The weight of your words..
Keep me up at night...
You point,
The edges of your fingers cut sharper than any knife,
Slicing the space we used to fill with laughter and light.
Your hands are inert,
Hungry for heat,
Yet instead of reaching, they hover,
Like ghosts in a room where warmth has fled.
Each sigh, a boulder,
That drops into the stillness and
Unfurls like tangled weeds,
Choking the garden of us.
I wonder, do you think love flourishes in the shadows of blame?
Do you think it's fruits bloom where bitterness breathes like an old memory?
Yet, here I remain — rooted,
Waiting for you to look up,
To step out of the darkness,
To meet me, halfway..
In that golden sliver of effort,
Where silence can wrap us in a cradle,
A refuge,
Not a battlefield.
The weight of your words..
Keep me up at night...
But the hope in my heart...
Give me just enough to stay another day.
-realness and rhyme x Nachii
Dec 15, 2024
Dec 15, 2024 at 1:49 PM UTC
If you seek a love,
That sits neatly, pressed smooth as linen,
I cannot give you that,
Because true love - is wild.
It is as untamed as fire,
And it dances with the wind.
It is a patchwork of wounds,
Broken promises, mistakes and dreams,
It is heavy with the weight of unspoken things.
It is silent sighs stitched together in laughter,
And tears like summer storms on cracked pavements.
Its is daunting daydreams and many sleepless nights woven into one another.
And yes, our hearts will stumble,
And fumble through shadows,
Reaching for fragments of warmth and familiarity,
Trying to carve paths to the past through the dark,
And though the fabric frays like an old story,
It’s there, in the seams,
Where we discover a strength,
Raw and real colors that run but never fade,
And at the end,
It’s in that flaw that makes love a beautiful mess,
Its own wild masterpiece.
So if you see fit let us embrace,
The snags and tears,
Treating each thread as a testament to our journey unfurling.
Where there is chaos,
There lies the heartbeat,
Each pulse promising that we are alive.
And in that sacred noise, we find the truth,
Cracked open and brilliant,
A symphony of us....
-realness and rhyme
Dec 7, 2024
Dec 7, 2024 at 10:57 PM UTC
She was damned
Shattered and frayed, her guilt thrummed like a live wire,
just feeling it all—
the agony and the nothingness,
intertwined like roots of a twisted tree,
growing in soil laced with despair.
He was damned,
caught in the riptide of love,
clinging to the driftwood of someone else’s anguish,
his sin?
This desperate reach,
a lifeline that twisted like vines
suffocating the very breath of his own heart.
She was damned—
a jigsaw of herself,
pieces ripped from her skin,
reassembled to fit the gaps of others,
her hope—
to stand in the light
and finally feel her own shadow.
She was dangerous,
her fragments sharp,
like glass scattered on a forgotten floor,
and every hand that reached out
bore the chance
of slicing through her skin and the tether
to her still-beating heart.
He was dangerous—
each sinkhole of sadness,
his love,
an ocean that swallowed the buoyancy of laughter,
his heart bled onto them,
the crimson tide drenching those
who dared to tread too close.
She was dangerous,
those myriad pieces,
each a path to the divine or
the infernal, a kaleidoscope
of God’s dreams and the devil’s whispers,
and in her longing to be whole,
the lines blurred—
the beauty and the brutality, intertwined.
Dec 6, 2024
Dec 6, 2024 at 3:03 PM UTC
Poetry
In the grip of days
when the heart feels
like a wild thing,
teetering on the edge
of clawing itself
free from my chest,
something shifts,
like the weight of love
breaking ribs,
pouring forth,
desperate to taste
the sweetness of those lips—
Oh, how easily it forgets the cost,
the time it took
to mend from the wreckage,
from honey to bitterness,
those flavors now mingling.
Poetry,
always a balm,
cradling my raw edges
when I want to rage against the sky
for all that is unraveled,
carrying my broken promises
like badges of honor,
holding me accountable
to the injustices shouting
inside my soul,
telling me,
it’s okay.
It’s okay to roar.
With every line,
I find solace in the violence of my past,
the page a witness
to the wounds that linger,
the understanding
that some pieces
cannot be fixed,
only released.
And so, I let go.
In the ink, I submerge,
a saline for the scars
etched deep in my heart,
as words swirl,
filling the empty spaces
that once echoed with echoes.
In this sacred communion,
I douse the flame of fury
with metaphors that dance,
alliteration forming bridges
over troubled waters.
Here, I breathe without fear,
bold enough to seize the day,
to open doors for voices
silenced by shadows,
to foster a place
where suffering can be shared,
where vulnerability becomes a birthright.
I become a lighthouse
for the lost and wandering,
the voice I searched for
in childhood shadows,
filling the void
carved by heartbreak,
where spirits lay shattered,
muffled words
lost in tears,
the disconnected souls
seeking solace.
In poetry, I find home.
And for this,
I love it fiercely.
Dec 6, 2024
Dec 6, 2024 at 1:53 PM UTC
With this paper and pen, I vow..
To voice out the volumes of words left unsaid.
To spell out the silence of the secrets left unspoken.
I vow,
That my sonnets will speak the language our spirits haven't figured out yet,
That the lines of my limericks will lyric the songs our souls haven't sung yet,
That my haikus will hold and heal our haggard hearts,
That...
My words, wether in prose of verse, written, spoken, raw or rehearsed will silence the voices in our heads, listen..
I vow that the ink of my pen will be the flavor of sweat driven by my anxiety,
It will be volumes of tears wept silently,
It will be the crimson color of the the blood on my wrists that clot and bleed and clot and bleed,
I vow that the ink of my pen will be every last ounce of me.
With ink-stained fingers and paper cuts
I pledge my heart..
To the craft that sets my soul apart
To weave tales that transport and transform
To conjure worlds that readers can form
I vow to chase the muse, wherever she may roam
To follow the story, no matter how it may roam
To craft characters that breathe and bleed
To write words that whisper secrets, and plant seeds
To weave a tapestry of tales, both old and new
To breathe life into characters, and see them through
To craft a narrative that whispers secrets in the ear
And leaves a lasting impact, long after the final tear
To bare my soul, and share my innermost thoughts
And to write with passion, until the words are caught
And weave a tale that resonates, and remains
To leave a mark on the page, that will forever stay.
With this paper and this pen, I I vow to be raw...
And impregnate you with a REALNESS that reaches for a reality beyond reason and rationality...
AND
I vow that every RHYME will touch you deeper than a lovers kiss and will lingers just little bit longer than reality...
I vow to make love to you with my words,
Captivate you with my poetry.
For better or worse, beginning to end,
I vow for this to be more than just paper and pen.
-Nachiyobe
Dec 6, 2024
Dec 6, 2024 at 1:53 PM UTC