She wonders why couldn’t be a priest.
Just because she was born a girl.
As she despairs about the church
And it’s past ruling by men.
She knows she believes in God.
But she doesn’t believe in them.
Apr 10, 2020
Apr 10, 2020 at 1:45 AM UTC
Passive aggressive sticky notes,
Is what the game card says.
You both turn to look at me
But it’s not mockery or frustration in your eyes.
It’s the fondness, exasperation and amusement,
That comes from knowing a person a little too well.
It was a bad day.
I wasn’t expecting anything good
But I open your message
See the hearts, the I love yous and
The promises of hugs you give when,
Knowing a person, a little too well.
You didn’t even question it,
When I called you Mark Antony,
When I defended you ruthlessly.
When I fed you jelly beans on my bed.
You accepted the quirks of your strange wife Caesar.
That comes from knowing a person a little too well.
We haven’t talked in a while.
We fought, grew apart, it happens.
I didn’t particularly want to see you again
But when we did have to talk, to interact,
To plan; we fit together still, painfully seamless.
The curse of you knowing a person a little two well.
I have no walls left around me.
You see through the armour I built for protection.
You know far too much about what goes on inside my head.
My strange thoughts, my naked truths,
The person no one knew I was, you know it, you see it.
Because you know me far too well
Apr 10, 2020
Apr 10, 2020 at 1:18 AM UTC
I had a notebook filled with thoughts
These odd thoughts of mine.
One day I lost my notebook.
I left my thoughts behind.
My thoughts about the pains caused
When cruel things were said.
About my love of music
About wishing I was dead.
About the way my mind works,
The decisions that I make.
The friends I think hate me
The food I want to bake.
Do I want lace lingerie?
Or pretty little knives?
Should I learn to dance a waltz
Or practice how to drive.
Some thoughts were about projects
Some homework on my mind.
Have I worked hard enough?
Have I been kind?
This book was filled with all the things
That others should not know.
And now I cannot find it,
Where did my thoughts go?
If you come across them, please let me know.
Apr 10, 2020
Apr 10, 2020 at 12:52 AM UTC
If there are emotions I can’t
Name but can feel.
How do I tell if they
Are even real?
Be disturbed by this
Perfect mask of calm.
I’ll convince you that this
Is all I am.
All these thoughts, they plan
To get the best of me.
And here I thought
That we’d all get along swimmingly
But instead I'm drowning in
This lake of mine
Not flying on wings
Falling from the sky.
There’s a wall
It's been hit by catapults.
On the other side things
Kept inside a vault.
The sliding scale of friendship
Shows me where you are.
Explain to me how you managed
To get so far.
Apr 10, 2020
Apr 10, 2020 at 12:28 AM UTC
On a slightly battered couch,
In a warm yellow room,
I learned about a sparkle
Forgot my doom and gloom.
In a small kitchenette,
With pancakes by my arm.
I spoke about my history
Tried to defend you all from harm.
A plate of cookies in my hands.
Overjoyed smile on their face.
A feeling of contentment
Of knowing my place.
In a small music room,
With a ukulele and some drums.
O sang a sad song for you,
But without feeling glum.
Table quiz in my hands,
Staring at a Christmas tree.
Wondering about carols
Forgetting the ever-present negativity.
Planning a celebration.
A festive rainbow Ball.
Knowing you’ll all catch me.
But also, wouldn’t let me fall.
Contained within a collection
Of brightly coloured hair,
Was a sense of unity.
Knowing someone was there.
In a circle on the ground,
A revolution to deploy.
I wonder how this happened,
When did I learn joy?
Apr 10, 2020
Apr 10, 2020 at 12:13 AM UTC