Today, I am beginning
Only to end.
This body has blossomed in a field of green;
Has bled shades of red;
Stared at a horizon ablaze with yellow;
And now, this body will face
The bluest of skies.
Whether my skies are clear or
Consumed with droplets of rain,
I will always end up seeing
Nothing but blue.
Nothing but 10 shades of blue,
Until I see another sun set
Until a palette of colours are
Painted on the horizon
Until stars are forced to form constellations
Until a beginning of
A new morning.
But one day, my new mornings
Will not consist of
The bluest of skies.
There may be a hint of pink,
a touch of purple,
or a sliver of orange.
And that's okay.
Because weather forecasts were not meant
To only be clear blue skies and
Colours were not meant to have
Only one shade.
Blue possesses a fading beauty
Now unappealing
But never forgotten
It is THE last set of my own primary colours -
green, red, and yellow.
Once I set down this
Familiar brush dipped in
blue paint,
I will start anew with a
Fresh set of colours.
A clean canvas once again.
Today, I am ending
Only to begin.
Mar 28, 2016
Mar 28, 2016 at 10:29 AM UTC
A poet is the cracked spine of your favorite novel. As you begin to peer inside, words fly out from every direction. Sentences you can't make out and phrases you can't even begin to recognize. His mind is a dusty dictionary of all sorts.
A poet resembles the tide that rises and falls just as your heartbeat does with every syllable he breathes out. Corals scrape your legs and fish nip at your feet yet you linger in the water.
A poet is a pastel picture frame. Amazing how 4 corners can freeze the sparkles in your eyes and the grin on your lips. Feelings do not last forever so we tend to keep anger, sadness, joy & love sealed in glass, sitting on our night stand.
His mind is a factory.
Gears & wheels working late night shifts, making sure all periods and commas are in place.
You see
Poets are
Tear jerkers
Risk takers
Shape shifters
and
Heart breakers
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 9:50 PM UTC
And I should admit
Falling in love with your cracks & crevices
Wasn't exactly my cup of tea
But your gasoline filled veins
Were just about enough
To create a fire in me
Sep 26, 2014
Sep 26, 2014 at 2:05 AM UTC
A blank canvas stares right through me
No colors on my palette
None splattered on my apron
What has become of the beautiful brush strokes I once used to draw?
All my eyes gaze upon are smeared zigzags and uneven lines
There were instances where I could sketch every inch of your face and draw every corner of your heart with colors borrowed from a sunset
Now I cannot bring myself to map out the dimples on your cheek nor can I doodle the sparkles in your eyes
Guess what I can do?
Nothing because I am an artist
Lost without her muse
- J.Q
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 9:58 AM UTC
Do not fall for the plucked daisies & the sweet smelling roses
Just yet
Do not let your mind wander off to places even out of your own reach
Just yet
Do not fall for the tousled hair boy with poetry on his skin and a heart as soft as clouds
Just yet
Do not unlock your heart for someone who tells you you're cute
Hand over the key to somebody who focuses the camera on you and not on the sunset ablaze in the distance
Don't rush Love
Ring Love at 2:30 in the morning and you'll get him, half asleep and drooling on your nightgown.
Wait for Love and he will arrive at your front door with a grin on his face, a rose free of thorns, and a ring in his back pocket.
You decide.
Jul 27, 2014
Jul 27, 2014 at 10:27 AM UTC
I think Death aims to surprise us
It can do so much as erase someone
With a click of a camera or
a bolt of lightning
As we drag ourselves onto grass,
still wet from rainfall last night
We tend to forget that
someone we once knew,
Beating heart and all,
Is buried beneath our very own two feet.
Death does not warn us.
All he does is ****** loved ones from between our fingertips.
No matter how hard we grasp and no matter how tight our fists are clenched,
Death will claw open our hands and force us to let go.
Take note, Death grabbed you from me.
I know Death is inevitable but he needs to understand I was not ready for tears and heartbreak.
I was not ready for the Last Good Day.
The flash of the worn out camera and the constant ringing of our dusty old phone.
There are so much things I could have said to you and your gray locks.
But alas, I did not.
Now, I stand here above your grave;
Red roses in my bare hands.
I tell you how much you mean to me and
how I will never face your smile again.
I cry out I'm sorry for not answering our dusty old phone and for not telling you how much I love you, present tense.
Kneeling on my knees, I beg you to come back so I can feel your warmth spread through my veins one last time.
My voice gets lost in the wind, I realize.
So I set down the roses we picked for you
And commend Death on how easy it was to take everything and leave me with nothing.
Jul 8, 2014
Jul 8, 2014 at 11:33 AM UTC
one day
when the sunlight
stops playing hide and seek
with the clouds
i will set down my worn out pen
and stop scribbling about you
the tears streaming down my cheeks
will not be for your benefit
someday
as the trees
shed their leaves
the color of the summer sunset
my pen's ink will have dried up
and my sappy poems brown at the edges
i have learned to pick myself up
one discolored piece at a time
as the waves
start to calm
and the tides
start to quiet down
i start scribbling
i start scribbling about happiness
about how the stars are all in place
and how i have taped and colored in
my once shattered heart
Jul 8, 2014
Jul 8, 2014 at 6:41 AM UTC
they crowd the palace
kings with golden scepters
and queens with glimmering crowns
one by one standing in front of
the tallest tower
inside there are
streamers painted with every color smudged on an artist's palette
the music is blaring
entering the ears of every listener
inside there is
food on every porcelain plate
and napkins folded into delicate shapes
there is a banner
looking down from the heavens
written on it is the reason behind this sudden celebration
congratulations my love for
once again you have managed
to make me the dust
beneath your feet and
the rust between your bones
Jul 1, 2014
Jul 1, 2014 at 7:58 AM UTC
how do i extinguish these memories
from my messed up mind
so ablaze and so vivid
burning up and eating me alive
you were once the flame to my fire
now i want you to be the ash
that rides the wind
i want those memories to rise up in the night sky and mix with the atmosphere
and i want to forget you
like how you forgot me
Jun 22, 2014
Jun 22, 2014 at 2:45 AM UTC
the thing about me is
i know that i am worth it
yet the voices in my head are telling me otherwise
there are thorns piercing my fragile heart
and with every insult and hurtful word
the thorns dig deeper
the voices scream louder
the light in my eyes fade slowly
as does the *** of gold at the end of the rainbow
as does the light at the end of the tunnel
my voice is hoarse and desperate
i know i am screaming for the light to stay
it's trying to
it's screaming back at me
darkness fills the room
it's pitch black and
i don't see the light anymore
the thing about me is
i settle for coal when in fact
i deserve scintillating diamonds
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 11:08 AM UTC