madeleinefelix - Hello Poetry

I'm not who I thought I would ever be A mess of colors Each passing through my mind With such fervent vibrancy I'm frayed and torn Reviewed childhood stories Colliding with words That I don't fully understand Yet There's comfort in knowing that I Am not in order I am everywhere And everything Experiencing all that I wish And patching myself with fragments Of long lost tales And windy chills. I'm not who I thought I would ever be But I'm proud of where I am.

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Feb 5, 2019

Feb 5, 2019 at 10:57 AM UTC

Sleep Paralysis.

I'm not who I thought I would ever be A mess of colors Each passing through my mind With such fervent vibrancy I'm frayed and torn Reviewed childhood stories Colliding with words That I don't fully understand Yet There's comfort in knowing that I Am not in order I am everywhere And everything Experiencing all that I wish And patching myself with fragments Of long lost tales And windy chills. I'm not who I thought I would ever be But I'm proud of where I am.

19

There is a god somewhere Who is marked with orange And speaks of fury (He looks a little like you With secondhand creations claiming Him as Father) The deathless hero Who chokes the souls That never tire Aglow is His chamber Marked in conformist magenta And dying melancholia He'll never approve Of someone as bright As you

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Feb 5, 2019

Feb 5, 2019 at 10:43 AM UTC

Writing Red.

There is a god somewhere Who is marked with orange And speaks of fury (He looks a little like you With secondhand creations claiming Him as Father) The deathless hero Who chokes the souls That never tire Aglow is His chamber Marked in conformist magenta And dying melancholia He'll never approve Of someone as bright As you

14

i exist beyond metaphors there are things even poems cannot tell.

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Feb 5, 2019

Feb 5, 2019 at 10:35 AM UTC

nowhere east

i exist beyond metaphors there are things even poems cannot tell.

3

the music is fleeting, transient, waltzing in the middle of an abandoned church parking lot i know i'm not supposed to remain here fixated on the bite of the chill but i can't help it. i don't love you anymore. we've both known this for a while, but i can't find the righteous strength to let it slip from my mouth i'd rather live in a lie of unhappiness and petaled dishonesty than ever tell you how i feel. i had lunch with him this afternoon he had his guitar and he plucked the songs he knew i would want to hear i'm not saying i could fall in love with him but i can become obsessed with the way he doesn't hide behind false silence in an attempt to make me affirm him. we aren't working you and i between your character of meek silence and apathetic ignorance and mine of bold conversations and tones that would get me kicked out of libraries your gentle touch and my cold tongue we were never meant to be in moderation. i can't write this i can't write this i can't write this not if i can't tell you first.

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Jan 29, 2019

Jan 29, 2019 at 4:35 PM UTC

i can't write (you)

the music is fleeting, transient, waltzing in the middle of an abandoned church parking lot i know i'm not supposed to remain here fixated on the bite of the chill but i can't help it. i don't love you anymore. we've both known this for a while, but i can't find the righteous strength to let it slip from my mouth i'd rather live in a lie of unhappiness and petaled dishonesty than ever tell you how i feel. i had lunch with him this afternoon he had his guitar and he plucked the songs he knew i would want to hear i'm not saying i could fall in love with him but i can become obsessed with the way he doesn't hide behind false silence in an attempt to make me affirm him. we aren't working you and i between your character of meek silence and apathetic ignorance and mine of bold conversations and tones that would get me kicked out of libraries your gentle touch and my cold tongue we were never meant to be in moderation. i can't write this i can't write this i can't write this not if i can't tell you first.

35

i. mental map. kingdom. a peasant's land. monarchy. soliloquy dreams. there is honor in being noble there is serendipitous fate in being transient. left to choose between a palace of exquisite marble and expensive murals or a life of poverty and mud-dusted fingertips the ability to walk out upon pavement cry in the company of a stranger feel dangerous for a change. ii. chimera holds a flame above my memories fraying the edges of sweetness making livid to peaceful retreats i took as a child behind embers and coils matchsticks and lighters the gasoline is poured all the way across my chest reduced to cinder chimera holds the match iii. i wish i hadn't told you i figured that once i did, it would be in your hands and now it's strangled between your hands choked and mumbled back into my scorn i've never understood the power of being ignored.

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Jan 29, 2019

Jan 29, 2019 at 3:01 PM UTC

literature in the age of cinema

i. mental map. kingdom. a peasant's land. monarchy. soliloquy dreams. there is honor in being noble there is serendipitous fate in being transient. left to choose between a palace of exquisite marble and expensive murals or a life of poverty and mud-dusted fingertips the ability to walk out upon pavement cry in the company of a stranger feel dangerous for a change. ii. chimera holds a flame above my memories fraying the edges of sweetness making livid to peaceful retreats i took as a child behind embers and coils matchsticks and lighters the gasoline is poured all the way across my chest reduced to cinder chimera holds the match iii. i wish i hadn't told you i figured that once i did, it would be in your hands and now it's strangled between your hands choked and mumbled back into my scorn i've never understood the power of being ignored.

32

We are not autonomous agents Born from split atoms whose heads are placed on upside down Metaphysical refinement atoned upon us We are a cycle of washed out fragments Bone marrow and plastic debris A graveyard flattered by dying light The candle flickers wildly in hallows It feels so poetic We both know it's divine in an irreverent fashion I've never believed in free will To think that I can set blaze to my narrative And carve out my own caves Would be such a foolish illusion I am formed by the ones who came before me My life inked before me on the very first hospital bed I rested upon You may think it's unfair I find it to be of sheepish solace I will never Find myself If I am just A split second of refracted physics.

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Jan 29, 2019

Jan 29, 2019 at 11:07 AM UTC

freudian health

We are not autonomous agents Born from split atoms whose heads are placed on upside down Metaphysical refinement atoned upon us We are a cycle of washed out fragments Bone marrow and plastic debris A graveyard flattered by dying light The candle flickers wildly in hallows It feels so poetic We both know it's divine in an irreverent fashion I've never believed in free will To think that I can set blaze to my narrative And carve out my own caves Would be such a foolish illusion I am formed by the ones who came before me My life inked before me on the very first hospital bed I rested upon You may think it's unfair I find it to be of sheepish solace I will never Find myself If I am just A split second of refracted physics.

22

to make a cut is to make revision peering daylight onto flattering blame a sin out into the open so vulnerable to observation and hypothesis (can you replicate it? can you hold it in your hand and brush it away with hysteria?) my dependent variables make the narrow corridors seem suffocating soil supporting sadness the microbes grow in the shadow of death i'm no scientist but i know that experimentation is three steps back from platitude and two steps in front of madness i can't revise my method to do so would admit to failure or an error on my own scale instead i'll watch my own environment be given looks of scorn and contempt while my pseudo name is smeared with mud across the glass.

0

Jan 29, 2019

Jan 29, 2019 at 10:49 AM UTC

Winogradsky Columns

to make a cut is to make revision peering daylight onto flattering blame a sin out into the open so vulnerable to observation and hypothesis (can you replicate it? can you hold it in your hand and brush it away with hysteria?) my dependent variables make the narrow corridors seem suffocating soil supporting sadness the microbes grow in the shadow of death i'm no scientist but i know that experimentation is three steps back from platitude and two steps in front of madness i can't revise my method to do so would admit to failure or an error on my own scale instead i'll watch my own environment be given looks of scorn and contempt while my pseudo name is smeared with mud across the glass.

22

there's a heart of india ink bleeding through my system it ripples through a different world and comes right back through my lungs saying "i'm sorry" took too long indifferent in its sound, a guilty muse of apathetic pleasure there was a man in france who died this week dedicated his life to that of creating an ambient force of music never settling for one medium of passion spanning outwards evermore they say he's inimitable glorious envied my veins are wrapped around this reality-based darkness it waltzes in my head gory tenderness is my claim i can't hum your story in the streets but i'll rob you of your innocence how you happily fall into the scheme of being a heart of eden muse

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Jan 29, 2019

Jan 29, 2019 at 10:30 AM UTC

Muse.

there's a heart of india ink bleeding through my system it ripples through a different world and comes right back through my lungs saying "i'm sorry" took too long indifferent in its sound, a guilty muse of apathetic pleasure there was a man in france who died this week dedicated his life to that of creating an ambient force of music never settling for one medium of passion spanning outwards evermore they say he's inimitable glorious envied my veins are wrapped around this reality-based darkness it waltzes in my head gory tenderness is my claim i can't hum your story in the streets but i'll rob you of your innocence how you happily fall into the scheme of being a heart of eden muse

19

I am stifled by comforting sounds Suffocating an envious heart Through bitter melodies To the touch It feels metallic Cold, lifeless, surging with great power To hear it is To live through a myriad of lifetimes Each more terrifying and tragic than the previous First life lyrical Last a dissonance I am stifled by comforting sounds My casket unfurled in velvet chimes

0

Jan 29, 2019

Jan 29, 2019 at 10:17 AM UTC

Cacophony.

I am stifled by comforting sounds Suffocating an envious heart Through bitter melodies To the touch It feels metallic Cold, lifeless, surging with great power To hear it is To live through a myriad of lifetimes Each more terrifying and tragic than the previous First life lyrical Last a dissonance I am stifled by comforting sounds My casket unfurled in velvet chimes

13

In some tragic way, it feels that I may always want you Eyes that have seen too far beyond Fingers wrapped around your precious ego Lips that spill words even Pathos envies It's all a little sad. I can't recall much But the way each tower gleamed over me Hundreds of rainy streets remained empty Your body Close to the bus window It's intoxicating. Whispering "I'm so glad to see this with you" Only to have you pretend you didn't hear I'm a specter reliving my memories The more I revisit The easier it is to grasp: I was a specter living through the moments.

0

Jan 23, 2019

Jan 23, 2019 at 3:32 PM UTC

Specter of Las Vegas.

In some tragic way, it feels that I may always want you Eyes that have seen too far beyond Fingers wrapped around your precious ego Lips that spill words even Pathos envies It's all a little sad. I can't recall much But the way each tower gleamed over me Hundreds of rainy streets remained empty Your body Close to the bus window It's intoxicating. Whispering "I'm so glad to see this with you" Only to have you pretend you didn't hear I'm a specter reliving my memories The more I revisit The easier it is to grasp: I was a specter living through the moments.

17