rowalonginmytears - Hello Poetry

sand castles and searching for seashells scraping knuckles against stones, swinging on creaky chipped bars my twin covered in matching calluses, my childhood my youth we will meet again. sand dunes and metal hunting, my friend's fingers interlocked with mine submerged under the grains. course and sharp and dry searching for pirate treasure, my childhood my youth we will meet again. splitting candy and rolling down hills, feeding mud pies baked with mulberries, grass stains and bees buzzing oh neon lensed life, my childhood my youth we will meet again. but when? lyinging at night, isolation's blanket covers me when i stop and remember my childhood my youth. the scent of the memories fade from my nose. the touch and sensation leave my fingertips. the sound of their voice get lost in my ears. their names elude my tongue. their faces become a blur. oh but sweet youth, don’t fret, don’t cry just know, despite the hourglass’s sand clouding my brain my heart shan’t forget— the joy, the sorrow, the disgust, the pain, and the love i felt over these years. i’ll never forget you, i promise. my childhood my youth, we will meet once again, that’s my promise. whether it be now or at death’s sandbox.

0

Dec 10, 2024

Dec 10, 2024 at 2:15 AM UTC

dreams from a sandbox

sand castles and searching for seashells scraping knuckles against stones, swinging on creaky chipped bars my twin covered in matching calluses, my childhood my youth we will meet again. sand dunes and metal hunting, my friend's fingers interlocked with mine submerged under the grains. course and sharp and dry searching for pirate treasure, my childhood my youth we will meet again. splitting candy and rolling down hills, feeding mud pies baked with mulberries, grass stains and bees buzzing oh neon lensed life, my childhood my youth we will meet again. but when? lyinging at night, isolation's blanket covers me when i stop and remember my childhood my youth. the scent of the memories fade from my nose. the touch and sensation leave my fingertips. the sound of their voice get lost in my ears. their names elude my tongue. their faces become a blur. oh but sweet youth, don’t fret, don’t cry just know, despite the hourglass’s sand clouding my brain my heart shan’t forget— the joy, the sorrow, the disgust, the pain, and the love i felt over these years. i’ll never forget you, i promise. my childhood my youth, we will meet once again, that’s my promise. whether it be now or at death’s sandbox.

41

i wish to be a bubble light and shiny floating and soaring through the sky. i wish to rest upon the clouds oh for i could finally rest myself lay there and be transparent let light shine through me absorb me engulf every cranny of my being air pick me up and drop my body let it drop from thousands of feet and shatter upon impact. i want to be weightless let go of myself and let myself be taken by everyone everything every breath swayed and pushed flying to nowhere somewhere anywhere. but to be a bubble is as feasible as any other dream for when i wake up the clouds will fall rain on me and the bubble pops. the brick didn’t shatter so i tape the pieces that strayed away and i’m back to walking down the same road to anywhere, somewhere, nowhere.

0

Sep 25, 2024

Sep 25, 2024 at 12:48 AM UTC

bubble

i wish to be a bubble light and shiny floating and soaring through the sky. i wish to rest upon the clouds oh for i could finally rest myself lay there and be transparent let light shine through me absorb me engulf every cranny of my being air pick me up and drop my body let it drop from thousands of feet and shatter upon impact. i want to be weightless let go of myself and let myself be taken by everyone everything every breath swayed and pushed flying to nowhere somewhere anywhere. but to be a bubble is as feasible as any other dream for when i wake up the clouds will fall rain on me and the bubble pops. the brick didn’t shatter so i tape the pieces that strayed away and i’m back to walking down the same road to anywhere, somewhere, nowhere.

34

the north star leads as the king of the night, a vision of light and hope for all, shining brightest, fated for greatness, guiding lost souls through harrowed nights. however isolation follows, shrouding him in sin. he carries the darkness and burden of the night, even in a constellation, will alway be on edge, as his crown lies in thorns. despite his glory, he is alone.

0

Sep 25, 2024

Sep 25, 2024 at 12:44 AM UTC

north star

the north star leads as the king of the night, a vision of light and hope for all, shining brightest, fated for greatness, guiding lost souls through harrowed nights. however isolation follows, shrouding him in sin. he carries the darkness and burden of the night, even in a constellation, will alway be on edge, as his crown lies in thorns. despite his glory, he is alone.

10

i miss the necklaces you gifted me, the amethysts you made with your lips that adorned my neck and turned our shared whispers in bed into a bold claim, "MINE."

0

Sep 25, 2024

Sep 25, 2024 at 12:39 AM UTC

bejeweled

i miss the necklaces you gifted me, the amethysts you made with your lips that adorned my neck and turned our shared whispers in bed into a bold claim, "MINE."

5

i beg and pray you put a label to my crazy for if my nature has no reason explain what's wrong with me

0

Sep 25, 2024

Sep 25, 2024 at 12:37 AM UTC

i was crazy once

i beg and pray you put a label to my crazy for if my nature has no reason explain what's wrong with me

4

My honey isn’t a sticky cure-for-colds; She isn't viscous, warm, glistening amber; My multicolor baby burns--- A thin spicy liquid who coats my throat And spreads fuel through my body Until her hellish heat bonds with my blood. A preview into my afterlife, For if I can accept this addictive pain, I will die with ease.

0

Aug 27, 2024

Aug 27, 2024 at 2:01 AM UTC

Honey

My honey isn’t a sticky cure-for-colds; She isn't viscous, warm, glistening amber; My multicolor baby burns--- A thin spicy liquid who coats my throat And spreads fuel through my body Until her hellish heat bonds with my blood. A preview into my afterlife, For if I can accept this addictive pain, I will die with ease.

9

You see a mask, Assume it false. I fake being sad, I fake the tears staining my cheeks. In a world being consumed by flames, My wide mouth devoid of words Dares to steal attention From the more pressing matters Because I believe I matter more. The plastic hides a face, A face that "is faking being sad," A face that "just wants attention." Now, now, aren’t you confused, Because you gave that face everything it needs And everything it could ever want. Maybe money can buy love, but it also buys plastic. Now this--- Is no mask. It's my skin. Shiny, fake, and hard. It’s not covered in plastic; It has become plastic.

0

Aug 27, 2024

Aug 27, 2024 at 1:55 AM UTC

Burning

You see a mask, Assume it false. I fake being sad, I fake the tears staining my cheeks. In a world being consumed by flames, My wide mouth devoid of words Dares to steal attention From the more pressing matters Because I believe I matter more. The plastic hides a face, A face that "is faking being sad," A face that "just wants attention." Now, now, aren’t you confused, Because you gave that face everything it needs And everything it could ever want. Maybe money can buy love, but it also buys plastic. Now this--- Is no mask. It's my skin. Shiny, fake, and hard. It’s not covered in plastic; It has become plastic.

23

We begin a simple bud, Blooming into raw fruit Eventually reaching our peak as Ripe, smooth, shiny, perfect for sale. Fresh vegetables. What happens after If we aren't sold? We stay seated on a shelf, No longer on the pedestal But put in our own section of the aisle. Brandishing the yellow sale tag, Sentenced to a life of scorn. Bearing the shame Until the day we are rotten enough To be finally put out of misery And be disposed, Replaced with another batch Of fresh vegetables To scrutinize, reduce, and smush.

0

Apr 30, 2024

Apr 30, 2024 at 10:44 PM UTC

Rotten Vegetables

We begin a simple bud, Blooming into raw fruit Eventually reaching our peak as Ripe, smooth, shiny, perfect for sale. Fresh vegetables. What happens after If we aren't sold? We stay seated on a shelf, No longer on the pedestal But put in our own section of the aisle. Brandishing the yellow sale tag, Sentenced to a life of scorn. Bearing the shame Until the day we are rotten enough To be finally put out of misery And be disposed, Replaced with another batch Of fresh vegetables To scrutinize, reduce, and smush.

19