efni - Hello Poetry

efni Aug 2020

bored

i'm sure i could create
enchanting stanzas and striking imagery,
visionary verses and true poetic masterpieces.

instead i only purge my pointless pain onto this page.

i'm sure my writing could reach much farther
beyond this endless sadness but, right now,
it's all i can see.

17.08.20

my poems are all different yet the all same
aren't you bored?

i am.

efni Aug 2020

writing myself to death

i need to put down the brush
and try to find the key

because i can't stomach
painting my jail cell anymore

17.08.20

taking an indefinite break from writing poetry

it was my escape for a while, but i've managed to feel as trapped here as everywhere else.

efni Aug 2020

if i could forget

relentless recoil rendered
bearable by blissful but
impossible ignorance.

16.08.20

if i was unaware that my highs would always be closely followed by lows, maybe this would be more bearable...

efni Aug 2020

be still

when i hit the ground
i'll bounce up
but lately, i wish that
i'd break

because my fate is to
strike the dirt
every time i begin to
see the sky

and i don't know how much longer
i can convince myself that it's worth it

16.08.20

i'm very tired of bouncing
i don't care how, i just want to be still-

efni Aug 2020

incognito

after years of pretending,
i can't tell what was real
what still is and what
never was.

13.08.20

finally trying to be myself, but who exactly is that?

efni Aug 2020

running out of yellow paint

faithful smiles beaming
almost blinding
i was yellow

faltering laughter and
bitter thoughts
tints of blue

pain was disregarded
for i knew they
prefer yellow

so i colour myself accordingly

years bring
many thick, heavy
layers of lemon paint

smudges
and chipped spots
hurriedly covered up

what now
are the colours
beneath the coating?

13.08.20

i'm scared of the colours beneath my yellow paint.
who have i become behind this facade?

i've been pretending for 5 years now and i don't really know how to stop, but i can't keep it up much longer.

Aug 2020

Ryan Dement

Starlight.

The soft side of starlight
keeps winking
through my blinds,
surprised that I'm awake,
asking why I'm scared.

"Can't you see,
can't you see?
All the breathing,
all the blooming?

A curve or two away,
a month of brave at most,
weaving through the pines,
there's laughter there
that's yours."