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Poetria Mar 2022
I was born with a fork in my tongue, raised on a language that could never be home to
a girl with a mouth full of shark teeth,
who, down to the bone,
tears through anything sentient,
with jaws of a weight you wouldn't suppose
for a girl with the faintest of rose and full cheeks,
the blush of a filthy fair conqueror.

the day I was born saw a transfer of life
I was born with the light from my mother's eyes
To be continued
Nov 2021 · 102
mother, i wrote you a poem
Poetria Nov 2021
mother, i am waiting for the sun to fall out of this picture
i am waiting for your laughter's collapse
when you go, what happens to the dream?
the one in which you don't burn everything you touch,
the one in which i don't have to run from your love

when you go, take this dream
to lie with you forever
and i will watch as wildflowers grow around your stone
a garden born from you
of children who won't run,
one final, beautiful redemption

mother, i will meet you where the ground keeps us sweet
under the sun's golden glow, i swear i won't run from the heat
promise me a smile when it's time to take your leave
and i promise i will honour you in golden memory
my love for my mother and my need to protect myself from her is a conflict i can never win. what would winning that even look like?
Oct 2021 · 151
X marks a happy birthday
Poetria Oct 2021
in a poem at the table

a masterpiece of lies in love

his composition celebrates your downfall

/

these are my traitors hands

two silver, hooked offenders

dipping into the well of you

/

this is my gentle sin

his promise, unfulfilled

the plan: my pirate's map, his cruel hunt

X

your puppet smile is straining

X

his words, a loaded gun

X

your flower heart is wilting

X

my wicked work is done.
watch me never do justice to a pirate metaphor ;)
Oct 2021 · 118
dear lover, dear soul
Poetria Oct 2021
hearts are pounding on my window
i sit in my skull, miserable smoke
there is no real thunder anymore
just my machinations, crippling the doors

i have choked on this poem too many times
i have loathed it each night since the sting of July
i am leaping through time to find someone to love
without stabbing my way through her skin to feel something

would you wait a few years for somebody so stuck?
would you sit with the shell of a girl you once loved?
i pay in patience for this world, a cost that always comes
i can't disinfect these splinters without smothering the sun

a dull fog, a dark cloud, an omen that grows
the more that it swells, the less i seem to know
i miss my own love with an ache i can't date
i miss the story of the girl that i could have been
i sat down to write because i felt the need to. i didn't expect to realise that i am so scared to be close to anyone, to love anyone in any form as truly as i know i can because i have never recieved in my relationships the love i give back to myself so freely, every forgiveness, every kindness. i also realised i cannot love anyone truly until i learn to love myself better. but i am so lonely. i am isolating from everybody i know with a dull awareness about it all. i can feel my friemdships slipping between my fingers. i am watching, letting it happen, pushing for it a little because only i know how to hurt myself best. why am i doing it? a thousand reasons and not one i can name. bottling and not sorting and living here in this house hoping to write something that strays from the topic of me, and my hurt, and those who hurt me, and the hurt in the world, and the hurt and the hurt and the hurt. i want to write a poem so rich in flavour but i write a variation of the same thing every time. i think i should find a way soon to give me the desire to live again. i think i want to disconnect but i am so scared of becoming the people i live with. i think i don't know what i want. this poem is nothing special but i'm surprised to find myself liking it.
Poetria Aug 2021
carve yourself a fresh wound
between your shoulder blades
this is how your blood transfers to me:
hot steel draining into these canals uninvited

fallen angel named a saint in his glory days
i carry the burden of the fire that you are
light in the sky my feet bleed to outrun
i suffer from the weight of my misjudgment

man is a god: all-consuming, and unburnt
a self-fulfilling knife, and a pacemaker pulse
with you, religion ends and my faithlessness begins
infliction serves to aggravate this ruined innocence

your ruthlessness is heaven-sent and eating me alive
you are the cause of everything, are too the cause despite

i look to you in blame, but it circles back to me
that traitorous, inevitable, infinite shape
man is a god: unrepenting, but forgiven
there is no version of this story i could ever win
i realised that you do not always get to decide what you are defined by: and i am defined by this hatred, whether by choice or by consequence, or both. you do not choose who your father is, you can only choose how to make sense of what he's done. he will be so deeply woven into your flesh by the time you can see it for yourself, and by then you are already in the aftermath
Aug 2021 · 105
Friend
Poetria Aug 2021
this place is all bullets and plastic wrap
you are a space for which i am glad

you are a million moons changing,
beacon in the fog
staying light just the same,
holding on in the dark

your blanket with sleeves is a warmth that i seek
your comfort, like chocolate, is endlessly sweet

until the next song, until the next start
put me in your pockets, hold onto my heart

softer shades and falling leaves,
you are a reckoning that came out clean
i modified a poem i wrote for my dearest friend mahnoor 2 years ago. in a city so cruel, and a place that's been ruined for me in memory, she was the light. she has always been a source of sweetness for me and nothing but. to cultivate a friendship so strong with her is something i want to always get better at doing. there is truly nobody as good and kind and as much of an angel. blanket with sleeves is in reference to the blanket with sleeves she owns and i envy :( she gave me chocolates for my birthday & when i met her in 2019 at her house she had this cute plate of small chocolates prepared. i have taken notes and will steal the idea. her name means moonlight so i will always associate her with the moon more than anything else. what i wanted to tell her in this poem was initially that i am so glad to be able to call her my friend and for her to choose me to be by her side after all of this time and after any times i've wronged her is something i value more than i ever say. the last line is borne out of a time where i took my friendships for granted, and doubted them, and honestly, i think the reckoning that (to my relief) came out clean should be me instead. i do love to have tunnel vision though. not to dwell on the past, though. i just love her so much and promise to write a better poem than this for her one day!! and we dont count the other poem i titled friend and wrote with u in mind because its just very insecure and i dont like it
Jul 2021 · 121
blue bucket of gold
Poetria Jul 2021
wake up, dark cloud
eyes ache the worst when they are red

sun is somewhere we can't reach it
how do i write about this?

my mind supplies me with lavender fields,
anything beautiful

cruelty, rage, the side of your face
how do i write about this?

a dream, a hug, a poem; the alto, the M2, the mall
desert to oasis, any day now

your wings of chrome in shreds, in shards
the glitter on this road

waiting for the day to close,
horizon's coloured sob

how long until you reach for it?
the end
the title is a song by sufjan stevens
Jul 2021 · 109
[the apology draft]
Poetria Jul 2021
i've been hard to see
an endless haze, in purgatory
with tendency for revery, and sickness

i've been hard to hold
my safe space, a vacuum
sanctuary for a fool

not the things i called you:
winter morning, shy of light,
stoic menace, block of ice

(you) flake of gold, fallen so far
what right have i to pick your parts?
no judge would cross a morning star so lovely

not your blood i saw run cold
sweet, brilliant dawn-breaker
take the peace i bargain for
what's least is now my most
im glad for every poem ive written this year because the subject matter needed to be written about, but i dont much like my poetry this year either.
Poetria Jul 2021
i want to ask: why the tribulation?
why the fire and the levels and these lambs on a skewer?
now, why the condemnation?
put these ingredients through your right and wrong machine and see what truths your ways spit up
blood on the pavement and your white trainer soles
how it was and how it is and how it always 'ought' to be
so tell me how to fit myself here in your wound
i mean something i can work with
i mean you'll hate me if i ever use the words i never reach for
i mean you'll hate me if i tell you we can do without a storm before the place-to-go
that we're the gold, we're the light worth the dust and the dirt
i mean you'll hate me if i ever use the words i care about
so keep the change, i'll keep my love:
there are things more important than blood
this poem is specifically about white adidas shoes that cost over 10k rupees + that sufjan stevens song about blood and being drawn to it. the rest is just filler words and concepts, take it from me, the pôët
Jun 2021 · 93
TO SPEAK
Poetria Jun 2021
i braid my hands together, veins coursing with rain
channeling a storm that never does make the journey

where i come from, a whisper could shake the sky
collapse the clouds and drag heaven from its pedestal

lightning to a tree, and the girl is just a trickle
when will you stop dripping blood on my hands?

i braid my hands together, veins coursing with rage
channeling a storm that never does make the journey

it's hard to tell your red from the honey of my skin
the blood on my hands starts to look like a friend
i find you in the worst of me, the blood on my hands is always yours
Poetria May 2021
every day, you miss me
(i am) hiding by your side
revolving in orbit by godly design

every day, coffee
you take it without sugar
you take it like disease

every day, fire
bloodshot eyes, peeling smile
no red-blue lights in windows
to reflect your quiet crimes

every day, i am still here
cruel world and coffee and burning alive
your name hurts this djinn-girl, wrong side of every line

every day, war
i try to write, but all i do is time
and every day is every day i've wasted
and every morning is another day to end
and every day, i plant these words
in my soul, in my wounds,
in your bone-chilling curse
you'll miss me when the angels haunt your grave
every morning is another day to end is the mood for 2021
Apr 2021 · 118
the things we don't share
Poetria Apr 2021
malice becomes sweet to taste
tucked under a tongue behind rows of bone gate

if you spent some time with me
your heart would grow too whole, too red

once a landscape drowned in sentiment
now you hide from change, fear violent rain

i've been cursed, losing sleep, far from land, sky and sea
and worms have been birthed inside all of my best dreams

i stir and i am haunted, hollow, eaten, starved, a half
each waking hour flashes by until the world turns dark

we join for a meal, and i'm counting teeth again
we join for a meal; you hide your hands away from me
maybe part 2 for bloodworms in the water, and other horror stories
Poetria Apr 2021
you speak in song:
i am becoming yours, ever since we met

so tell me about it
what can i say to make your cheeks rise?
when you smile it makes me burn
i wonder if you noticed our hands are the same
i want to look at you until i have you memorised
warm and sweet and so piercing when you look at me
all the honey in the north can't compare to your eyes
brown skin like strong chai and this mountain under the sun

you're driving tonight on a road to the stars
and my heart is with you, sitting quiet in your car
this is not real

were your eyes on me when i made myself look away?
i've been all about you since the first day you chose to stay
am i just a sweet but strange child to you?
i have lost my mind

if this was real
i would drive with you forever
along the harshest mountain roads
between these trees watching over me
by all the ducks, cows, goats, moles and geese in the world
you would know we have the same hands
i bet you'd taste like smoke and mystery
i wonder if you have a girl at home
i know you'd love her like the love songs instruct
do you speak in song with everyone you love?
you are a fleeting 4 day dream i want to forget
you gave me an apricot and you made it taste sweet
i hope when i looked away you took the chance to look at me

so tell me, is this real?
i think i noticed you don't like to be too far from me
one time i was counting centimeters; we met at 15
i wonder if your mind has been close to mine all along

now you're on your way home
and i hope you're the boy in this poem

you are the girl in my songs, you'd tell me if we were alone
you'd tell me you liked hearing the poem baba read to you
we'd speak a common language
romance, music, and warm cups of tea
things only the two of us here seem to know
we'd talk about a future on a farm between two high places
what do you see when (i think) you look at me?
can you read my eyes for all the things i don't speak?
please tell me you've been wanting to be mine this whole time

if this is not real
i hope you have someone to tell you, you are the boy in the songs
you are the biggest sunflower in this yellow field
you are the coolest winds in the cold desert
you are a steady rock and i am water falling, falling again

you speak in song:
you are gone and i won't be hearing from you

but you don't speak a word to me

this is real

you look
and look
and look

please speak

these birds, do you love them?
they said this path leads to greatness
i am walking towards you with every step that we take
i want to run, but you lead the way

i decide on a metaphor, and this is real
if you are a stone, i am a river
i am, always am
so then you too must be

you analyse plums as you pick them
i memorise your sweet confusion
there is a story here that is yet to be writ
so tell me this is as real as it feels

swear by the fish, the tadpoles, and blue dragonflies
by the orchards, the flowers, and ancient brown eyes
swear by your history, your land, your glittering sand
by everything here that i see, that is real

you look
and look
and look

but you speak in song, and not a word to me
i feel like the story looks more complete when you put these two poems together.
Feb 2021 · 326
good man
Poetria Feb 2021
(i)

when you are good
i soak up your goodness
like a plant under the sun
green for just a season

(ii)

when you are good
you hold a roof above my head
you sew a smile across my face
i question what goodness is

(iii)

when you are good
it hurts my eyes to look at you
you burn across the universe
it hurts to look at anything at all
the people who hurt you can be good to you too. how do you learn how to fall out of love with somebody you've loved for a lifetime?
Jan 2021 · 138
garden lady (mercy rain)
Poetria Jan 2021
i wouldn't know a leaf from a flower,
mercy rain on a withering Tuesday

give and take, and you're given back
silver secrets only miracles understand
mama
Dec 2020 · 110
split the wound
Poetria Dec 2020
this home is not a pentagon.
split the wound in quarters,
four wheels, a driver, a crash
lingering bruise, nineteen year old ****
five miles of forest, incinerating
it's his fire, we're in pieces, we are orange confetti
beneath stone i bury words, like roots in the ground
and lately i've seen flowers in everyone's hands
hide the truth, share the shoes, split the wound:
blood clots keep us locked in like a noose
her heart is a house, and he's charring the rooms
so i'd rather no roses than have my hands stained
the sweet stench, a bleeding dead thing, suffocates
and there is a warmth in the soil where i lay
sweep the ashes, close the door, turn away
if trees are your candles, breathe in this decay
split the **** wound! This man is a cage.
Dec 2020 · 373
something true
Poetria Dec 2020
every lie is a *****, rusting, digging into more of what lives in my chest. if you can imagine how a spider's walk sounds, then you'll hear my brown bones closing over this thing that is red. my body is a crowd of one, a room full of me: i stay caged between 4 walls, and it is lonely.

be still so the hounds don't bring you down, not so still that they win without a fight. be still, red thing, but not so still that you may never move again. the world has an appetite for your kind of soul: their mouths, yours too, will be used against you; they'll swallow your tongue and say it was their food.

confined to this live-wire city, you wonder if you chose to be unseen. you wonder when you stopped seeing, too, stopped being a girl with a mouth full of teeth and a red rose that bloomed when she would sing, dance, dream, a girl with less to care for and more to care about, a girl who knew a thing before she was told how she ought to know it.

so what do i know? i sit in this car, i go up this road following signs that read 'home', watching traffic lights come and then go, greening it all the way to the highest hilltop. but mountains tower in the backdrop, the way down becomes an endless ***** and these burning lamps line the sides in warning, urging me to keep to the road.

there is wind in my hair, stars in the radio, and the man in the passenger seat is someone i won't know. he has brown eyes, warm skin and a grin so yellow, and he is everything i hoped he would be, it's unreal. he's here in this scene, in the credits to a movie that plays on repeat, with me on this road to a home that never shows.

and everything bows to the clock anyway so i take charge of the man, the car and the stars, i take charge of the hounds and the spider in my mouth, i take charge of the heart and the bones and the dark, and i let the clock pull me out, out, out and into the arms of something new.
spontaneous writes really give me joy. it's true that i've been feeling so not okay lately but there are so many nice things, too. parks and music and romantic movies and friendships that stay alive. siblings too, sometimes. i came out of 2019 thinking that was the worst and it was, ive never been at a lower point in my life, but the ugliness of 2020 became hard to ignore after the august high. hoping to keep living.
Poetria Dec 2020
in fear, i am a crowded space
you fret over the ethics of it, and roast the turkey anyway
do you understand what i am trying to say?
i learnt how to swim, so i should be over this drowning

see, when things get all night-timed and dream-eyed
i know i can love and be loved
it radiates warmth, this old star blanket
like the feeling that comes with a hug

and this is the coldest month of the year, you know
some days i escape just to know there's a sun
an overbearing, godly thing on fire
so i'd rather risk my lungs, submerged

and the sun is so wrong i come back to it all:
the darkness, nerves, the dead bird
and the things i should know, that i don't

so when you say fire will keep me warm,
do you not see how that burns?
there's something off about my recent poems. i wonder if it's something i'm doing to try to fit some type of way of writing them? i love what i'm re-reading when i go through them, but there's something not right. don't know what it is, and i won't know. maybe it's the subject matter getting stale. i need to get out of my comfort zone.
Poetria Oct 2020
my friends
you are a garden of fantastic flora
at dawn you are peaceful in sleep
among cats and bicycle men
firmly rooted, you are roses
all elegant thorns and complex structure
and the earth from which you grow is all softness
the leaves you hold high rustle rich in laughter
this, i know

my friends
i am liquid land born from a storm
born from skies that dislike sleep
find me in the yawn of dawn
and when i am not the sun, i will water you
this poem brings me joy
Poetria Oct 2020
you say a thing, i say another:
now we are emotional

this room is not temperate;
the air is thick with ghost conversation

so we wait to feel better, we straighten our mouths
you burst wrap bubbles and i crush sour grapes

can your hands give me the love they still hold?
i am not the same each year, and you seem not to know

i ask if you can bring peace to my mind
instead, you command the waiter to smile

do you see? i am trying to break glass here

now you are taking your afternoon nap
and the thing in this room is wailing

i wait for you to wake,
but you sleep on blunted cutlery

it's that nobody likes talk of fixing the blinds,
so we adjust the curtains

now this room remembers less of light
and do you know we aren't breathing?
someday in the future my therapist will be reading my poems and telling me i never did manage my anger, it just shows up differently now.
Sep 2020 · 143
3rd floor, room 315
Poetria Sep 2020
i have been given the signs
and they taste just like wine
in that i've never known what it's like
to follow through with anything good
like paradise in stitches and worn by a child
your mother asking for your care, your time
but you still choose to linger in a place
where the zoned-out stay for moments in a day
you choose to tear the flowers clean out of your ribcage
give them a bright dye, keep them on display
to regurgitate all over this cold hospital white

i have been given the signs
of a perfectly sweet life
and i am still scared of toothache
this is SO conversational. or maybe i don't do conversation right.
Sep 2020 · 119
Untitled
Poetria Sep 2020
real
not shadow, not curtain, not window, but the Sun
unafraid, infinite
my skull is skipping, the wind hits my face reminding me i am here, still here
to feel, to continue, to be
is this something i can hold and say is always mine, always within reach?
free
but i am not, and this will pass with devastation devouring me
poetry!
when i am not, she still is
why are you not in love with she?
why am i not in love with me?
to feel love, to see me
it is wonderful to gaze upon something so dull, to see it coloured, full of everything
so i am out of my mind, and entirely lost in it
what poetry?
so sad too bad
Poetria Sep 2020
i am here as you will have me be
you that i love and you that i fear
this paper world, this heart that beats
is all you have chosen to give to me

there is a door i try not to open
i peek beneath it and see multichrome
it is not for me, i have been told
so i am neutral, so i stay muted

but i allow blue because i allow grief
a rainbow is stuck behind my gated teeth
a warm purple sky holds a burning red sun-
-these colours i hide, and i show to no-one

it is the door i try to ignore
a museum, anatomic, i used to explore
a place that is many minutes from reach
a place that is not a mausoleum of me

i long to be a wet morning flower
and desperate rain that is hard not to feel
to be two twin ******* holding themselves
high and proud on a woman's body

instead, i am a swallowed tongue
and people talking over tea
a painted smile, two tired eyes
a thing of archaeology

flakes of snow, faraway ocean
the coloured silence in a library
a glass before it hits the ground,
just hanging in the atmosphere

so i write with these words that you won't understand
and i wear this thick head that won't hold it's own weight
with this feather-like soul, i am barely seen whole
for i am here as you will have me be
not the person i wanted to be at 5, 10, or 15, because i cannot be all the people i want to be unless i leave this house / city / my own anxiety
Poetria Sep 2020
this is real

you look
and look
and look

please speak

these birds, do you love them?
they said this path leads to greatness
i am walking towards you with every step that we take
i want to run, but you lead the way

i decide on a metaphor, and this is real
if you are a stone, i am a river
i am, always am
so then you too must be

you analyse plums as you pick them
i memorise your sweet confusion
there is a story here that is yet to be writ
so tell me this is as real as it feels

swear by the fish, the tadpoles, and blue dragonflies
by the orchards, the flowers, and ancient brown eyes
swear by your history, your land, your glittering sand
by everything here that i see, that is real

you look
and look
and look

but you speak in song, and not a word to me
someone tell me to write a poem about the northern areas that doesn't center around a CRUSH man this is excessive
Poetria Aug 2020
i lived those years inside my head:
held together by bits of masking tape
so young, with the smallest slice of life
in love with oceans my childhood had never seen

it all comes back to those years i lived outside:
little heart beating fast for so many things
innocent, lonely, sinless, unholy
sad girl with nothing to hold but a heart on two sleeves

now my parents don't have luggage space for me

heavily, i exist; being is the burden i carry

the first time i spoke to God i said please, please, please
i want a horse, a pool, and to meet my friends in heaven
He said heaven is for the martyred, the right, and the young

the last time i spoke to God, i told Him i would improvise
i am tangled in a web of my own making, and i cannot cry
the sky is a lightweight blanket, and i do not sleep at night
i have tried to find ways to be bright like the Sun-

-but i am tired of trying to be

the black hole i visit is a land of thoughtlessness
a cosmic ocean of feeling and sleep
you tell me what His poetry means
my heart interprets it in the ways it is made to believe:

the smallest slice of life is to know everything is nothing,
and once i eat these three hands, nothing is all i will be
self-sabotage is a bad way to end a perfectly sweet month, or life
Aug 2020 · 122
poem
Poetria Aug 2020
if you do not love me, i do not exist

visit my meadow and only see a way to leave through it

feline, are you not curious?

blue roses grow here like nothing you know

if you do not want to know, i am not worth a single ****

shining for you, i am a million shards of scattered star

won't you come swim in these midnight waters?

for the glitter, for the gold

sweet wanderer, your words hold my soul
"validate me" said the artist to the people
Aug 2020 · 119
Ghar
Poetria Aug 2020
i am scared to be.
to love.
to lose.

i laugh and it is musical.
i laugh and it is hopeless.

i see a mountain and i see my house and they are two things that should be the same but one is a breathless life and the other a painless death.

one is fleeting,
the other a gaping minute on a clock that slowly ticks.

one is a boy with a heart,
the other a boy in the news.

one is a jeep that climbs the sky in a peaceful moment,
the other is our ambulance, raging along these city streets.

one is my mother:
she is the most beautiful person to exist.
the other is a creature's corpse wearing her skin.

there are fruits that prosper and fruits that rot:
fruits full of worms and fruits half-forgot.

there are strangely shaped ghars filled with things i've seen in dreams, inside caves i could never imagine to know.

there is this ghar made of carcass i have always known, that is so, so tired and should not exist.

so i am scared to be.
to live.
to lose.

i laugh and i am crying.

i see this ghar and i see my ghar and they are two things that should be the same but one is breathing, moving, and the other is a body that will be still forever, and i don't want to be here like this any more.
Ghar - Mountain (in the Pashto language)
Ghar - House (in the Urdu language)
Aug 2020 · 107
this is not real (1/3)
Poetria Aug 2020
you speak in song:
i am becoming yours, ever since we met

so tell me about it
what can i say to make your cheeks rise?
when you smile it makes me burn
i wonder if you noticed our hands are the same
i want to look at you until i have you memorised
warm and sweet and so piercing when you look at me
all the honey in the north can't compare to your eyes
brown skin like strong chai and this mountain under the sun

you're driving tonight on a road to the stars
and my heart is with you, sitting quiet in your car
this is not real

were your eyes on me when i made myself look away?
i've been all about you since the first day you chose to stay
am i just a sweet but strange child to you?
i have lost my mind

if this was real
i would drive with you forever
along the harshest mountain roads
between these trees watching over me
by all the ducks, cows, goats, moles and geese in the world
you would know we have the same hands
i bet you'd taste like smoke and mystery
i wonder if you have a girl at home
i know you'd love her like the love songs instruct
do you speak in song with everyone you love?
you are a fleeting 4 day dream i want to forget
you gave me an apricot and you made it taste sweet
i hope when i looked away you took the chance to look at me

so tell me, is this real?
i think i noticed you don't like to be too far from me
one time i was counting centimeters; we met at 15
i wonder if your mind has been close to mine all along

now you're on your way home
and i hope you're the boy in this poem

you are the girl in my songs, you'd tell me if we were alone
you'd tell me you liked hearing the poem baba read to you
we'd speak a common language
romance, music, and warm cups of tea
things only the two of us here seem to know
we'd talk about a future on a farm between two high places
what do you see when (i think) you look at me?
can you read my eyes for all the things i don't speak?
please tell me you've been wanting to be mine this whole time

if this is not real
i hope you have someone to tell you, you are the boy in the songs
you are the biggest sunflower in this yellow field
you are the coolest winds in the cold desert
you are a steady rock and i am water falling, falling again

you speak in song:
you are gone and i won't be hearing from you

but you don't speak a word to me
this is way too long and way too stupid but i want it out of my sight so i'm posting it here without a second thought
Aug 2020 · 115
you froze to death
Poetria Aug 2020
you froze to death
the windows were open
windows we refused to shut
so i close this window now
you ask me many questions
where is the car?
who is the man?
i ignore you
when did we go?
we left so long ago
did we go?
is it over?
it just began
is the man with us?
where is the car?
where is your heart
have i frozen over?
i have melted down
will i melt?
you are not okay
am i not okay?
you make me not okay
i have been not okay for so long
have you not?
i have not
you have not what?
i have not been okay for so long
why?
i wish i could feel nothing for you
why have you left me alone?
why did you freeze
did i freeze?
you have forgotten to take care of me
why did i freeze?
you do not care about yourself
is it my CNS?
call a doctor
am i a doctor?
you say you are
what do i do?
you help people
can i help you?
you are my death
am i a doctor?
you are a hollow vessel
am i alive?
you froze to death
did we go?
i don't know
is it over?
where have you been
is the man with us?
you died before you froze
did i freeze?
you have frozen in time
did i freeze?
you are warm in my mind
did i freeze?
you froze in my memory like a final goodbye
i changed the last line because i can, and i will, and idc if ig sees a different version of it 😳 hah
Poetria Aug 2020
here is the end of an era
a season of desperate drought
we carry these bags, the luggage we have
while in these frail cubes we are bound to stay sat

eating plastic for food, wearing pixels for eyes
the warmth that we know is of blazing pink skies
our present lives offer no living
the books i so love start to tear at the seams,

all reality becomes less sure than a dream
nothing is as it should seem to be
our clock has sped up as the men aim their guns
and the women are told to stay silent and sweet

losing ourselves, we consent to this mess
horizons of East burn to bleed and hold "peace",
dark roses of truth colour this cursed country
a lifetime of growth swears to halt at my feet

2020: year of grief, no relief
this bleak closing scene promises to haunt me
the title is another stolen lyric ;) i think i'm losing whatever talent i had because this took me two to three hours to write, and not 5 minutes. maybe this is aging.
Poetria Jul 2020
she says i confuse her when my eyes betray me;

i think she is lovely, fading back into yesterday
we're growing differently, set to grow apart
Feb 2020 · 407
spite
Poetria Feb 2020
i choke on these words
that have fled from containment
i sob and i take
gulps of air like hydration

i starve to maintain
this excess of hate
that sits loud and patient
across my whole navel

i blame these sharp words
that sneak out through my teeth
they lash out at you
as you stare wide at me

my headlights alarming your doe eyes
(no malice apparent but it breeds behind light)
as i speak in these slices of sentencing spite
(then i silently lie and regret in the night)

thought i grew this act out,
but i caved it all in
let it push its way up
let it surface my skin
just to see myself lose
what i thought was a win
i'm sorry i speak so unkindly sometimes
Poetria Feb 2020
i have seen you dancing with trees
warm and familiar, with an air that is sweet
in here, you appear, you dance into being
behind my closed eyes, you're watching me breathe

here i am autumn, stretching on beyond decree
opposite these falling leaves,
you are rosy cheeks and beaming teeth
but i insist, i am convinced:
autumn is a beautiful place to be

you are all that i seek,
all i would like to believe is real
so i try to remember if you ever liked me

but you are endlessly sunlit,
hued honey-gold, and evergreen
and this half-eyed fading lucidity,
is the only place we can hope to meet
so i insist, i am convinced:
autumn is my most beautiful dream
perspective: Autumn is the absolute end of all life

written January 2020
Dec 2019 · 240
The Bell Jar
Poetria Dec 2019
i know
i make people look prettier behind my eyes
i say i'm no good at painting, but the picture's always beautiful within my mind
there's a line between these realms i like to say distorts things
and the images procreated are built like the story of a man who saved the world

he rescued coats and sweaters and nuns and cows and little me when i fractured my elbow on a regular school day, hospital visits fast becoming a source of adventure
he appeared out of thin air, magic, like that trick where i have to guess if he's furious or pretending to be
he would tickle my soul, bringing fountains of laughter, water like tears in a quiet corner between a wardrobe and the wall, lights out, hiding
he gave the loveliest hugs and the greatest tasting dairy milk bubbly's on sunday's back from belfast with me puppy-like demanding his affection and time
he promised horses and swimming pools and freedom of choice,
and he promised to be honest,
broke my heart a few times

i know
that sometimes you find the most brilliant person and you fall in love with them but soon the world takes a good thing from you and you make up for the imperfections, and you're begging for this love to be something that could replace your heartbreak that never could end

you know
that you delight in the nature of things that have the potential to be harmful, people who you convince yourself are exactly the way you see them through the windows of your rose-coloured, thorn-bleeding eyes

i fear
that the history of everything keeps you reading one book a thousand times and you can never move on from anything or anyone
Sylvia Plath wrote one novel in her lifetime, a semi-autobiographical little book that held the most truth mixed in with fiction, probably being the reason why it feels so much more real than any completely fictional or nonfictional thing. I think that if i write a book, i might have to add so much of myself in the book to make it tangible and vivid enough to create the desired effect of being real enough, while not being about me in my phtsical life. I think I'd write my own version of The Bell Jar. It's scary how much I can relate to Sylvia Plath, fully knowing a genius like herself still took her own life- casually so, at the end. So here is a snippet of something that isn't a poem, or a book. and poetic prose sounds sort of pitifully like an aesthetic piece of writing, which this also couldn't be.
Dec 2019 · 748
difference, indifference
Poetria Dec 2019
cold air is burning my face but the feeling is muffled, far away.
i look at you, stoic menace.
you are a block of ice and i am a flurry of snowflakes, raging, cold, soft.
you ask me what the heart speaks.
i do not know how to tell you what emotion is, just like i do not know how to explain to you what i am.

(things far too familiar are seldom easy to translate into a language someone might understand, a language that is not your own, a language you've forgotten the taste of)

mountains on my shoulders feel lighter than they should, and you take lightness to mean of less matter.
perhaps you think these mountains have a hollow center, are made of feathers.
you and i are two different forms of water.
i have known ice, and you have known snow, years before today.
i have known stagnance, you have known change, you took the word like an icicle to your chest, falling too far into your cave.
pull me out, you say, and i am frost lining your windowsill.
leave me be, you say, and you are a dull fog, whispering to glass.
through the glass, we interact.
you are trapped.
i want to see you cry for hours and never stop until you run out of what's made you so cold.
Poetria Oct 2019
the cloud escapes me
when i am far, it floats further away
when i am close, it is lost forever
what we see, then, is it true?

i try to find you
but you are far, and further
now you are closer, disappearing
soon, you are gone; you were never here
inspired by tyler lockwoods '5pm, last week of october')
Oct 2019 · 497
today i witnessed morning
Poetria Oct 2019
orange flower flicker shy
pinprick of light, puncture the sky
break the day, hold my face
kiss this sleeping heart awake
even the shadows have a softer outline
Sep 2019 · 418
ocean sleep
Poetria Sep 2019
i am the silt of the ocean bed
falling into places i am not meant for
swept away from where i would like to be
floating, drifting into scene
sinking, falling back to sleep
pun intended
Aug 2019 · 305
i, you
Poetria Aug 2019
i don't want to wait for six years
to make you wait for six years
to spend a year doing everything with you
and then leave you like a poem i won't complete

because if i can't wake up to you

watch all your movies and listen to your music
as we lounge on this brown leather couch

the air cold and our blanketed bodies warm
as sunset pours through the unfixed blinds

then i don't want to have you at all

have you like microplastic pieces of a straw
have you like a trailer, a prologue

but i do
i do
i am ******, not damsel
perpetual blue

the poems whisper something new,
sweetness that resembles you

but i don't want resemblance i want you
like the shock of electric current i stumble into
and i don't want to ask myself if i'd like to
kiss you
hold you
have you

i want to know and i know,
i never will do

i want to run from the idea,
i want it to be true

the i ends all too soon,
and the you will too
Taylor once said she writes to process how she feels about things that happen to her, to make sense of it all. I realise I do the same.
Aug 2019 · 398
18
Poetria Aug 2019
18
18 crept in with the quiet illusion of comfort

in the flakes of snow outside Gloria Jean
's

on a Sunday afternoon
, sipping something

warm and letting the cold seep into my skin

only to burrow myself into a warm blanket

afterwards
. 18, upon arrival, was gifted

with gorgeousness writ by a favorite friend
.

However, 18 came quietly, the world

defining her before she could have spoken to

me herself
. 18 began to hurt, trying to find

what she was born to be rather than what

she was being molded into
. 18, like snow,

was fragile. 18 had been January, and

then just as fast
, she is March. 18 is script-

writing with Mahnoor again
, just like 15,

16, 17, familiarity. 18 is confusion and

panic
, a growing sense of unease,

muffling a voice in my head trying its

hardest to be heard
. Upon seeing April, 18

did not desire this trip anymore. But the

Spring brought whispers of vanilla and a boy

with the softest smile in a place of pain
. 18

was running off to corners of life, trying to

escape the stench of dying that had taken to

following her around
. 18 survived May, 18

survived June. 18 fell into July, a house

of gloom
, and decided to settle in the

month
, if only the month would settle for

18. The world was calling her, but she

would not be seen
. 18 ran back to the long-

awaited cold
, overcome with joy for the

numbered days
, a birthday again, a

bittersweet break
, an ache for escape.

But 18 walked away from July, and

found herself in August
, quite by surprise.

And August, she realizes, can be

anything she likes
.
August is ambiguous
#18
Jul 2019 · 360
in my head
Poetria Jul 2019
through text, reflect,
this horror set,
was all inside my head

a million moons were changing,
they were spinning like a top

the sun a little scalding,
and the cats were getting lost

my summer suffered silence,
but my colder winds were soft

and i am breeding guilt
for the things this mind begot

these worms are only eating,
and the worms were made from God

my heart, with little beating,
barely breathing, blood would clot

a lack of light, adjusting eyes,
and laughter half forgot

'neath July skies, i realised,
in living, i was not
i wake in the night, i pace like a ghost
the room is on fire, invisible smoke
i'm drowning but quiet, on oceans i choke
help me hold onto you
(T.S, The Archer)
Poetria Jul 2019
i want to write a poem about you,
but your smile has stolen the words i would use

the spring brought these flowers,
and now summer has bloomed
edit: i cut the pretentious first two couplets out
Jun 2019 · 1.0k
purgatory
Poetria Jun 2019
purgatory
is sick in sweetness,
a cannibal and a chewed up girl

there is no place for us except these stairs
you are a meadow and i am the sea;
purgatory
a hidden space, the outcast place

did i tell you that i love to go where they cannot find me?
did i tell you i have a habit of running, without my feet?
did i tell you about the holy events in my recurring dream?
that i am invisible, and you're looking at me?


a pirate of less wicked ways,
a sunrise on my darkest day
and if we should die, here we will lay
for with me, in purgatory
you might choose to stay
now these butterflies are feasting
Jun 2019 · 431
chaos
Poetria Jun 2019
moon eclipses,
oceans are black
and then, the sun

run away, run toward
marathon breathing
and another year gone

things looked better from afar;
you looked better from afar

now these butterflies are feasting
(read it like 4 thoughts that come together to tell a story)
Jun 2019 · 364
rooftops
Poetria Jun 2019
what a pity it is

there are no stars in our sky

but we're city kids, we're the big one eight

we make do with the faraway lights
it's less of Shakespeare and more of an I'll have what he's having
Jun 2019 · 321
teeth and talk
Poetria Jun 2019
you walk in, you're talking but there's something darker lurking
you talk and i say hey, me too, but you're smirking, you're not searching
you bare your fangs and bite my neck like i'm only here for eating
you're finished fast, you throw me back, it doesn't stop the bleeding

i don't want to smile for you, your hungry eyes are blazing
i don't want to smile as you stare at my mouth in waiting
i don't want to smile, i want to punch your teeth out, break them

i'll glare at your fangs until they rot,
i'll brush my teeth until they gleam
i'll pull them out, i'll twist and tug
i'll stitch my gums up, paint a frown

do i want to be like you,
or the opposite of your being?
do i want to get along,
or insist on disagreeing?
it is exhausting feeling this way towards someone you'll have to know for life
May 2019 · 330
molasses
Poetria May 2019
secrecy, is it crime?
i keep mine, they stay untried
is it wrong, is it okay?
spun of spider silk, delicate

still, a whisper of what can be
but whispering is hard to hear
of worlds i stole, this honeycomb
is saccharine, forbidden fate
sweet like sugar on your tongue,
not molasses from a cane

dispel my drowning now
i wouldn't know what to do with molasses anyway
May 2019 · 360
Summer
Poetria May 2019
paint me in your delication,
softer beams of coloured shape
golden grins, exhileration
oh how i hope to laugh again

salty odour, shiny face
born of sunlight, yellow taste
kiss me 40°, cascade waves
drink me up, I'm yours today

sunset eyelids curl in smirk
bluer skies have been upturned
parallels, and play pretend
summer then, summer again
'every summer is life-changing', you said.
Apr 2019 · 180
Friend
Poetria Apr 2019
i need you now
the sky stays dark for longer
and when it's pretty it's so so far

friend,

i reached out
though my ability to reach is weak
you didnt reach back far enough
i am sorry

friend,

i think i broke my own heart this year
its not a spray of sadness its
the discomfort in a forced hug by my father its
my mothers tired eyes my sisters urgency my brothers pain its

wanting to die but being too afraid
wanting to live but feeling too restrained
wishing i was five years old so i could be forgiven for the way ive been living
and the fear is crawling through my body every moment im awake

failure is so close now, regret will soon follow

and the saddest songs make me want to get up and dance

friend,

i need help but im too proud to ask
I never listened to the playlist you made me on my birthday. You know, and i should, and i sincerely mean to.
Dec 2018 · 355
Sea
Poetria Dec 2018
Sea
close my eyes
and there is no sound now
the waves delicately
lick my feet
and I'm rooted in my place
almost like I'm waiting,
begging for their taste

I stumble on old rocks
as they push me around
I am not drowning now
but I remember
this is how it felt
before I last drowned

close my eyes
and I feel the water
pulling me down
I am on my knees
and there are whispers
leaking into my ears
whispers I had given to the sea
the sea that I thought would help me

but my ears hurt
and I push to the surface
and now I am screaming
for I am the whispers
I am now all of the sea

the wind is biting
the air is so cold
I am only skin, bone
it is all I can feel is me
a heart losing it's beat
a voice that cannot speak
noiseless yet loud
I am the sea
I'll always write about the Sea
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