vanessayang - Hello Poetry

in the moments before dawn you’ll hear whispers: haunted breaths that scrape your neck like glass fingernails, razorblades in the liminality of time; the music in your ears will ring like church bells and crack like porcelain spoons in ceramic hands. the clouds will call your name, dip it in the sea and stain it grey, and you’ll wish you could get it back but you’ll find yourself muted, your vocal chords tangled, knotted, and slit by stiffened swords in the arms of the enslaved. Cape Horn beckons and we pretend not to hear. Senegal polishes her silver knife & I pretend that I am not unfaithful to Alexandro’s memory. if there’s no way to unlock my wrists then don’t bother looking for land, just turn my vessel around and let my eyes search for the gaze of the mountain. if there’s no way to silence my mind then don’t bother whispering in my ears, don’t be naive, don’t play games with me unless you can dock the ship. when the clock turns three, go tell Bartholomew he can take my body, it’s not mine and I don’t want it anymore, the blood on my neck may be my blood but it belongs to the blade, so tell him, turn my bones into skeleton keys and Aranda will show you the way. I’ll follow your leader if you follow me, I promise, I promise, I promise unbroken dreams in Delano’s unbroken hands. although my wrists are bound by plastic chains, I’ll still tell you to watch your step because the planks beneath your feet are echoing with the phantoms of lost crowns whether or not you can feel the spirits in the air. you can’t see but your jeweled massacres have bled into the suds twined around your neck, My Dear Amasa, I wonder what you’d say if you knew that there will be no sunrise.

0

Nov 3, 2019

Nov 3, 2019 at 4:35 AM UTC

vanessayang

guide to the midnight mind

in the moments before dawn you’ll hear whispers: haunted breaths that scrape your neck like glass fingernails, razorblades in the liminality of time; the music in your ears will ring like church bells and crack like porcelain spoons in ceramic hands. the clouds will call your name, dip it in the sea and stain it grey, and you’ll wish you could get it back but you’ll find yourself muted, your vocal chords tangled, knotted, and slit by stiffened swords in the arms of the enslaved. Cape Horn beckons and we pretend not to hear. Senegal polishes her silver knife & I pretend that I am not unfaithful to Alexandro’s memory. if there’s no way to unlock my wrists then don’t bother looking for land, just turn my vessel around and let my eyes search for the gaze of the mountain. if there’s no way to silence my mind then don’t bother whispering in my ears, don’t be naive, don’t play games with me unless you can dock the ship. when the clock turns three, go tell Bartholomew he can take my body, it’s not mine and I don’t want it anymore, the blood on my neck may be my blood but it belongs to the blade, so tell him, turn my bones into skeleton keys and Aranda will show you the way. I’ll follow your leader if you follow me, I promise, I promise, I promise unbroken dreams in Delano’s unbroken hands. although my wrists are bound by plastic chains, I’ll still tell you to watch your step because the planks beneath your feet are echoing with the phantoms of lost crowns whether or not you can feel the spirits in the air. you can’t see but your jeweled massacres have bled into the suds twined around your neck, My Dear Amasa, I wonder what you’d say if you knew that there will be no sunrise.

27

build me a city and i will paint you in gold. when we stand on the towers everything becomes a shooting star a question not of if but when they will hit the ground and not when but if they will crash before we do. there are galaxies beyond the scope of what we think is beautiful, what is human and what is perfect. build me a temple and i will worship your gods. the land at our feet is a coagulation of shimmering glass, of lightning on beaches paint me in prayer and i will walk with you to the ends of the oceans. good night, good morning, paint me a village and i will build you a sunbeam when the light hits your cheekbones i call it home.

0

May 27, 2019

May 27, 2019 at 7:15 PM UTC

vanessayang

our village

build me a city and i will paint you in gold. when we stand on the towers everything becomes a shooting star a question not of if but when they will hit the ground and not when but if they will crash before we do. there are galaxies beyond the scope of what we think is beautiful, what is human and what is perfect. build me a temple and i will worship your gods. the land at our feet is a coagulation of shimmering glass, of lightning on beaches paint me in prayer and i will walk with you to the ends of the oceans. good night, good morning, paint me a village and i will build you a sunbeam when the light hits your cheekbones i call it home.

18

my days aren't good days or bad days they are just days. and they never stop crawling forward with me trapped inside them.

0

vanessayang

Mar 3, 2019

Mar 3, 2019 at 1:41 AM UTC

emhart

6:58 pm

my days aren't good days or bad days they are just days. and they never stop crawling forward with me trapped inside them.

9

he brings you petals in the morning from mismatched flowers blown away by the wind and drowned by the dew you meet him by the door and watch the sun kiss his cheekbones you grow a little bit each time you see the flowers tucked against the lapels of his suit you are his dandelion, and he your flower boy you love him with the simple power of nature ponder the wonders of harmony as he drags his leaves against your jaw his pressed petals make you wonder how could this get any better you are a juxtaposition of dress shoes bathed in marigold comprised only of truth what we believe is what we become and so you never realise how dress shoes crush dandelions how ‘flower boys’ wilt into truth craving the power of ripped petals and cracked stems blown away into the wind // hindsight oh my flower boy you have forgotten my marigold sunsets amongst your dandelion dreams how you wish i were as fragile as those petals in the wind

0

Sep 15, 2018

Sep 15, 2018 at 12:46 AM UTC

vanessayang

flower boy

he brings you petals in the morning from mismatched flowers blown away by the wind and drowned by the dew you meet him by the door and watch the sun kiss his cheekbones you grow a little bit each time you see the flowers tucked against the lapels of his suit you are his dandelion, and he your flower boy you love him with the simple power of nature ponder the wonders of harmony as he drags his leaves against your jaw his pressed petals make you wonder how could this get any better you are a juxtaposition of dress shoes bathed in marigold comprised only of truth what we believe is what we become and so you never realise how dress shoes crush dandelions how ‘flower boys’ wilt into truth craving the power of ripped petals and cracked stems blown away into the wind // hindsight oh my flower boy you have forgotten my marigold sunsets amongst your dandelion dreams how you wish i were as fragile as those petals in the wind

30

draw laughs from your lungs shove cries back through your chest press words out through your lips paper tongues mean nothing when the monsters breathe fire and no one can silence them and no one ever tries 'cause no one ever knows they’re there

0

Mar 11, 2018

Mar 11, 2018 at 3:22 PM UTC

vanessayang

your monsters

draw laughs from your lungs shove cries back through your chest press words out through your lips paper tongues mean nothing when the monsters breathe fire and no one can silence them and no one ever tries 'cause no one ever knows they’re there

7

we’re just teenagers hair whipping in our beat-up trucks teenagers gas station food at 3 am teenagers love too hard and lose yourself teenagers some people wonder why we hate everything we touch the rays of sunrise with our snapchat flower crowns and skate park supernovas and with our glass-pane-collarbones peeking out from black bomber jackets, fragile fingertips emerge from sweater paws. we capture our feelings in polaroids our emotions swallowed up by bottles and our youth it’s the life we think we know and all they ever wanted us to do was crack we’re just teenagers soda can sizzle teenagers lungfuls of shattered dreams teenagers disintegration conversation teenagers but the reason why we break so easily is because we’re humans too.

0

Mar 10, 2018

Mar 10, 2018 at 4:56 PM UTC

vanessayang

we're not aliens

we’re just teenagers hair whipping in our beat-up trucks teenagers gas station food at 3 am teenagers love too hard and lose yourself teenagers some people wonder why we hate everything we touch the rays of sunrise with our snapchat flower crowns and skate park supernovas and with our glass-pane-collarbones peeking out from black bomber jackets, fragile fingertips emerge from sweater paws. we capture our feelings in polaroids our emotions swallowed up by bottles and our youth it’s the life we think we know and all they ever wanted us to do was crack we’re just teenagers soda can sizzle teenagers lungfuls of shattered dreams teenagers disintegration conversation teenagers but the reason why we break so easily is because we’re humans too.

24