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the dead bird Nov 2020
The first time you kissed me,
set fireworks off in my soul;
with an explosive passion
that struck like a lightning bolt.
My once-cold heart went up in flames,
and the blaze swallowed it whole.

Now, my heart is burning up,
‘cause you set my soul on fire;
Engulfed by flames of emotion-
an inferno of desire.

That feeling when you kiss me
proves I don’t need any others,
my world was stuck in black and white
‘til you filled it with your colors ~

You paint my days with hues and shades
of violet, yellow and red.
You thawed out my frozen heart,
until it beat again.
But I would rip it from my chest
and hand it off to you,
if I knew
that if I did,
this would never end.
wheEeeeeEee proud of myself for sitting down and writing something, even if it’s only my second piece this year it’s better than none. Feel like I am finally getting back the passion that was stolen from me all those years ago
the dead bird Jun 2020
If I’m trying to fix myself,
logically speaking,
I should start at the source of the problem.

If hell is just a state of mind,
then demons are my open wounds,
and the devil lives inside certain humans.
He’s usually disguised with a smile,
the perfect words you want to hear,
bearing a trojan horse that looks like trust.

The first time I met the devil,
I was eighteen.
The physical wounds he caused healed fast,
leaving only one small scar.
It was his emotional scythe
that tortured my soul;
with slices that cut deep
and left me wounded.

My demons are the still-gaping wounds
that I thought bandaids could fix.
But I’ve found that substances
don’t silence the demon’s hellish screams -
they only drown out the noise
for a little while.

In order to free myself of these demons,
to escape my own hell,
to fix myself,
to change,
to heal;
I must peel off the bandages,
treat the infection at its source,
and let my wounds breathe.

I guess that means addressing
the emotional pain
that he carved into my soul.
I must process the pain I still feel,
the feelings of shame,
guilt,
worthlessness,
and dehumanization.

Real talk though?

Religious references aside,
fifteen years isn’t enough.
I don’t think any prison sentence -
no matter the length -
could account for the irreversible damage
he caused not only to me,
but also countless other young women and girls.

He doesn’t deserve my words.
But they are not for him.
These words are for me.
legit ramblings, on a mini vacation with my girlfriend  and  he still finds a way to haunt me. I won’t let his poison taint me forever
the dead bird Nov 2019
If my soul is a plant,
then you are the sunlight
that keeps me alive.

You are the bones of my skeleton.
You support the weight of my body -
the structure that keeps me together.

If I am a balloon, you are the string
that pulls me back down to Earth
whenever I begin to drift away.

You are summer, spring and fall;
you are all of the color and beauty
of every sunrise to ever exist.

The giver of my wings,
you taught me how to spread my feathers,
and showed me how to soar.

You are the moon of my planet,
controlling the tides of my oceans
that pull towards your magnetic being.

My beating heart with arms and legs,
you are the only light I see
shining at the end of this dark tunnel.

You are my home.
i LOVE U MONIKAAAAA
the dead bird Apr 2019
my worst habit is my tendency
to binge
on absolutely everything.

“moderation”
you remind me, constantly.
to that I say,
my precious
as I consume
   consume
        consume


i don’t like my sober mind.
i feel too much like
my mother,
whose worries eat her alive.

inebriation gives me
the power
to not give a ****!
something i lack when in sober thought.

****,
it’s like anything and everything
causes a stress and worry
i just want to be away from it
for a little while.

that little awhile
being every day
at every chance i get.
do you think addiction is a mental illness? asking for a “friend”
the dead bird Mar 2019
Officially,
the calendar now marks
that it's been over a year
since I've last had your taste.
I should be proud
of myself
- and I am -
but more so, I am
surrounded by frustration.

I cannot write code like I used to.
Neither can I
find the words to write poetry
like I used to.
With you,
my creativity and passion
came effortlessly:
like turning on a tap
from which the essence
flowed,
whenever I took
my next hit.

Now, it's been
over a year from you;
and the passion from which
you robbed me of
is starting to come back.

I refuse to let
my memories of you
taint
that which I love.

My subdued passion
for programming,
video games,
and literature
shall not be dull forever.

With every new moon
that passes,
the fog in the mirror
continues to fade,
as my reflection
becomes clear.

And with it,
I feel (more than anything)
the ambition
that which you stole from me
ever-so-slowly return.

I so desperately
searched for my soul
while in your grasp.
Clouded by your embrace,
I lost myself,
and saw only the image you painted
in the mirror.

In time I will find myself again.
Fully.

One year clean
is something to celebrate.
been clean from speed a year and haven't wrote anything because it's hard for me to come up with anything of remote quality without the drug. at least that's what it feels like on my end. ah well, one year clean celebration poem.
the dead bird Dec 2017
I wake
from dreams of you
like ocean waves
that crash
upon the shore

forgetting
a second
before I remember
you're
no longer mine

I don't want
to be

awake

maybe,
if I
keep my eyes shut
these waves will swallow me again,
drowning me
in memories of you

but memories
become regrets -
and my mind is a hurricane
with rain like
a storm of thoughts

thoughts like

how
this could have
been avoided
if I didn't let my emotions
play me
like a puppet

how now
our days together
will be replaced
with somebody else
and the sun will set
all the same

no longer
a person
in your life
but a story
you tell

I'm
trying to say,
I’m sorry and
you're right
it’s my fault
I was wrong

I'll be here
when you want me
i didn't mean what i said when i was drunk and i'm sorry i acted the way i did towards you
  Dec 2017 the dead bird
Pea
i want to bleed out all the sadness
until my ****** runs out of color
and becomes clear again

i want to scrub myself like a bathroom floor
hard and rough
until all the dirt comes off
so maybe, even just for a few days,
yeah maybe i could shine

or i shouldn't shower
wait for some weeks
won't even ****
i don't want my bathroom get *****
if i have to **** i will **** on my hands
and carefully put it in the trash bin
for my landlady's turkey to eat

how i wish i could just throw away
all these dishes
and not be found out

i want the time to stop so i can rest awhile
and not just procrastinate
i want to really rest
like an unpopular mountain, like an unknown lake
i want it to be very still and silent i can hear my own blood rushing

but what if i have diarrhea
and can't **** so neatly like i always did
what if it's been a week and it won't stop
and it won't even get me skinny

i'm so homesick i order a hainanese rice
i'm so homesick i don't want to not sleep even though it's the finals week
i'm so homesick i want to drop out of school
i'm so homesick everything becomes empty and hurts

i've been collecting empty beer cans because i don't want my landlady to tell my mother that i drink

i want to dry myself in the sun but
i can't
even get out of bed to turn
on the light
don't open the window and take a nap
it's the rainy season
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