Still, I rise from the ashes
And pieces unknown.
Moments and memories,
Dreams and mourns.
Still, I rise like a plant
That first pushes away the dirt
Growing towards the sun
In joy and mirth.
And for the grass to seem greener,
It has to constantly rain.
And while it may seem duller,
It washes away my pain.
And I’ll rise from my remains
Like a Phoenix from its ashes,
A winner born out of
Broken dreams, hopes, and wishes.

shevaun stonem

Truth is, I let things hurt till they hurt no more.
But now fawn has turned into
Violet, indigo, black,
Birthing a whole new universe.

Black | shevaun stonem

I want to run away from you,
like running away from home
and I know you will not chase me
for a while, you’d like to be alone.
But I’m sure one day, you will
wander out too, in this world
of colour, art and pain.
And all I ever taught you,
will finally sound sane
and when you navigate this on your own
seeking out ‘you’
at every destination,
you’ll find me there too.

Find me | shevaun stonem

like a drug,
i just can't get enough
the side effects are
this numbness.
the pain of looking
your addiction in the eyes and
being reminded of how
you first died.
but there's no more
a reason to relapse,
no more season for sobriety:
so I stare at
my human addiction
in the eyes,
hoping he's also
the remedy.

shevaun stonem

After leaving I thought I knew it all,
and that’s the worst part.
Because all I ever wanted was silence
but now the silence pierces
like a dart.
And I thought I was strong to walk away
from ruins- but tell me,
does it take more strength
to walk or build, in all honesty?
And all the words I chanted to my heart
are the opposite of what I now croak
from the bottom of an empty bottle,
from the hollow of my soul,
from the redness of my eyes,
from the fullness of my mind
and every ounce of my wit
now only proclaims,
you made me a hypocrite.

hypocrite | shevaun stonem

We sit across
each other over
cups of coffee-
like we don’t know
the exact order.
like you don’t know
my favorite movie.
like I don’t know
the last time you cried.
like we don’t know
the unseen.
like we don’t know
we never truly died.

like we don’t know | shevaun stonem

it’s funny how I
write of things I
know and things I
don’t- and someone,
somewhere,
has lived
through my
poetry and prose.

poetry and prose | shevaun stonem