namii - Hello Poetry

This story begins and ends in a place that does not exist darling, I didn't listen to this song enough there's a graze under my ribs I should feel but there is nothing, only the aftermath of a sunset you are one year older yet you are seventeen forever severe tranquility aged youth heartbeats sweat, something's ripped inside your chest you are still alive It’s not so bad to grasp anything that doesn’t look like sunshine you are moonlight, waxen frowns, muddied shoes the tremors in my toes where are you in the mountains? come back, come home. I think these bleach scrubbed walls will hold the memory of how I have always longed to look you in the eyes and wished for something more this place will always make my heart leap it has been a year and all I can think about is how much I have waited on a boy so beautiful every time I look at him I feel something in my chest give way. This is the tragedy of falling in love a whirlpool of desolation and an abysmal sadness somewhere in the mountains you think you hear someone calling out your name It’s me, I’m here and this story will end when you come home.

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Jun 28, 2015

Jun 28, 2015 at 11:57 PM UTC

Beginnings

This story begins and ends in a place that does not exist darling, I didn't listen to this song enough there's a graze under my ribs I should feel but there is nothing, only the aftermath of a sunset you are one year older yet you are seventeen forever severe tranquility aged youth heartbeats sweat, something's ripped inside your chest you are still alive It’s not so bad to grasp anything that doesn’t look like sunshine you are moonlight, waxen frowns, muddied shoes the tremors in my toes where are you in the mountains? come back, come home. I think these bleach scrubbed walls will hold the memory of how I have always longed to look you in the eyes and wished for something more this place will always make my heart leap it has been a year and all I can think about is how much I have waited on a boy so beautiful every time I look at him I feel something in my chest give way. This is the tragedy of falling in love a whirlpool of desolation and an abysmal sadness somewhere in the mountains you think you hear someone calling out your name It’s me, I’m here and this story will end when you come home.

33

He smells of nothing sometimes of trees, salt, rain, and everything pure like moonlight he is the colour grey under flesh, muscle and cloth like rain; fresh, gentle yet violent a silhouette elusive but perhaps far more beautiful The paths have fallen in love with your footsteps there are cracks in the asphalt where flowers bloom I swear they are trying to wrap themselves around your ankles when you walk I stopped counting while the mountains stopped screaming and Sohrab, you are beautiful and breathing On mountaintops these echoes are hollow and empty as they should be exactly how I feel when I look at you and how I feel when I don’t It’s a battle of sorts I need the reminder that there exists the ability to feel so hard the cold will not win this war but I know that in the end it will I know that you are scared to breathe so deep your ribs scrape the underside of your chest tell me, who wants to be reminded of their ability to feel so hard? It’s a tremor under your bones, you’ve plunged your hand into your chest to stop the heaving, the hurling, the surging but everything is fading violently, spiralling in a decadent whirl of stubborn silence, clenched teeth and eyes that refuse to meet Nothing, I am nothing

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May 28, 2015

May 28, 2015 at 5:14 AM UTC

Nothing

He smells of nothing sometimes of trees, salt, rain, and everything pure like moonlight he is the colour grey under flesh, muscle and cloth like rain; fresh, gentle yet violent a silhouette elusive but perhaps far more beautiful The paths have fallen in love with your footsteps there are cracks in the asphalt where flowers bloom I swear they are trying to wrap themselves around your ankles when you walk I stopped counting while the mountains stopped screaming and Sohrab, you are beautiful and breathing On mountaintops these echoes are hollow and empty as they should be exactly how I feel when I look at you and how I feel when I don’t It’s a battle of sorts I need the reminder that there exists the ability to feel so hard the cold will not win this war but I know that in the end it will I know that you are scared to breathe so deep your ribs scrape the underside of your chest tell me, who wants to be reminded of their ability to feel so hard? It’s a tremor under your bones, you’ve plunged your hand into your chest to stop the heaving, the hurling, the surging but everything is fading violently, spiralling in a decadent whirl of stubborn silence, clenched teeth and eyes that refuse to meet Nothing, I am nothing

34

“Can you state your emergency?” “There’s been a lung collision.” He’s stealing your breath, darling I can’t feel your lungs What an aberration, forced to bleed the river of an emotion You were never taught to feel growing up I think nobody told you how to feel a colour so hard Crimson on your neck, on your chest But I cannot find a wound Your breath feels like knives But it’s funny, you’re dying You’re trying to tell me something It sounds like the kind of thing you would say right at sunset Slurring your sevens like you have mints on your tongue But you are only gasping for air Marble gazes Your eyes are lolling back They are the same eyes that have cut through me The same eyes I’ve always thought were beautiful When you were sad You are weak and you are failing Completely unlike the times You would walk in like a sandstorm No less powerful than a serpent Beautiful Now you are trying to speak “Feels like a fishbone dislodged in my lungs” And you laugh You are laughing and you are dying And this night still feels like day I tried scraping out the difference Between guilt and self-loathe But the answer only lies on the blade of this knife Maybe I could tell you I don’t know what I did with it The reason we are not sure from which wound This blood is seeping from It wasn't just a lung collision It was the explosion of a galaxy in your chest When your ribs bent and cracked Now they are broken, dust You are breathing in rust But it does not matter because you are dying In the distance there is the sound of sirens They are coming and they might be far too late.

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Jan 28, 2015

Jan 28, 2015 at 8:45 AM UTC

Last breath before the sirens

“Can you state your emergency?” “There’s been a lung collision.” He’s stealing your breath, darling I can’t feel your lungs What an aberration, forced to bleed the river of an emotion You were never taught to feel growing up I think nobody told you how to feel a colour so hard Crimson on your neck, on your chest But I cannot find a wound Your breath feels like knives But it’s funny, you’re dying You’re trying to tell me something It sounds like the kind of thing you would say right at sunset Slurring your sevens like you have mints on your tongue But you are only gasping for air Marble gazes Your eyes are lolling back They are the same eyes that have cut through me The same eyes I’ve always thought were beautiful When you were sad You are weak and you are failing Completely unlike the times You would walk in like a sandstorm No less powerful than a serpent Beautiful Now you are trying to speak “Feels like a fishbone dislodged in my lungs” And you laugh You are laughing and you are dying And this night still feels like day I tried scraping out the difference Between guilt and self-loathe But the answer only lies on the blade of this knife Maybe I could tell you I don’t know what I did with it The reason we are not sure from which wound This blood is seeping from It wasn't just a lung collision It was the explosion of a galaxy in your chest When your ribs bent and cracked Now they are broken, dust You are breathing in rust But it does not matter because you are dying In the distance there is the sound of sirens They are coming and they might be far too late.

43

Spiralling downwards, Bitter taste of coke slipping in between the bumps on your tongue And months from now when I try to think about you I will remember the way you looked at me And how time stood still So it felt just like you were standing across from me Throwing your unsaid medals at my throat I let them slide down to my chest It burns Like the acid streams of coke surfacing my lungs And I cannot breathe All I can think about is why do I cross paths with people I am not supposed to fall in love with Coke sliding down your throat Swallow your golden apologies you never were brave enough to say Crackling fizzling drink I have been in love with you since May And every look out has been a habit, I still try to find you in a crowd I still try to swallow the bitter fizzy only slightly sweet taste of coke down my throat The same way I choke On every apology I never said to you and how I almost but never did tell you how much your cheekbones remind me of the sunset. Timeless This drink will never age and neither will your eyes Visceral bubbling youthful I have been waiting on nothing I feel the acid burn in my throat in my chest and it erupts as I ***** every scent I’ve had of you, every gaze we have exchanged while she looks at you and smiles Electric Like the fizz that touches the insides of my stomach I want to look at you and smile And all you do is watch me Sipping through your straw I am drinking coke And your eyes say it has been a while and look at me, look at what I do I want to show you what I do because it has been far too long Child I am not a child I am a hazy incense drifting through hollow walls, corridors and people infested places Everywhere I turn I cannot breathe I need something to quench this thirst of longing I have collected from every instance I never get to see you, every moment you look at me and she is with you I want to keep these aluminium tabs I want to push the bubbles down your throat, tell you this is how I feel every time I look at you and you look at me and we say nothing I want to tell you I have been doing just fine And that you are wearing the same shade of red I’ve been feeling and this coke can shares the red we are crying I want to say I am sorry I looked back and I wished so very hard Sohrab You are between these lines the coke can holds, every droplet that condenses on this metal surface, cool I have something to hold and I don’t know what to feel Only the acid taste of coke

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Dec 11, 2014

Dec 11, 2014 at 5:19 AM UTC

Coke

Spiralling downwards, Bitter taste of coke slipping in between the bumps on your tongue And months from now when I try to think about you I will remember the way you looked at me And how time stood still So it felt just like you were standing across from me Throwing your unsaid medals at my throat I let them slide down to my chest It burns Like the acid streams of coke surfacing my lungs And I cannot breathe All I can think about is why do I cross paths with people I am not supposed to fall in love with Coke sliding down your throat Swallow your golden apologies you never were brave enough to say Crackling fizzling drink I have been in love with you since May And every look out has been a habit, I still try to find you in a crowd I still try to swallow the bitter fizzy only slightly sweet taste of coke down my throat The same way I choke On every apology I never said to you and how I almost but never did tell you how much your cheekbones remind me of the sunset. Timeless This drink will never age and neither will your eyes Visceral bubbling youthful I have been waiting on nothing I feel the acid burn in my throat in my chest and it erupts as I ***** every scent I’ve had of you, every gaze we have exchanged while she looks at you and smiles Electric Like the fizz that touches the insides of my stomach I want to look at you and smile And all you do is watch me Sipping through your straw I am drinking coke And your eyes say it has been a while and look at me, look at what I do I want to show you what I do because it has been far too long Child I am not a child I am a hazy incense drifting through hollow walls, corridors and people infested places Everywhere I turn I cannot breathe I need something to quench this thirst of longing I have collected from every instance I never get to see you, every moment you look at me and she is with you I want to keep these aluminium tabs I want to push the bubbles down your throat, tell you this is how I feel every time I look at you and you look at me and we say nothing I want to tell you I have been doing just fine And that you are wearing the same shade of red I’ve been feeling and this coke can shares the red we are crying I want to say I am sorry I looked back and I wished so very hard Sohrab You are between these lines the coke can holds, every droplet that condenses on this metal surface, cool I have something to hold and I don’t know what to feel Only the acid taste of coke

46

These road signs point to where you’d be if you weren’t kneeled over in constant apology you tell me sometimes you can hear Aidan’s laughter at night, as if someone’s strung them around street lamps like fairy lights your lungs collapse at the mention of his name and your chest heaves with trembling shame but you never told anyone else about the way guilt straddles your shoulders every morning as it leans towards his mother’s ears screaming ears now turned deaf with grief You tell me about the nights so dark you can’t tell it apart from the hollow in your chest most days you find it too hard to breathe because the guilt hugs you so tight it forces itself in your lungs where these organs can’t contain your feeling of sin so you keel over and ***** by the road where you last held Aidan There are footprints in the mud where he was last standing but the imprints have hardened and Aidan has grown since there was a much colder instance when his sister flung a picture frame at you so it shattered and you picked up a shard to scratch out unforgivings in the mud by the road where you watched your best friend die

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Sep 23, 2014

Sep 23, 2014 at 9:24 AM UTC

When Aidan Died

These road signs point to where you’d be if you weren’t kneeled over in constant apology you tell me sometimes you can hear Aidan’s laughter at night, as if someone’s strung them around street lamps like fairy lights your lungs collapse at the mention of his name and your chest heaves with trembling shame but you never told anyone else about the way guilt straddles your shoulders every morning as it leans towards his mother’s ears screaming ears now turned deaf with grief You tell me about the nights so dark you can’t tell it apart from the hollow in your chest most days you find it too hard to breathe because the guilt hugs you so tight it forces itself in your lungs where these organs can’t contain your feeling of sin so you keel over and ***** by the road where you last held Aidan There are footprints in the mud where he was last standing but the imprints have hardened and Aidan has grown since there was a much colder instance when his sister flung a picture frame at you so it shattered and you picked up a shard to scratch out unforgivings in the mud by the road where you watched your best friend die

29

I've been seeing you in my dreams pink sky and a cape your smile is bigger than the moon and wider than the ocean you are breathing in flakes I dreamed someone didn't let you say sorry and you punched him over and over so that he'd know how it feels to have an apology stuck in your throat There was a night I told myself your smile was just a mirage and feeling every bump on the road was just like making sense of your breathing pattern Then the time when I heard the gap in your laughter and realized it had lost its soul when you forgot whose to mould it against oh, the irony. One dream had you walking barefoot across a wooden bridge you’d kicked your shoes into the sea Suddenly you’re on a huge green field making flowers die as you walk I kept seeing you as lampposts, a soft gentle presence in the dark but always flickering threatening to leave in a moment There were the bruised hips from the torrent of unspoken words I decided I didn't want to keep There was a postcard you sent me with a return address that didn't exist so I could write to nothing like I always have The pillows with the tear stained blotches hold reminders of every night I tell myself I can make do without seeing your eyes And all these dreams I've had darling are from my veins pulsing with visions of unrest

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Sep 22, 2014

Sep 22, 2014 at 10:57 AM UTC

All these dreams I’ve had

I've been seeing you in my dreams pink sky and a cape your smile is bigger than the moon and wider than the ocean you are breathing in flakes I dreamed someone didn't let you say sorry and you punched him over and over so that he'd know how it feels to have an apology stuck in your throat There was a night I told myself your smile was just a mirage and feeling every bump on the road was just like making sense of your breathing pattern Then the time when I heard the gap in your laughter and realized it had lost its soul when you forgot whose to mould it against oh, the irony. One dream had you walking barefoot across a wooden bridge you’d kicked your shoes into the sea Suddenly you’re on a huge green field making flowers die as you walk I kept seeing you as lampposts, a soft gentle presence in the dark but always flickering threatening to leave in a moment There were the bruised hips from the torrent of unspoken words I decided I didn't want to keep There was a postcard you sent me with a return address that didn't exist so I could write to nothing like I always have The pillows with the tear stained blotches hold reminders of every night I tell myself I can make do without seeing your eyes And all these dreams I've had darling are from my veins pulsing with visions of unrest

43

There's a pinprick on each of your knuckles on one hand and I think I can hear you say they're for weekdays of guilt. You're saying you'll scratch out "sorry" on your palm and press it on everything you own so the blood stains leave their mark. You think the world is much easier to live in if you don't have to apologize with your lips. “Don’t take too many pictures of the same thing,” you snapped once but it was only because you wanted them to see the sky turn from pink to orange for themselves and not on glossy paper. It was almost like you were saying sorry to the sky. You watched something funny once and I remember you kneeling over with your face in the carpet. I thought you were laughing until you refused to get up hours later and I saw tears seeping through the fabric and realized you were begging on your knees. You stand by the glass window, your eyelashes catching the light with your eyes downcast. You do that every time you think you cannot tell the difference between being ruthless and pretending you don’t care. I remember the day you stood across and finally looked right at me with your black eyes and your gritted teeth, your breath steadied in patterned gulps, your hands hanging down the sides of your hips. Your biggest apology was this stone cold silence.

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Jul 8, 2014

Jul 8, 2014 at 10:47 AM UTC

Sohrab's Apologies

There's a pinprick on each of your knuckles on one hand and I think I can hear you say they're for weekdays of guilt. You're saying you'll scratch out "sorry" on your palm and press it on everything you own so the blood stains leave their mark. You think the world is much easier to live in if you don't have to apologize with your lips. “Don’t take too many pictures of the same thing,” you snapped once but it was only because you wanted them to see the sky turn from pink to orange for themselves and not on glossy paper. It was almost like you were saying sorry to the sky. You watched something funny once and I remember you kneeling over with your face in the carpet. I thought you were laughing until you refused to get up hours later and I saw tears seeping through the fabric and realized you were begging on your knees. You stand by the glass window, your eyelashes catching the light with your eyes downcast. You do that every time you think you cannot tell the difference between being ruthless and pretending you don’t care. I remember the day you stood across and finally looked right at me with your black eyes and your gritted teeth, your breath steadied in patterned gulps, your hands hanging down the sides of your hips. Your biggest apology was this stone cold silence.

8

Darling if you were a noise you'd be static sound

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Jun 19, 2014

Jun 19, 2014 at 11:45 AM UTC

Static (10 words)

Darling if you were a noise you'd be static sound

1

Today will not be the same as yesterday as much as you'd like it to be I finally learnt to remember the image of deserts etched across your knee Yearning is a cheat; it weaves into clocks and watches pretending to be time And I know that when it comes to us coincidence might resign You let the city in your lungs collapse under this emptiness that’s your earthquake I hope you refuse to smile if it isn't for my sake I wish for the days to be gone that are you and your concrete frowns For now I only wish to see you safe and sound I will caress your white shirt soaked in mud If you promise to stop jumping off buildings, staining the parapet with your blood And so we depend on borrowed feelings Don’t you think that remorse is time worth ticking? For me, it skims across lined pages And for you, it settles back into rusted battle cages Truly, it’s another one of those questions your tongue holds no answer I am familiar with the way desperation forces you to bite into inked rubber I've been scratching spirals into wooden floorings In an effort to take the pain out of waiting And if you look up, the shadows are holding out their hands You turn to me, your face contorted in the strain of trying to understand I cannot bring myself to smile because confusion lies in everyone They’re whispering your name; they’re pulling us into oblivion

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Jun 15, 2014

Jun 15, 2014 at 10:41 AM UTC

A tribute to us and beyond oblivion

Today will not be the same as yesterday as much as you'd like it to be I finally learnt to remember the image of deserts etched across your knee Yearning is a cheat; it weaves into clocks and watches pretending to be time And I know that when it comes to us coincidence might resign You let the city in your lungs collapse under this emptiness that’s your earthquake I hope you refuse to smile if it isn't for my sake I wish for the days to be gone that are you and your concrete frowns For now I only wish to see you safe and sound I will caress your white shirt soaked in mud If you promise to stop jumping off buildings, staining the parapet with your blood And so we depend on borrowed feelings Don’t you think that remorse is time worth ticking? For me, it skims across lined pages And for you, it settles back into rusted battle cages Truly, it’s another one of those questions your tongue holds no answer I am familiar with the way desperation forces you to bite into inked rubber I've been scratching spirals into wooden floorings In an effort to take the pain out of waiting And if you look up, the shadows are holding out their hands You turn to me, your face contorted in the strain of trying to understand I cannot bring myself to smile because confusion lies in everyone They’re whispering your name; they’re pulling us into oblivion

22

I'm sorry courage took a longer time for your hair to grow out past your shoulders Maybe I regret the coveted gazes that took residence in the threads of your muscles now precinct, hardly noticed nor remembered You're the seventh page of my diary, as well as the eighth, the ninth, the tenth and it goes on till the edge of this cliff you call home There are things I don't know why I do Like the time I gave myself bruises on my shins just because I liked the colour Has anyone ever thought of how bruises are actually a metaphor of everything unsaid? Capillaries bursting under the surface of your skin and not flowing, like the words that ride in submarines in your head but never brave enough to say them out loud Things sound nicer when they come from your lips anyway. I laugh too much Is the passion carved on your skull as deep and carefully thought out as the things you say? Warmth from you is as untrue and synthetic as your boxing gloves strapped tightly on Punches with the soul of death, you pretend your stares are empty I’ve watched sunsets more times than I have seen your smile The darkness that swallows the harbor isn’t something we’d talk about over steaming cups of coffee I don’t drink coffee anyway I heard you make lovely icy rainbow popsicles and hand them out at barbecues But nothing’s colder than your hard gaze, as hard as your cheekbones I wish you’d grow your hair mid-back so you can finally braid it I am not so sure what waiting is supposed to do except breed hope and a whole lot of misery Silhouettes are me and you and everything intangible, just like me and you and black and white, just like me and you I am in love with you but I do not love you.

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Jun 7, 2014

Jun 7, 2014 at 6:10 AM UTC

I write things about you

I'm sorry courage took a longer time for your hair to grow out past your shoulders Maybe I regret the coveted gazes that took residence in the threads of your muscles now precinct, hardly noticed nor remembered You're the seventh page of my diary, as well as the eighth, the ninth, the tenth and it goes on till the edge of this cliff you call home There are things I don't know why I do Like the time I gave myself bruises on my shins just because I liked the colour Has anyone ever thought of how bruises are actually a metaphor of everything unsaid? Capillaries bursting under the surface of your skin and not flowing, like the words that ride in submarines in your head but never brave enough to say them out loud Things sound nicer when they come from your lips anyway. I laugh too much Is the passion carved on your skull as deep and carefully thought out as the things you say? Warmth from you is as untrue and synthetic as your boxing gloves strapped tightly on Punches with the soul of death, you pretend your stares are empty I’ve watched sunsets more times than I have seen your smile The darkness that swallows the harbor isn’t something we’d talk about over steaming cups of coffee I don’t drink coffee anyway I heard you make lovely icy rainbow popsicles and hand them out at barbecues But nothing’s colder than your hard gaze, as hard as your cheekbones I wish you’d grow your hair mid-back so you can finally braid it I am not so sure what waiting is supposed to do except breed hope and a whole lot of misery Silhouettes are me and you and everything intangible, just like me and you and black and white, just like me and you I am in love with you but I do not love you.

21