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Apr 2019 · 166
Sleep in your eyes
Alzet Weideman Apr 2019
As you lie next to me, falling asleep
I look - wide-awake - to you

You
mine

I'm try to count your eyelashes,
but its impossibility reminds me of the impossible amount of variables that had to play together for us to be here tonight.

I stare at your soft, full lips and how they fell open as your jaw relaxed to expose your white teeth.
Something similar to how we have grown comfortabke in this togetherness to uncover the splendor we hide from the rest of the world.

I place my hand on the left half of your chest to feel your heart beating
and suddenly wonder how many of those heartbeats you have left and how much of it I will have the honor of spending with you.
Apr 2019 · 142
Night blindness
Alzet Weideman Apr 2019
It is pitch dark
I can't see my hands in front of my eyes
I don't know where I'm going
Where am I?
 
I shuffle
One uncertain foot in from of the other
Hands stretched out
Afraid of falling and scared of pain
 
I stumble
Knees hit the hands stone
The instability in my body gets me down
The uncertainty in my heart keeps me down
 
You're with me
Take me by the arm and lead me
You don't carry me, I'm walking
But you are the eyes through which I see
 
I continue shuffling
Easier than before
The road ahead is not brighter
But I feel safe where I am now
Apr 2019 · 201
Unfinished story
Alzet Weideman Apr 2019
Late night sneaking over your parents' wooden floor
Getting to know the you that I missed through your playlists
Draining your brain to feed my hunder for knowledge
And winning your high score in Guitar Hero

Sitting through boring soccer matches
Holding your hand
Getting poetically overwhelmed in the esctase of the moment
Looking up with big eyes and folding myself tightly around you

Being the imaginary passenger in each of your 007 cars…
This is a story I will never be able to tell
The right idea, but the wrong person
This is the poem I could never even finish writing
Apr 2019 · 143
Nocturnal learning
Alzet Weideman Apr 2019
I hope a void broke loose in you the moment I left your hand without looking back.  A triumphant hope regardless of my experience.

But I realize the claws of emptiness actually sink into me.

I tried to scrub your fingerprint from my palm, but still feel the safe heat of your hand.
I wish I could scratch out your eyes with my words - maybe then you would notice me.

My vocal cords want to break out of thise prison of self-control.
I want to scream your name at the top of my voice and if you take note of me, disappear ...
Come find me!
Nov 2017 · 369
Warped
Alzet Weideman Nov 2017
You common idiom!
Just a manner of speaking that is natural to native speakers of a language.

Why do you feed the hand that bites?
Why do your words speak louder than your action?
Why do you add injury to insult?
Why is your bark on the right tree?

Why are you sad to see the back of?
Why do you accept the worst of both worlds?
Why are you chewing more than you bit off?
Why are you covering for a judgemental book?

Why do you lie over spilt milk?
Why do you give the doubt of the benefit?
Why do you keep something at bae?
Why do you let laying dogs sleep?

Do you not see?
You're torturing yourself
There is no method to your madness,
and your method sure is mad!

That picture paints a thousand words
and the one's you are writing have much more worth!
I know I'm playing the devil's advocate,
but you're off your rocker if you keep beating around the bush.

Don't miss your boat
or you'll miss happiness
A long story short,
another's narcissism is not your riddle to rhyme
A poem about domestic abuse and staying in a relationship with your abuser.
Domestic abuse is a pattern of behaviour which involves violence or other abuse by one person against another in a domestic setting, such as in marriage or cohabitation. It may be termed intimate partner violence when committed by a spouse or partner in an intimate relationship against the other spouse or partner, and can take place in heterosexual or same-*** relationships, or between former spouses or partners. Domestic violence may also involve violence against children or the elderly. It takes a number of forms, including physical, verbal, emotional, economic, religious, reproductive, and ****** abuse, which can range from subtle, coercive forms to marital **** and to violent physical abuse such as choking, beating, female genital mutilation and acid throwing that results in disfigurement or death.
Nov 2017 · 560
First Time
Alzet Weideman Nov 2017
There is a leak in my heart where you shoved your coarse fingers in so impertinently.
I exposed my soul for you, revealed my naked body for you to see,
but you watched and all you really saw were the parts that aroused your virility.

I gave you an ultimatum, but, to you, the rest of me was like the speed fines that you were never going to pay.
You devoured my dreams with a mouthful of empty promises and destroyed them,
now you're an epitome manliness...

and I?
A scarecrow in the clean eyes of anyone capable of accepting all my peculiarities.

You say that I left you,
but here I sit on the sidewalk, desolated.
A prose about my first time - careless and unkind.
The lover was a heroic boy for taking my virginity. I was regarded as a promiscuous girl, unworthy of the love of any other man due to my 'transgression'.

This was four years ago and today I am loved - not only by a wonderful man, but also by myself. For I know that the guilt I felt for many years was caused by unsolicited societal gender norms and sexism; and every last drop has evaporated.

Fight gender norms and sexism!
Do not stand back and watch young ladies hate themselves due to male "masculinity".
Nov 2017 · 288
Inside-out
Alzet Weideman Nov 2017
The red gutters and the bright yellow panes
Bright blue water flowing when it rains
The green grass creeping over the lawn
Bright yellow sun peaking out at dawn

But what it’s really all about
Is when you turn it inside-out
The lonely darkness then revealed
With a cold blackness again sealed

My friend, are you not maybe so:
Outside all bright and cheery
Where green grass and blue streams flow.

But inside you’re just as weary
And do not actually grow
As this dark house so cold and earie
This poem was written by my mother (anonymous Bell).
Nov 2017 · 198
Four Facets of Being
Alzet Weideman Nov 2017
Live for the living.
Die for the dead.
Live because of the dead.
Die because of the living.
A short poem depicting four states in which we live.
We live, either to be with the people that live with us, or as tribute to those who have died.
We die, either to reunite with those who have passed, or to escape people in our lives.
Nov 2017 · 189
Melancholy
Alzet Weideman Nov 2017
Occasionally the world becomes dull and all the colours encircling me appear grey.
Sometimes my emotional skin becomes insensate and my heart clots.
When I then collapse in a whirlwind of woe and wonder, the only temporary resolution seems to be the notes of another's instrument.
The dissonant harmony of an unknown's timbral heart noises.
A prose about listening to music when I'm depressed.
Nov 2017 · 219
Secret Language
Alzet Weideman Nov 2017
There are words hiding
in the shadows of your body
Script too dark to write
for my wrist is too weak and ink too thin

Unstaged monologue
Unspoken song
Unwritten essay
Unravelled riddle

Grant me an inkling, my lover
a concession for my effort; a reward for my toil
So I can construe the omitted allusion
So I can hear the whispering voice of your soma
Nov 2017 · 379
Over-dramatic
Alzet Weideman Nov 2017
I wish our roles could be recast
then you would be the one hanging on my lips;
charmed by my eloquence.

I would have a higher consideration for it
that simply a childish infatuation.
I would embosom it, treasure it,
cherish it until my last breath.

The moment that I first laid eyes on you, I can't remember
but every second since then your tune plays incessantly in my head.

My heart bleeds when I think of your face
and I realise that it's because I know that I would've held it so gently in my hands.

Your story I'm not acquainted with.
How burdensome the impedimenta of your every day, I don't know.
Nevertheless, with every ounce of my might I want to help.

What should I have done to catch your eye?
Who should I have been to win your heart?
Nov 2017 · 536
Bofoogua
Alzet Weideman Nov 2017
It was a blind pick type of match, premade
You're a full kit, a pro, a stunner
But my focus, my chase, my dive, my pathing
For you, my target, to you, my destination, were on lockdown

With a flash spell you summoned
I was instantly cast
Unsuspecting, you took me off guard
Hooked, gank, gap closer, leash, pull

I was a full tank
building up my defenses
MRes, taking care to keep myself safe from the ****
But I'm Rdy, a Sleeper OP

I'll Hold
I'll cover your lane
Defend your tower
Protect your base

A Rambo attempt; diving in alone
A Proxy strategy; high risk high reward
A Skillshot; an aim that can potentially miss

Say you'll commit,
That you won't retreat
Say that you'll fight
Until the battle is complete

To my Champion, my Main,
My FotM
FF; I surrender my heart
No DC, No MIA, No QQ

WP my love GJ
GL my love HF
A love poem using League of Legends lingo.
Nov 2017 · 260
One Hit Wonder
Alzet Weideman Nov 2017
A one hit wonder
A single rhyme all that he could create
History, a golden oldie, fossilized and lost in the muddy mires of mimic  

His yearn for praise waltzed over the staves
His strive for applause dropped black notes barre for barre

The rhythm of his heartbeat on percussion
Soul humming the melody
Blood and sweat running over his Martin acoustic's strings

He gave his best, he gave his all
Wonder, did you perhaps give too much?
The notes echo continually on my playlist
But his name fades with every tick of the clock

A bright white-hot flame
That shon too bright to last
Burned the remaining sheet music in the fire

'Where is he now?' I wonder
'Where is he now?'
Where are you now, Wonder?
Where are you now?
Nov 2017 · 337
The True Me
Alzet Weideman Nov 2017
My brain: an incessant essay with unstructured paragraphing and excess analogies, yet something in the syntax so mollifying.

The ink that I have wasted on my past is sometimes the only form of tangible clarity in the present.

Unfortunately, my typewriter often stutters on paraphrases and plagiarism, though my pernicious blessing of overactive neurons always seems elude such exigent situations.

I fall in love with punctuation that is of utmost relevance and universality, but I'm tumbling over my own pleonasm.
The ramifications of my inconsistency is is that I tend to bombard ears with clauses, but at night I dream of shouting without a single sound escaping my mouth.

Also, I hate anglicisms, although I know that the reality is inevitable.
A prose on how my mind works.
Nov 2017 · 327
Full Sun
Alzet Weideman Nov 2017
Full Sun

Into delicate aerated soil
an age-old seed was planted,
an eye destined for greatness.
With the slightest spillage of
amendment an adventitious
spore awoke.

A tuber started to grow;
a thriller spreading into the
beautiful composition of
a bicolourous family.

Pollination is a pest known
to most every gardener,
but propagation shall subside.
Mulch to conserve is a heavy
yolk to bear, but,
with determination,
pistil too shall become weary.

O, Biennial,
how I beg thee for more time.
Clench thy inflorescent fist,
a catkin do not become.
Thou hast spread thou roots
into my being as an epiphyte.
Lo! Single flower, wear thy crown
and top-dress with pride
- thou art everblooming!
A prose about cancer

— The End —