Dirt
You've turned into dirt.
Twisted away in fragile positions,
You've turned into dirt.
How does it feel to be this vulnerable?
To be plucked from your home, and bought with dirt to be sold off to the husband who forgot his wife's birthday?
To be called 'beautiful', only to be left rotting away?
To sit beside a bed of 'beautiful' red roses, who think they'll be safe forever. To know they'll turn into you, you who has moulded into dirt.
These eyes fall on you now,
they feel guilt,
they feel remorse,
(they feel happy?)
they feel like a murderer.
They run to drench you with water.
The poor white tulips,
and the poor pink roses
will you be fixed from this phase of dirt?
May 5, 2021
May 5, 2021 at 4:05 AM UTC
I cannot dress up my truths
in designer clothes
that'll grab your attention
and invite a closer look
I cannot apply even a little concealer
or blush to its cheeks
or add colour to its lips
I will not conceal any of it
not its blemishes and scars
not the pimples and acne
the most revealing bits
truth's a tomboy anyway
Apr 13, 2020
Apr 13, 2020 at 4:07 AM UTC
You always complained to me
How I never held your hand tight enough.
My mother once told me,
That like the warm sand
On the summer beach,
The harder you hold onto something,
The faster it slips from your fist.
And maybe that’s why
When your hand
was in mine
I would never close my fingers.
Apr 13, 2020
Apr 13, 2020 at 4:02 AM UTC
You always complained to me
How I never held your hand tight enough.
My mother once told me,
That like the warm sand
On the summer beach,
The harder you hold onto something,
The faster it slips from your fist.
And maybe that’s why
When your hand
was in mine
I would never close my fingers.
Aug 15, 2019
Aug 15, 2019 at 8:27 AM UTC
Hi there!
I've decided to go on a break from posting poems. However, I won't stop writing poetry. I'm working on a project of making a collection of my poems by the end of the year, and this break will help me do so. Thank you for all the support you all have continued to show me, i am ever so grateful. I'll be back soon (hopefully).
Till then,
thank you,
and goodbye.
Feb 7, 2019
Feb 7, 2019 at 1:31 AM UTC
What do you want to read ?
When my heart is heavy with sorrow
i pour my blood
and convert it into ink.
Then, you shower love on me.
You tell me my writing is like wine,
elegant,
beautiful.
Yet when i feel nothing
but happiness
and i pour my heart
onto your feet
you brush it away.
You don't connect to me
and now you don't shower love.
"Your writing is like wine,
elegant,
beautiful,
poisonous."
You don't accept happy
because you don't connect to it.
You flow like the rest
in an ocean filled with grief.
You use me like a mat
and i serve you
waiting for that one day
you clean your sins away.
Dec 25, 2018
Dec 25, 2018 at 5:26 AM UTC
Yes.
It has hit me
like a bullet in my chest
that my only friends
were the demons in my head
and
the loneliness in my bed.
I am wilting
and
there is no escape.
You promised you'd help me
bloom
but you've left me to drown in gloom.
You don't really wanna know if there is something wrong with me.
You're only asking because
you can see
my carefully contrived mask melt away.
You want to pull each of my strings
and play harmony with them
do you realize
this is my heart you're throwing away?
You ask only
to bring music to your ears again.
Dec 22, 2018
Dec 22, 2018 at 3:57 AM UTC
I hope this is not cheesy
for how do i remind
your beauty that hides within.
for how do i describe
and how do i begin.
Your eyes drink my skin
like the first cup of coffee.
it is true
there are daggers in your smile.
Your voice reminds me of a harmonic beat
beautiful
and its mere thought lulls me to sleep.
The universe melts into your eyes,
as the moon asks
to borrow your light.
You are the air in my lungs
and the words i speak.
Falling for you was not falling at all. It was like walking into a house and suddenly realizing you're home.
Dec 14, 2018
Dec 14, 2018 at 6:45 AM UTC
"I don't know how many times I have survived myself, without telling anyone else."
I lied awake in endless painful thoughts
my urge to cut
my urge to purge
my urge to run away from them and hide inside a world of darkness.
I lied awake in death-awakening questions
Why must i exist through the pain kitted inside my bones?
Why do i write?
Why do i write.
'Him?'
and yet no.
People like you and I fight a battle no one can ever fathom because it's a battle no one can see. And we don't let them.
I write for myself
I write to remind myself that i am a warrior.
that in this battle there were nights I use to lose. But some how still came out alive.
You fight yourself and beat yourself up for so long that eventually you become a master of surviving a war.
It is not you.
It is me.
I write for myself.
Dec 14, 2018
Dec 14, 2018 at 6:30 AM UTC
There will be people in life that you meet
And they will love you like
You are the exact amount of
Change in their wallet
Needed to buy the last
Convenience store
Lottery tickets.
But please,
Remember that you will meet someone
Whose hands have been
Sculptured by driftwood
For whose life the sea has fought for
And yet
They made it to land
To kiss your lips and remind you
That you are not the ticket
You are the prize.
Nov 1, 2018
Nov 1, 2018 at 6:52 AM UTC