naomibaomi - Hello Poetry

When the sun sets I hold my breath Not because night has come Instead time has stopped. Spent by thoughts Not like before. Just like sand Sitting by the shore. Bustling streets And traffic jams. Where people meet And share a glance. You're far from reach But your touch so near. We share a laugh and a tear. Back out where the streets are ready. Closing in, I pull out. The distance and space, In front, yet Backed away. Still waters under my skin. Just vacant, Nothing spilling in.

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May 8

May 8, 2026 at 7:27 AM UTC

Closed perception.

When the sun sets I hold my breath Not because night has come Instead time has stopped. Spent by thoughts Not like before. Just like sand Sitting by the shore. Bustling streets And traffic jams. Where people meet And share a glance. You're far from reach But your touch so near. We share a laugh and a tear. Back out where the streets are ready. Closing in, I pull out. The distance and space, In front, yet Backed away. Still waters under my skin. Just vacant, Nothing spilling in.

25

Heads or tails, On the day we met. A Glum night But the moonlight Shun through the open windows. Wind on my skin. A red string. “Why do you like me?” I say, Grinning ear to ear. “Your smile.” That day, The sheep wore your skin. Started off as vibrant as colors could get, Then I took a few weeks off Now, I'm filled with regret. When you utter words so soft and tender Wondering if this will get better? You're pulling me in– Thawing my core thin. Teeth so sharp. Is it not enough to chew me in, And spit me back out? Or do I wait until You've swallowed me whole? A beige thread.

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May 7

May 7, 2026 at 1:53 PM UTC

Before the beige.

Heads or tails, On the day we met. A Glum night But the moonlight Shun through the open windows. Wind on my skin. A red string. “Why do you like me?” I say, Grinning ear to ear. “Your smile.” That day, The sheep wore your skin. Started off as vibrant as colors could get, Then I took a few weeks off Now, I'm filled with regret. When you utter words so soft and tender Wondering if this will get better? You're pulling me in– Thawing my core thin. Teeth so sharp. Is it not enough to chew me in, And spit me back out? Or do I wait until You've swallowed me whole? A beige thread.

25

Do you remember that night? Which night? Those nights. Just nights? Days, hours, minutes and seconds. Gray skies, which you hated. Heavy by The Marías, on loop. Loud melodies paired with outdoor tears. Everything tainted, music, objects, even memories. My face? When will it just let me go? But, Afraid that if I am let go I might sink further. Further than I already have. Desperacy devouring every inch of me Bitterness in every crevice of my soul. At being so young And Fatherless. Please don’t let this sorrow seep in further. It hurts where my heart is supposed to breathe So how do I move on? If I feel it in me every single day. Distant memories that don't feel like me, Yet I know otherwise, I know that they are mine. Math class, no one noticed: My stares. My breath. My eyes. Surroundings overcome by laughter but never touching me. The dread of going home. And I don't want to go home. You had no idea, you weren't lucid. Nights of walking longer than I should've Ease my torment. Condolences from teachers who took pity in my tears. Times of thinking I’d be welcomed by your warm embrace. An illusion that is crushed instantaneously. Remembering The house is empty with only traces of where you once Sat Slept Cooked and Laughed. The frustration that it would’ve been more bearable if I left before you. I yearn to believe, At least a little Then I’d have hope of seeing you in an Afterlife, But I'm blasphemous. And you were too. Would a God make it easier?

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May 7

May 7, 2026 at 10:34 AM UTC

Would a God make it easier?

Do you remember that night? Which night? Those nights. Just nights? Days, hours, minutes and seconds. Gray skies, which you hated. Heavy by The Marías, on loop. Loud melodies paired with outdoor tears. Everything tainted, music, objects, even memories. My face? When will it just let me go? But, Afraid that if I am let go I might sink further. Further than I already have. Desperacy devouring every inch of me Bitterness in every crevice of my soul. At being so young And Fatherless. Please don’t let this sorrow seep in further. It hurts where my heart is supposed to breathe So how do I move on? If I feel it in me every single day. Distant memories that don't feel like me, Yet I know otherwise, I know that they are mine. Math class, no one noticed: My stares. My breath. My eyes. Surroundings overcome by laughter but never touching me. The dread of going home. And I don't want to go home. You had no idea, you weren't lucid. Nights of walking longer than I should've Ease my torment. Condolences from teachers who took pity in my tears. Times of thinking I’d be welcomed by your warm embrace. An illusion that is crushed instantaneously. Remembering The house is empty with only traces of where you once Sat Slept Cooked and Laughed. The frustration that it would’ve been more bearable if I left before you. I yearn to believe, At least a little Then I’d have hope of seeing you in an Afterlife, But I'm blasphemous. And you were too. Would a God make it easier?

53

Minimalistic halls Complemented by white walls. Sterile air Paired with staff’s glare. The receptionist’s warm smile And cold clangs of metal Grazing the surfaces of my mouth. Awkward silence Amidst the waiting room Not a person Not a soul. ‘We are ready for you Ms.’ Footsteps bouncing off the wall With small conversations that I can’t recall.

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Mar 23

Mar 23, 2026 at 7:21 AM UTC

Going to the dentist.

Minimalistic halls Complemented by white walls. Sterile air Paired with staff’s glare. The receptionist’s warm smile And cold clangs of metal Grazing the surfaces of my mouth. Awkward silence Amidst the waiting room Not a person Not a soul. ‘We are ready for you Ms.’ Footsteps bouncing off the wall With small conversations that I can’t recall.

14

For every spoon that slips in my mouth Reflects the spoon that slipped in yours. For every glance I get in the mirror Stares your face into mine. For every laugh that I let out Bounces a mimic of your voice. My father’s blood runs through me Like rivers in stone. Flesh of mine shaped by his hands Though now he walks in distant lands. In every little instance A constant reminder Like For every spice I pinch Bears the dish you seasoned. For every sentence I write Shows your hands in mine. For every word I speak Reveals the lesson you teach. And through every rise of anger Moment of sadness Fleeting joy Disgust. I recall. I am my father’s daughter And in every corner of me He lives.

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Mar 21

Mar 21, 2026 at 11:39 AM UTC

I am my father's daughter.

For every spoon that slips in my mouth Reflects the spoon that slipped in yours. For every glance I get in the mirror Stares your face into mine. For every laugh that I let out Bounces a mimic of your voice. My father’s blood runs through me Like rivers in stone. Flesh of mine shaped by his hands Though now he walks in distant lands. In every little instance A constant reminder Like For every spice I pinch Bears the dish you seasoned. For every sentence I write Shows your hands in mine. For every word I speak Reveals the lesson you teach. And through every rise of anger Moment of sadness Fleeting joy Disgust. I recall. I am my father’s daughter And in every corner of me He lives.

27

That day, When you told me you loved me For the first time My heart skipped– a beat or two or three. Sweet words Or deception glazed in honey. Words that spelt out a sunken kiss Embedded deeply into my skin. Lately Your presence ever more elusive I wonder what we could have been.

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Mar 19

Mar 19, 2026 at 6:01 PM UTC

You loved me, once.

That day, When you told me you loved me For the first time My heart skipped– a beat or two or three. Sweet words Or deception glazed in honey. Words that spelt out a sunken kiss Embedded deeply into my skin. Lately Your presence ever more elusive I wonder what we could have been.

15

What should I say? I draw a blank. Sweat gliding off of my palms Heart so rapid Like thunder to a storm. Words that lie on the surface of my tongue Etched in, never spat out. Do I have to do this? An ache A throb In the center of my gut. Nausea filling me up Like water to a sinking ship. I wonder What do you think of me? Do you see the way I peer into your eyes? Maybe, do you notice the way I stand upright? Or, is it my stuttered replies? Wait, Am I coming off as uptight? I need to go. An instant wave of relief. a sigh Pause. Was I strange? Did I cross the line? A cycle. A loop. When will I grow a spine?

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Mar 19

Mar 19, 2026 at 9:52 AM UTC

I wish I could start over with the right words.

What should I say? I draw a blank. Sweat gliding off of my palms Heart so rapid Like thunder to a storm. Words that lie on the surface of my tongue Etched in, never spat out. Do I have to do this? An ache A throb In the center of my gut. Nausea filling me up Like water to a sinking ship. I wonder What do you think of me? Do you see the way I peer into your eyes? Maybe, do you notice the way I stand upright? Or, is it my stuttered replies? Wait, Am I coming off as uptight? I need to go. An instant wave of relief. a sigh Pause. Was I strange? Did I cross the line? A cycle. A loop. When will I grow a spine?

28

The sunlight seeps through the blinds, but I am awoken to the sound of chatter and laughter. The smell of bacon leaks through my door. I get up. I stumble to the kitchen, pet the dog, and walk in, for a moment the atmosphere is heavy with disease, a sickness. I look up and suddenly it’s overtaken by the smile of my dad. He says ‘Set the table!’, I set the table. We all sit, we eat, we talk, we laugh, all while the radio plays in the background. The dog wants to play, I play with him. Sunday morning was perfect. Next week, Sunday. I wake up, stumble into the hallway, pet the dog, say ‘good morning papa!’, I go to the kitchen, the air still heavy. I look up, I see my mum, the smell of baked bread covers the apartment. She says ‘Set the table.’, I set the table. We all sit, we eat, and we talk, as the radio plays in the background. The dog wants to play, I play with him. Sunday morning was nice. The next Sunday after. I wake up, it’s silent. I stumble to the hallway, pet the dog, say ‘good morning papa!’. I’m now in the kitchen. Mama is making porridge. She hands me a bowl. I go the master bedroom. I hand the bowl to papa, he asks ‘Can I have my pills please?’, I fetch it and hand it to him. I go back to the kitchen, take my bowl, go to my room. I sit, I eat, and I don’t play with the dog. Sunday morning was fine. Another Sunday arrives. I wake up, stumble into the hallway, pet the dog, go to the master bedroom, say ‘good morning mama and papa!’, I get a few kisses, but something is wrong. I leave. I’m in the kitchen, I make a sandwich, I go to my room. I sit and don’t play with the dog. Sunday morning was alright. It’s Sunday. I wake up, stumble into the hallway, pet the dog, kiss my mum good morning, say ‘good morning papa!’, I get a mumble back, I hug him. I go to the kitchen, make a sandwich, go to my room and I don’t play with the dog. Sunday mornings are getting worse. It’s 6:00 am on a Thursday morning. I wake up, stumble to the hallway, pet the dog, say ‘good morning mama and papa!’, mama responds. I get ready for school. I leave. I had fun. I go home, call mama as I go up, she says ‘don’t be shocked.’, I enter, I’m scared. The room reeks of cancer. Papa is bubbling, liquid pours out, nose and mouth. I cry. I go to my room, put my bag down, change my clothes. I walk back to the master bedroom, sit on the bed, hold papa’s hand. One hour passes, I go eat in the living room. It’s 5:30 pm, I hear my mother’s wail, I run to the bedroom. He’s yellow, unresponsive, not breathing. I’m crying, I’m holding his hand, I’m squeezing. He’s gone. I hate Thursdays.

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Mar 19

Mar 19, 2026 at 8:11 AM UTC

Sundays

The sunlight seeps through the blinds, but I am awoken to the sound of chatter and laughter. The smell of bacon leaks through my door. I get up. I stumble to the kitchen, pet the dog, and walk in, for a moment the atmosphere is heavy with disease, a sickness. I look up and suddenly it’s overtaken by the smile of my dad. He says ‘Set the table!’, I set the table. We all sit, we eat, we talk, we laugh, all while the radio plays in the background. The dog wants to play, I play with him. Sunday morning was perfect. Next week, Sunday. I wake up, stumble into the hallway, pet the dog, say ‘good morning papa!’, I go to the kitchen, the air still heavy. I look up, I see my mum, the smell of baked bread covers the apartment. She says ‘Set the table.’, I set the table. We all sit, we eat, and we talk, as the radio plays in the background. The dog wants to play, I play with him. Sunday morning was nice. The next Sunday after. I wake up, it’s silent. I stumble to the hallway, pet the dog, say ‘good morning papa!’. I’m now in the kitchen. Mama is making porridge. She hands me a bowl. I go the master bedroom. I hand the bowl to papa, he asks ‘Can I have my pills please?’, I fetch it and hand it to him. I go back to the kitchen, take my bowl, go to my room. I sit, I eat, and I don’t play with the dog. Sunday morning was fine. Another Sunday arrives. I wake up, stumble into the hallway, pet the dog, go to the master bedroom, say ‘good morning mama and papa!’, I get a few kisses, but something is wrong. I leave. I’m in the kitchen, I make a sandwich, I go to my room. I sit and don’t play with the dog. Sunday morning was alright. It’s Sunday. I wake up, stumble into the hallway, pet the dog, kiss my mum good morning, say ‘good morning papa!’, I get a mumble back, I hug him. I go to the kitchen, make a sandwich, go to my room and I don’t play with the dog. Sunday mornings are getting worse. It’s 6:00 am on a Thursday morning. I wake up, stumble to the hallway, pet the dog, say ‘good morning mama and papa!’, mama responds. I get ready for school. I leave. I had fun. I go home, call mama as I go up, she says ‘don’t be shocked.’, I enter, I’m scared. The room reeks of cancer. Papa is bubbling, liquid pours out, nose and mouth. I cry. I go to my room, put my bag down, change my clothes. I walk back to the master bedroom, sit on the bed, hold papa’s hand. One hour passes, I go eat in the living room. It’s 5:30 pm, I hear my mother’s wail, I run to the bedroom. He’s yellow, unresponsive, not breathing. I’m crying, I’m holding his hand, I’m squeezing. He’s gone. I hate Thursdays.

6

The line that bound us close Withering, day by day. My dear friend, How I wish to shout ‘I’m sorry’ How I wish you would shout ‘I’m sorry’ too. Yet the pride of our own **** away at us Like leeches. The fault that endlessly feeds my rumination. Do you feel the same too? Or does your mind wander without care Like wind passing through meadows. Constant gnawing. Those: Late night calls. Long conversations over short hours. Unsleeping nights. Followed by: A bitter end. The aftertaste, leaving sour traces On the roof of my mouth Base of my tongue And constant stinging on my gums. The space once with voices of You and I. Vacant.

0

Mar 18

Mar 18, 2026 at 3:54 PM UTC

Forgive me, dear friend.

The line that bound us close Withering, day by day. My dear friend, How I wish to shout ‘I’m sorry’ How I wish you would shout ‘I’m sorry’ too. Yet the pride of our own **** away at us Like leeches. The fault that endlessly feeds my rumination. Do you feel the same too? Or does your mind wander without care Like wind passing through meadows. Constant gnawing. Those: Late night calls. Long conversations over short hours. Unsleeping nights. Followed by: A bitter end. The aftertaste, leaving sour traces On the roof of my mouth Base of my tongue And constant stinging on my gums. The space once with voices of You and I. Vacant.

26

One day, Where I no longer roam. Would you miss me? Call out my name to the space that lays in front of your eyes? Would I haunt your mind, like you do mine? When that day comes Is it comfort you will come to find? Or, hatred that would seek you blind? Your words that touch the crevices of my heart, Empty, all of it barren. Promises unkept. You tug me in – Greed. Your stare blank. Words that seep into my skin like poison. Won’t you tell me how you really feel? Whether it be tomorrow or in 10 long years. Or will it only come once I wane?

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Mar 18

Mar 18, 2026 at 10:51 AM UTC

When I am gone.

One day, Where I no longer roam. Would you miss me? Call out my name to the space that lays in front of your eyes? Would I haunt your mind, like you do mine? When that day comes Is it comfort you will come to find? Or, hatred that would seek you blind? Your words that touch the crevices of my heart, Empty, all of it barren. Promises unkept. You tug me in – Greed. Your stare blank. Words that seep into my skin like poison. Won’t you tell me how you really feel? Whether it be tomorrow or in 10 long years. Or will it only come once I wane?

17