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Dec 2019 · 172
Children of the Womb
Nallely Martinez Dec 2019
Striding like the wind.
They are frightened,
Unable to cope with their bleary prospects.
They'll have intruders,
On the abrasions of that frigid, slick trap.
They're maniacs,
Ripped to bits, violated, and then spit out.
They've been repressed,
Miserable under the Hippocratic Oath.
They've become untreatable,
Battering and destroying whomever draws near.
They were mistreated,
Deformed body parts set ablaze for all.
They should've perished,
In that filthy amniotic fluid.
They'll be laid to rest.
Hallucinating and screaming into nothing.
They are traumatized,
Boring craters into your jammed skull.
They will obliterate you.
There are multiple reasons as to why I wrote this. However, I feel like it would be too long to list here.
Dec 2019 · 69
Turbulent Blues
Nallely Martinez Dec 2019
I miss you.
Tracks of nothing but random bursts of laughter.
Those images of vagrant innocence.
They play like a carousel throughout my brain.

I miss them.
Activities filled with teenage recklessness.
Running under the comforting moonlight.
Unbeknownst we were running out of time.

I miss home.
Humble river water ready for someone to dip in.
Pillars of limestone ready to greet me.
Country music playing for a close knit crowd.

It's waiting for me.
Bearing my love pass yonder.
My heart has whittled out a chamber for them.
One day I will return, after sculpting my future.
Something I wrote in tribute to my hometown good ole' Nashville. I miss my friends there and the locales. Whenever I hear certain songs I can't help but want to see that whole area again. It's made a staple in my little country heart. Inspired after hearing "West Coast" by Coconut Records and "The Skin of my Yellow Country Teeth" by Clap Your Hands Say Yeah
Dec 2019 · 171
Playful Tides
Nallely Martinez Dec 2019
Do you ever look at the sea?
Thinking to yourself where on Earth you could be?
Looking at seashells and conches,
Take a deep breath from your conscious.

Hearing laughter from the turquoise waves,
Wondering where the dolphins might bay.
Take in the maiden's dainty laugh,
Creating scenery like that of endless riffraff.

Perhaps it's too much of a bore.
Well the beach always has a lot in store.
If it's too much for you on the floats,
Don't mind joining the others on the sailboats.
I just wanted to write something nice and short. This was a very fun write and definitely a nice little break from these smothering exams. Living in Florida has been very fun so far, so I wrote this in honor of their plentiful beaches. They have brought me many fond memories.
Nov 2019 · 109
Coral Gates
Nallely Martinez Nov 2019
She is the Angler's flooded candela.
Rotting in polished abalone opposing the currents.
Sheltered by the wretched Leviathan of vilified lore.
Now she is regarded amongst the caprella.

Rhapsodies of calamity shatter the pearl's mantle.
Hippocampuses forewarn of the seafoam's ambush.
Preparing for the inevitable euphotic zone's descent,
She is the Angler's flooded candela.

Tumultuous floods cascade over the ruined acropolis.
The aqueducts conceal larimar encrusted scriptures.
All cognition is forcibly devastated by vengeful rapids
Now she is regarded amongst the caprella.

Malformed Scylla hasty to pilfer decaying remains.
Charybdis reckless to crush with its numerous jaws.
Souls pillaged for their misfortune in splendor.
She is the Angler's flooded candela.

Rigorously plunged into Davy Jones' Locker.
Surrounded by sailors attempting the Fiddler's Green.
Monoliths of figureheads crash onto the ocean's stage.
Now she is regarded amongst the caprella.

Shrouded solely in the fathomless, stygian depths.
Oxygen minimum commences its terminal quest.
She is the Angler's flooded candela.
Now she is regarded amongst the caprella.
This is my first time writing a Villanelle and I'm not quite sure as to how it worked out. I kind of wanted to do a storyline in a way that seems a lot more direct. I used old sailor lore, greek and christian mythology to help create this piece. This poem although was mainly inspired by "Stella was a Diver and she was always down" by Interpol.
Nov 2019 · 107
Minds of the Grotesque
Nallely Martinez Nov 2019
The seeds belonging to the pomegranate are like that of fervid, scarlet jewels.
Dripping with sinful nectar that warbles a tune of blasphemy.
The heinous partake in communion throughout those cryptic, velvety pools.
Entrenched in that liquid, they amalgamate in sacrificial voracity.

Bodies spiraling into those abyssal fabrics are given weight.
As winds torment their exposed vessels possessed by their charred entrails.
They suffer continuously, punished by shards of rain and fate.
Their innards squishing and staining the ground, rupturing the sacred grail.

The convent is disregarded and attains solace across the unforgiving perdition.
Restrained by the stems of the iniquitous cherry, they ascend the ladder.
Their judgment is wedged betwixt amorality and cruel ripples of shameless frisson.
Declination awaits those whose veins bear the fallacy of the adder.

Eternally facing punishment amidst the breaking wheel's treacherous blight,
Thus their salvation lies beyond even that of the Garden of Earthly Delights.
I was inspired by a multitude of varying objects and media. Again this work is rather full of references, most poignantly the one regarding Hieronymus Bosch. I love the man's artwork, and I've always loved anything relating to Christian or religious storytelling. I took great care with this one. I also challenged myself to not blatantly reference hell and instead use implications. Hope you guys like it as much as I do!
Nov 2019 · 28
Particular Desires
Nallely Martinez Nov 2019
Do you hear it?
That baby crying.
It's maddening to hear its screech.
Quickly someone break its teeth.

Prevent its speech.

Do you love your child?
The one who's weeping.
Maybe it's just a little break.
Perhaps it'll only leave her mind opaque.

Simply just a quake.

Do you even see it?
The girl who's giving out.
She'll give anyone a rush to their money.
Even if it makes her feel a little funny.

Make their day sunny.

Do you even know her anymore?
That isolated shell of a woman.
Her mind is overturned and crowded with thoughts.
The very thing she was supposed to be keep under lock.

Hiding in the aftershock.

Do you know what's wrong with her?
All you've done is neglect her.
You refused to show her the gifts of the world.
No wonder she no longer breathes the light of the pure.

There is no known cure.
I wrote this in the lens of family. It's not really about me, but more like my experiences shaped it.
Nov 2019 · 61
A Reprobate's Breath
Nallely Martinez Nov 2019
This fear has stricken me,
Sweat trails down like a foreboding shadow.

Forbidden calligraphy marks the walls,
On tortured wood that holds our sacrilegious scrawls.

Repeatedly caught running from that abhorrent phobia,
Never seeming to be rid of that sense of crippling dysphoria.

I will adore yet remain remote from this place,
From this horrible, mossy awning to an earthly casket.

It remains haunted throughout its elongated hallways,
Forever causing intermittent whirlpools in the mind's eye.
I wrote this while listening to "Haunted" by Poe. Arguably my favorite song of hers. It carries such a sorrowful yet ghostly tune. Her brother is the author of "House of Leaves" an amazing book, which I also used as inspiration.
Nov 2019 · 201
Gourds of Fondness
Nallely Martinez Nov 2019
Ah, Aphrodite whom's namesake leaps bounds,
Yet Artemis who is among the careful to arouse.
Delightful Persephone in her garden of souls,
Blessed creation like that of Demeter's lavenders.

Perhaps it is Hestia's hearth that which warms our hearts,
Or the bright light of the moon that which Selene croons.

Even Hera herself rings love under wedlock,
All but for Harmonia and her accursed dystonia.
Give forth to sweet Psyche who lies on sweet wings,
Illuminated by the truth that is Hecate's rule.

All of these Goddesses who've experienced love and joy,
Somehow Athena cultivates mere tactical ploys.
I wrote this during a phase of when I was very deeply delving into obscure Greek literature and myths. This one is rather chock full of them and can seem rather convoluted. This is probably one of my older works.
Nov 2019 · 48
Midnight Cravings
Nallely Martinez Nov 2019
Give me a drink.
Give me something that'll change my mind.
I want to be pushed to the brink.
I want to be with my mind in the sky.

Make me feel something.
Anything that even remotely has the pseudonym of emotion.
Make me forge my own memories.
I no longer want to remember life and its devotion.

I want that bitter taste,
Craving the slap in the face it gives.
Pitifully watching you turn into waste,
Giving you regret after regret until you writhe into paste.

I don't particularly ache for it,
Nor do I really wait for it.
But the way I go without it,
Surely it's not hard to ache for one bit.

Don't give me a drink.
Give me something to look forward to.
I don't want to be pushed to the brink,
But it seems its the only thing I know.
I wrote this because of my willingness in a certain activity.
Nov 2019 · 65
Boronic Yelling
Nallely Martinez Nov 2019
I'm so fed up.
I want to tear it apart.
I'm so unbelievably angry.
How could someone act like this?

Why can't he realize the hurt he's putting in my heart?
Why can't he realize the distance he put between us?

I wanted to mourn,
I wanted to weep into the void,
I can't fabricate this crystalline dream any longer.
No more can I keep this ocean blue mirage alive.

How can an ever-changing butterfly still keep its chains?
How can a flower finally bloom without the sky's tears?

My cyclical aspirations tossing and turning,
Bringing me joy and sorrow,
But it's all nothing compared to this impenetrable bedrock.

I want to see the light of day, and to carry myself forward.
What can I do though, when the Sun is blurred by stagnation?
I wrote this while contemplating my previous love life.
Nov 2019 · 48
Unfathomable Thoughts
Nallely Martinez Nov 2019
Life.
Life is so beautiful.
Yet people question it.
It lays a veil of enlightenment over our heads.
God, how I wish to enjoy life,
To seek out every bit and truly become passionate.
But so many people are focused on the bigger picture,
It's like no one has time to enjoy the little things.
The tiny details,
The little fragments of emotion,
That confidence, oh God, how I love that.
That aura of knowing what you want,
That stroke of beautiful luck,
I yearn for it.
But something has perturbed my usual inquiries.
I can't feel happiness as I used to, more importantly I don't feel sadness neither.
It's metamorphose into something completely different.
It's horrible,
It's fragmented yet I despise it,
I can feel the air it leaves like a rock on Atlas's back.
Forced to carry the weight of whatever it could be whether or not it even feels any relative emotion.
Nights where I cower wondering where it might be next,
So twisted and perverted, too dedicated to the cause of smothering me.
It's like a chamber where you can no longer breathe,
A see through glass where you've already lost all hope.
How can I go out like this?
How can I function like this?
Every seemingly little thread of excitement is cut by those three old hags of fate.
I stare blindly into a future where I cannot see my marble road.
Why?
Oh God why?
When will I find my new hermit shell?
When will I carry the fruits of my labor?
When will I stop holding my tongue?
When will I stop questioning every action I make?
I want to rip myself apart just to find what's inside my crevices.
For where is my life?
Across the shore forever out of reach?
Or lost at sea joining the sirens calling out for me?
Perhaps I must collect it like that of a selkie,
And hold it under chains, trapped like a banshee.
Forever wailing out for help,
To an audience that no longer enjoy opera.
I hate the way it looks like me,
A spitting image that I wish to utterly destroy.
I wrote this is a very dark time of my life, and I treat it much like a magnum opus.

— The End —