cyrhen - Hello Poetry

There are pieces of me Floating around Disjointed Unidentified Nameless Faceless Singular And I can't seem to recall If they ever had names or If I was just so familiar with them that they weren't needed. But now that I need them I know not what to call out to I can't call them back home. They feel foreign and unfamiliar. They feel like they were never a part of me Mine.

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Jul 24, 2025

Jul 24, 2025 at 9:27 PM UTC

Tesselate

There are pieces of me Floating around Disjointed Unidentified Nameless Faceless Singular And I can't seem to recall If they ever had names or If I was just so familiar with them that they weren't needed. But now that I need them I know not what to call out to I can't call them back home. They feel foreign and unfamiliar. They feel like they were never a part of me Mine.

19

You have so much of me. Things I want back, Things I meant to give, Secrets, and Pain. Love, and Hatred. Admiration, and Disgust. And yet, I have nothing of you. At least, not that I carry in my heart. I do not regret this, or maybe I'm terrified to. From a distance, your image is... Obscured into clarity and I've learned that not every Mirror is accurate And the cracked one's can Hurt you.

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Jan 9, 2024

Jan 9, 2024 at 4:29 AM UTC

Goodbye, Ms. B. Alexander

You have so much of me. Things I want back, Things I meant to give, Secrets, and Pain. Love, and Hatred. Admiration, and Disgust. And yet, I have nothing of you. At least, not that I carry in my heart. I do not regret this, or maybe I'm terrified to. From a distance, your image is... Obscured into clarity and I've learned that not every Mirror is accurate And the cracked one's can Hurt you.

17

A gourd Hollowed. to carry naught. Naught but a small flame. And only for a time. She is hollow. But her flesh is plump is vibrant is fragrant A carved pumpkin with a grinning facade. Gutted. Holding a single flame. How long before the walls decay And the flame is extinguished?

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Sep 16, 2022

Sep 16, 2022 at 12:09 PM UTC

Hallow.

A gourd Hollowed. to carry naught. Naught but a small flame. And only for a time. She is hollow. But her flesh is plump is vibrant is fragrant A carved pumpkin with a grinning facade. Gutted. Holding a single flame. How long before the walls decay And the flame is extinguished?

15

To think is to hear you The sound of rushing water Rushing against the walls of my skull. Your words rippling deep within my psyche. A cacophony of movement and noise Built to push and pull. Roll and Crash Intrinsically, like the tide. I am adrift But familiar in unfamiliar water I learned to swim, long ago.

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Aug 17, 2022

Aug 17, 2022 at 3:55 PM UTC

Aquarian

To think is to hear you The sound of rushing water Rushing against the walls of my skull. Your words rippling deep within my psyche. A cacophony of movement and noise Built to push and pull. Roll and Crash Intrinsically, like the tide. I am adrift But familiar in unfamiliar water I learned to swim, long ago.

11

I could look at the art of you for hours turning you over again and again endlessly drawing new appreciation for facets of your wonder not yet seen I could study the library of you for ages lost in the piles of text and subtext that I devour wholly and enthusiastically a scholar of your thoughts an apostle of your book.

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Nov 13, 2020

Nov 13, 2020 at 4:21 AM UTC

Art

I could look at the art of you for hours turning you over again and again endlessly drawing new appreciation for facets of your wonder not yet seen I could study the library of you for ages lost in the piles of text and subtext that I devour wholly and enthusiastically a scholar of your thoughts an apostle of your book.

13

To be a Light Means to draw moths to you You draw them and appreciate each powder and fur But lights cannot shine forever So the moths lie in wait Patiently Until they can dance in the light once more.

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Oct 22, 2020

Oct 22, 2020 at 5:08 PM UTC

For Tati

To be a Light Means to draw moths to you You draw them and appreciate each powder and fur But lights cannot shine forever So the moths lie in wait Patiently Until they can dance in the light once more.

10

I unfurl my arms and reach towards the sun, with everything I have for it provides me, in turn, with everything I need. As my petals grow, they tilt my head towards the smiles of passersby, I smile back and they are smitten! Praising me, at first for the the velvety touch of my colors Then coveting them Taking souvenirs Until I am bare, and the sun has hidden itself from me I am everything they've ever wanted... but only for a season.

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Oct 22, 2020

Oct 22, 2020 at 1:59 PM UTC

I am a flower, but for a season

I unfurl my arms and reach towards the sun, with everything I have for it provides me, in turn, with everything I need. As my petals grow, they tilt my head towards the smiles of passersby, I smile back and they are smitten! Praising me, at first for the the velvety touch of my colors Then coveting them Taking souvenirs Until I am bare, and the sun has hidden itself from me I am everything they've ever wanted... but only for a season.

14

Sometimes People talk about the noise of nothingness Static The vacuous emptiness of electrical snow But my static Oh, my static sounds like symphonies A cacophony of me All discordant Constant Droning Static.

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Oct 16, 2020

Oct 16, 2020 at 2:20 AM UTC

S T A T I C

Sometimes People talk about the noise of nothingness Static The vacuous emptiness of electrical snow But my static Oh, my static sounds like symphonies A cacophony of me All discordant Constant Droning Static.

12

I felt him between my thighs and my heart sang songs my mind didn't even know it knew. Warm and honeyed thoughts fill me until I am full and I am ready to concede defeat and open myself for his occupation. But doesn't it always? The body delights in new and welcome sensations and the head creates them. I could easily dismiss it all as a ballet of chemical reactions and well placed hands, profoundly meaning "Nothing". Because everyone knows when the heat dies down, and the temperature drops, when the passion has waned like the moon, and the tide falls, only the bare bones of you are left and there are only calcium pillars to protect the flame. Because everyone who has loved, even as a passing thought, has been left in the wake of warring bodies to observe the aftermath. Was the tenderness making way for lust? Did every kiss have a drop of hard truth imbued that I missed? Were his hands caressing shallow intentions into my sensitive skin? Did I miss the message? Or were my eyes too open in awe, that they had closed on the casual way his hands and lips met my own? "And what had all this been for?" Is the question that dances on the outskirts of my mind, while the meeting of my thighs still burned, and my heart had descended into free fall. Satisfaction? Fear? Gratification? Doubt? Love? The worst feeling, of course, not being betrayal, confusion, shame, or loss, but plainly, uncertainty. Nothing hurts the heart worse than not knowing.

0

Jun 29, 2014

Jun 29, 2014 at 6:50 PM UTC

Human Poetry

I felt him between my thighs and my heart sang songs my mind didn't even know it knew. Warm and honeyed thoughts fill me until I am full and I am ready to concede defeat and open myself for his occupation. But doesn't it always? The body delights in new and welcome sensations and the head creates them. I could easily dismiss it all as a ballet of chemical reactions and well placed hands, profoundly meaning "Nothing". Because everyone knows when the heat dies down, and the temperature drops, when the passion has waned like the moon, and the tide falls, only the bare bones of you are left and there are only calcium pillars to protect the flame. Because everyone who has loved, even as a passing thought, has been left in the wake of warring bodies to observe the aftermath. Was the tenderness making way for lust? Did every kiss have a drop of hard truth imbued that I missed? Were his hands caressing shallow intentions into my sensitive skin? Did I miss the message? Or were my eyes too open in awe, that they had closed on the casual way his hands and lips met my own? "And what had all this been for?" Is the question that dances on the outskirts of my mind, while the meeting of my thighs still burned, and my heart had descended into free fall. Satisfaction? Fear? Gratification? Doubt? Love? The worst feeling, of course, not being betrayal, confusion, shame, or loss, but plainly, uncertainty. Nothing hurts the heart worse than not knowing.

18

For I am a creature of the night, born to glide along the edges of your mind, and call out to you when you need it least. Born to move like silk against your skin, and be soft, and cool to the touch. Made to taste of honey and cream so as to fill your mind with hazy sweetness, born to obsess your thoughts. A creature of the dark made to draw you in with eyes like the moon, big, and bright, and full. Lips like fruit flesh, saccharine and refreshing, hands like water flowing over the skin, comforting, but harsh as if to wash away your fears, and filth. I am made to be what you wish me to be, at any given time. Made to be your Keeper. Made to be yours.

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Aug 16, 2013

Aug 16, 2013 at 2:25 PM UTC

Succubus.

For I am a creature of the night, born to glide along the edges of your mind, and call out to you when you need it least. Born to move like silk against your skin, and be soft, and cool to the touch. Made to taste of honey and cream so as to fill your mind with hazy sweetness, born to obsess your thoughts. A creature of the dark made to draw you in with eyes like the moon, big, and bright, and full. Lips like fruit flesh, saccharine and refreshing, hands like water flowing over the skin, comforting, but harsh as if to wash away your fears, and filth. I am made to be what you wish me to be, at any given time. Made to be your Keeper. Made to be yours.

8