victoria-maretti - Hello Poetry

I don't know how to get rid of this silent rage that burns like white flames.

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Jul 2, 2014

Jul 2, 2014 at 8:23 PM UTC

July 02, 2014 - Ex

I don't know how to get rid of this silent rage that burns like white flames.

A thousand kisses touch my lips and flit away Melancholic butterflies seeking nectar from other empty flowers Delectable ambrosia? Perhaps — But leaving the tongue fleetingly Donating only bitter aftertaste. No recollection comes to mind with ease — I think I left cold beds with unturned sheets — Most satisfied to bear the preface “tease.” Mechanics are too easy to repeat: I could write a manual; pen all the intricacies of falsified intimacy. Flirtation and coy downward gazes — Pegs in a game I’ve mastered — Then when confessions come of great desire I bite my tongue so as not to repeat “I know.” I use the piles of hearts to step upon my pedestal Watching with disinterest as the numbers rise. My captives swear so many hollow oaths — and all I’ve heard before — Uninformed adoration turns to white noise. - June 07 2014.

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Jun 7, 2014

Jun 7, 2014 at 6:18 AM UTC

The Queen's Apathy

A thousand kisses touch my lips and flit away Melancholic butterflies seeking nectar from other empty flowers Delectable ambrosia? Perhaps — But leaving the tongue fleetingly Donating only bitter aftertaste. No recollection comes to mind with ease — I think I left cold beds with unturned sheets — Most satisfied to bear the preface “tease.” Mechanics are too easy to repeat: I could write a manual; pen all the intricacies of falsified intimacy. Flirtation and coy downward gazes — Pegs in a game I’ve mastered — Then when confessions come of great desire I bite my tongue so as not to repeat “I know.” I use the piles of hearts to step upon my pedestal Watching with disinterest as the numbers rise. My captives swear so many hollow oaths — and all I’ve heard before — Uninformed adoration turns to white noise. - June 07 2014.

21

The blood seeps over my fingertips And I see my complexion from clear glass in front of me Beautiful still, but pallid and stunned as crimson drips to my elbows: Love, Love, verily, I’ve killed Love. "Not again!" a voice howls It sounds from outside but tingles my vocal chords And Reason and Logic and Pragmatism join hands and encircle me Each sporting brilliant new medals on their ******* "Begone!" I cry, and they coldly smirk and slowly fade away— God, what a God— why so wretched and cruel to give me this fate? But God hath given free will The true shame is I am the one who penned this destiny— And I see other hearts scatter the floor Still beating weakly —Pathetically— their veins drain from some vicious creature’s attack: Some evidently wicked hands hath ripped these hearts fresh from hopeful chests; I see the red dry under my nails. But, Ah! Love is miraculous! Is Love to come and work deep magic and revive these hearts? Are these hearts to be restored — nay — even one? …Or am I to sit alone, some proud and regal queen, Upon a rising mass of battlefield’s aftermath?

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Dec 20, 2013

Dec 20, 2013 at 9:57 AM UTC

December 20, 2013 - Lament of the Queen of Hearts

The blood seeps over my fingertips And I see my complexion from clear glass in front of me Beautiful still, but pallid and stunned as crimson drips to my elbows: Love, Love, verily, I’ve killed Love. "Not again!" a voice howls It sounds from outside but tingles my vocal chords And Reason and Logic and Pragmatism join hands and encircle me Each sporting brilliant new medals on their ******* "Begone!" I cry, and they coldly smirk and slowly fade away— God, what a God— why so wretched and cruel to give me this fate? But God hath given free will The true shame is I am the one who penned this destiny— And I see other hearts scatter the floor Still beating weakly —Pathetically— their veins drain from some vicious creature’s attack: Some evidently wicked hands hath ripped these hearts fresh from hopeful chests; I see the red dry under my nails. But, Ah! Love is miraculous! Is Love to come and work deep magic and revive these hearts? Are these hearts to be restored — nay — even one? …Or am I to sit alone, some proud and regal queen, Upon a rising mass of battlefield’s aftermath?

24

It disgusts me to think we neglected to give it a name. LOVE It was love, *********

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Oct 1, 2013

Oct 1, 2013 at 6:27 PM UTC

October 01, 2013 - Nostalgia's Knife

It disgusts me to think we neglected to give it a name. LOVE It was love, *********

3

A wave came last night, arriving with torrential strength, defeating any opposition Carrying me as I held my breath, while I wondered if my breath would hold I knew the only way to avoid complete destruction was to trust completely letting go of the outcome and fully giving in-- and lo, I found the shore.

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Sep 11, 2013

Sep 11, 2013 at 1:43 PM UTC

September 11, 2013 - Dream of Clarity

A wave came last night, arriving with torrential strength, defeating any opposition Carrying me as I held my breath, while I wondered if my breath would hold I knew the only way to avoid complete destruction was to trust completely letting go of the outcome and fully giving in-- and lo, I found the shore.

5

How peculiar is it that which tempts me lies in icy blue panther-like orbs -the clearest deepest purest brightest blue I’ve yet to come across- and words that dance like 18th-century aristocrats -balancing baubles and gaud on their faux hair waltzing and marching in highly practiced steps about an opulently furnished and lit facility with glistening fountains and marble floors echoing flirtations and strings and heels and sneezes into embroidered handkerchiefs- and how desire has strayed from maintained eye contact and prolonged gentle kisses and subtle smirks of amusement -bordering on genuine happiness- and I’m sure that even if you were to sweep in again declaring poetry and romance with roses in your hand and one between your teeth -glittering with all the fantasy an idealistic Me would have swooned for and adored- or even if you were to creep in again confessing exploration and emotion with wildflowers pressed in a book filled with soul-searching entries and personal revelations -glowing subtly with the authenticity all secretly wish to find even a shadow of- I wouldn’t want any of that now: I’m drawn to that which dies quickly but while alive is full of life— love has been tabled for a much later day.

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Sep 7, 2013

Sep 7, 2013 at 2:53 PM UTC

September 07, 2013 - Current Priorities

How peculiar is it that which tempts me lies in icy blue panther-like orbs -the clearest deepest purest brightest blue I’ve yet to come across- and words that dance like 18th-century aristocrats -balancing baubles and gaud on their faux hair waltzing and marching in highly practiced steps about an opulently furnished and lit facility with glistening fountains and marble floors echoing flirtations and strings and heels and sneezes into embroidered handkerchiefs- and how desire has strayed from maintained eye contact and prolonged gentle kisses and subtle smirks of amusement -bordering on genuine happiness- and I’m sure that even if you were to sweep in again declaring poetry and romance with roses in your hand and one between your teeth -glittering with all the fantasy an idealistic Me would have swooned for and adored- or even if you were to creep in again confessing exploration and emotion with wildflowers pressed in a book filled with soul-searching entries and personal revelations -glowing subtly with the authenticity all secretly wish to find even a shadow of- I wouldn’t want any of that now: I’m drawn to that which dies quickly but while alive is full of life— love has been tabled for a much later day.

19

I see you, love Dancing on the line of apathy Self-deprecating voices chatter away in your head The light of inspiration has dimmed in your eyes Your heart beats absent-mindedly Dolefully complacent are your days In and out- smiles to fool them Rotating doors of relationships Faces change- your role play stays the same

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Aug 29, 2013

Aug 29, 2013 at 5:06 PM UTC

August 21, 2013 - Concern for the Millennials

I see you, love Dancing on the line of apathy Self-deprecating voices chatter away in your head The light of inspiration has dimmed in your eyes Your heart beats absent-mindedly Dolefully complacent are your days In and out- smiles to fool them Rotating doors of relationships Faces change- your role play stays the same

9

Although she was complete and whole she longed for something to terrify her exhilarate her make her feel alive-- a kiss with the knife slowly turned to a dangerous dance deterioration her skin unraveling from her form but manifesting metamorphoses: changed in a way she never could have alone.

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Aug 18, 2013

Aug 18, 2013 at 6:12 PM UTC

August 18, 2013 - The Wistful Nectarine

Although she was complete and whole she longed for something to terrify her exhilarate her make her feel alive-- a kiss with the knife slowly turned to a dangerous dance deterioration her skin unraveling from her form but manifesting metamorphoses: changed in a way she never could have alone.

10

Copacetic: attempts of levitation Elevation to levels you did not wish for I ignored My truth in relentless ruthless pursuit of symbolic status demonstrating my supposed worth. Copacetic: Severed the lock and opened my box of tools to set the rules for a game I had said I never wanted to play. Copacetic: transformed myself conformed to roles that fit like satin gloves - if only in my own screenplay - Downplayed insincerity Role played authentic individuality. Copacetic: gulping misconceptions and Mutually accepting regression to places we thought we had grown past and persistently masked our intuitions. Copacetic: We departed - no verity given or received - with hearts decreased in clarity and size Our journeys lie ahead of us respectively- Collectively there's no decision but to scurry on our own ways And presently your days look quite different than mine.

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Aug 5, 2013

Aug 5, 2013 at 12:56 PM UTC

August 04, 2013 - Copacetic

Copacetic: attempts of levitation Elevation to levels you did not wish for I ignored My truth in relentless ruthless pursuit of symbolic status demonstrating my supposed worth. Copacetic: Severed the lock and opened my box of tools to set the rules for a game I had said I never wanted to play. Copacetic: transformed myself conformed to roles that fit like satin gloves - if only in my own screenplay - Downplayed insincerity Role played authentic individuality. Copacetic: gulping misconceptions and Mutually accepting regression to places we thought we had grown past and persistently masked our intuitions. Copacetic: We departed - no verity given or received - with hearts decreased in clarity and size Our journeys lie ahead of us respectively- Collectively there's no decision but to scurry on our own ways And presently your days look quite different than mine.

38

I do so well alone - Perhaps better than most - I have friends and adventures Laughter and deep thoughts and daydreams and hopes And I make great company with myself I find it grand, being alone But I’ll confess — Sometimes I look at the gaps between my fingers And remember how they can be filled with your fingers and the smallest smile will spread and a tiny sigh escapes. (My own fingers somehow don’t quite close up the space)

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Aug 2, 2013

Aug 2, 2013 at 3:41 AM UTC

August 01, 2013 - The Little Things

I do so well alone - Perhaps better than most - I have friends and adventures Laughter and deep thoughts and daydreams and hopes And I make great company with myself I find it grand, being alone But I’ll confess — Sometimes I look at the gaps between my fingers And remember how they can be filled with your fingers and the smallest smile will spread and a tiny sigh escapes. (My own fingers somehow don’t quite close up the space)

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