D Cole

D Cole Jun 24

My mind is a storm, but
If you ask me how I'm doing...
I would probably say..
"I'm okay" ... like many threads of make-believe that I've woven into a seeing glass that I see my reality in.
The things that used to effortlessly settled in my mind, I now strive for...
I miss childhood innocence,
the peace my mind used to cuddle with and take for granted,
the beauty in naivety of how good people are
I miss how little control I had over my story...
I guess I was comfortable with someone else holding the pen, as though I'm more confident in them to write what's best for me than myself

My mind is a storm, I guess because I now write my own story
I never used to bother my mind with...
When should a new chapter in my life start? Where should I put a full stop... Should pause now, Does the sentence have too much emotions...I'm I writing my story right?...which characters should I give more screen time?...is this a sad story?  What do other writers think? Do I have an easer?  Do I know when I should start writing again?
But of late, my thoughts conjure answers from the mirrors around my life
I ponder on which version if reflection I should section keep
  I tell my myself... maybe if I was a writer,                       maybe then I'd know what I'm doing wrong,
maybe I'd know what a good story looks like.

My mind is a storm, for I have spilled the ink of my thoughts over the canvas of my life, and I see not my next step.
I thought I'd distract myself with an abstract masterpiece from the noise of the colours, but my hand knows not the path to strike the fitting brush strokes.
To me, I'm a mess... perhaps other eyes see art
To me I'm a mess...but I can't say I'm done with my story.

Generic thoughts in your 20s!

#young

D Cole Jun 2023

Attic lily

Attic lily,
Crafted from Michelangelo's hands,
a gem eyes fumble to adore.
Shapes, lines, curves perfectly placed on her body to sing harmonies that echo perfect anatomy

Attic lily,
a dazzling dream,
but her soul hugs a dead sun.
She's a sculpture of fair marble
built with a jungle of thin strings to fill her entirety, like a cat's cradle adorned with twines of roses to mimic completion.

Naive,
she thought losing a few petals for the happiness of others was kind
A rose for him, a rose for her...

Selfless,
she is all but a mirror,
for her smile has always been a reflection of others.

Hypocrite,
she wears a face with printed traces of happinesses to shadow the gloom breeding under her own.

Attic lily,
strong built independent woman
but secretly prizes to be caressed in hands with a feeble touch,
...to be pursued with a genuine smile
..to be treated worth more than an art piece in a gallery that eyes dart on and forget about it, the second they walk past.
to be checked when her soil dries out.
Attic lily, she is,
for no one notices her unless they need something from the attic.

My friend's story. Relatable?

#young #beautifulwords

D Cole Apr 2023

Dear diary

"I am broken" slides off the tongue easy,
but leaving the dream is not as thrilling
I have made friends with my cracks that I
I don't remember how not to be broken
We sit and chat around the bonfire of my, insecurities....
Laughing on, about our best memories
....Memories of heartache, depression betrayal,,
of obscurities
that Kindled my life as long as I can remember.

I think,
I'm now addicted...
To holding hands with my pieces
To the warmth of my insecurities
To the peace when I trace my, backtracks

I think I'm now addicted,
.... to the lies painted by my smile
to the tingling feeling when my heart is pricked by arrows of, disappointment
To the reality of feeling uncomfortable in my skin
Because to me that is, contentment.

I am broken,
Parts of me can no longer fit, together.
My thoughts are triangles, In a circle of my reality, around my square life.
Held together by tired strips of, leather.
I am broken, but somehow I make it work.

#young

D Cole Feb 2023

Blue petals Red sky

They say, Never say never,
I guess l now know why
Because, I'd never have thought that
reading could be so addictive.

I found a book today,
and...I've only read the first chapter of her,
I already know I'll want to finish her story,
probably read it again and again,
Until my fingers can effortlessly trace every detail of her pages,
...until I can flawlessly feel every emotion she keeps secret with my eyes closed.

I found a book yesterday, and since I opened it,
like a puzzle, she fits perfectly
with each turn of the page, I want her more.

I'm addicted to her story,
to the way she knows where to look inside of me.
to the feeling of completion when she's close.

I found a book that I can't put down,
and if it's okay with her, I'd like to keep what I've found, as I become a part of her story.

D Cole Jan 2023

Amor

...and if it's not forever
Let me be the best season you've lived.

D Cole Dec 2022

Who I am i

I'm a tree of the decisions I've made,
of the emotions I've given a chance to sprout
   ...the dreams whose leaves I've left to weather
      of my feeble personality guided by the winds of this world.

I am a tree , changing  with the seasons
My leaves are different poker faces stacked up in a deck of cards
If you want a king, a joker, a gentleman, a nobody...I can be all lords.

I'm in a comma with my eyes unfastened,
to see each version of me build walls of make believe
And,
I want to stop them, but the world does a decent job at stroking their ego.
With each new sleeve, the real me sinks  deeper each time I wake up.

I don't accord to fiction  but, these shells of me lie about my story
    ...about the tales of my roots
...the purity of my smile
about the strength of my heart.

I want to get back to the surface,
to feel, again, the sun's kiss
I scream in my head...
But the dome I built can't let my roar out
So, the tree I am, I remain still
as my life burns out.

Unread poet in a twisted utopia

D Cole Dec 2022

Attic lily

Attic lily,
Crafted from Michelangelo's  hands,
a gem eyes fumble to adore
   Shapes, lines, curves perfectly placed on
         her body to sing hormonies that echo
            perfect anatomy

Attic lily,
A dazzling dream, but her soul hugs a dead sun
fair marble sculpture,
     built with a jungle of thin strings to fill
          her entirety, a cat's cradle adorned
                with twines of roses to mimic completion.

Naive,
she thought losing a few petals for the
      happiness of others was brave
          A rose for him, a rose for her...
   Selfless,
    she is a mirror, for her smile has
         always been a reflection of others.     Hypocrite,
     she wears a face with printed traces of
           happinesses to shadow the gloom
                 breeding under her own.

Attic lily,
strong built independent woman
     But secretly prizes to be caressed in
           hands with a feeble touch
...to be pursued with a genuine smile
..to be treated worth more than an art
             piece in a gallery that eyes dart on
     and forget about, the second they walk past.
to be checked on when her soil dries out.
       Attic lily, she is,
         for no one notices her unless they
               need something from the attic.

Relatable?