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nadine shane Sep 2022
more often than not,

i find myself
scrutinizing the person
i see in the mirror;

and desperately reassuring

that i am not
my mother
my father.
i am not a reflection of their mistakes or their what-ifs
nadine shane Aug 2022
the dirt
continues to grow and fester
beneath my fingernails.

but i don't stop groveling
down to my knees,
i don't stop to breathe;
to rest.

you, who bears god's love;
whose love i could not know.

you and your sin-stained palms
continue to enshrine
dilapidated ghost towns.

i undo the stitches on my wounds
and pick at the grisly scabs
under your scrutiny,

yet you chastise me
for the pool of blood
bespeckled on your feet.

the darkness
already dropped,
the night hides me once more.

the living sorrow,
simmered, bitter, and fresh;
everything remains.
nothing can be seen from the rafters.
nadine shane Jul 2022
the paper in front of me remains unsoiled,
no traces of muddled thoughts,
blunt conviction,
or even a speck of wariness.

the solace that i had found
in creating my own gospels
was nowhere to be found.

words no longer gushed
from the corners of my mouth,
nor did it try to burrow into nothingness.

no matter how many times
i twist and untwist these jumbled letters together,
i am woefully greeted with none other than
static and white noise.
perhaps this will serve as my memento mori
nadine shane Jul 2021
i want to make a poem
about how much i yearn for you
and for the moments and time
lost in the wind.

but the words refuse to come out;
it drags itself up to my throat and just hangs there.

it just
hangs there,
kept and caged in the crevices of my mind.

perhaps it hurts too much to write
because the pain becomes real;
and it becomes terrifying.
and now im back to where i was before
nadine shane Jul 2021
these days
feel so abundantly empty;

i have become absolutely enamored
with the way our silence lulls us to sleep;
embracing each other's warmth and company.

but, alas, such bitter fate.

now, i try to fill the void with mindless chatters
but it all remains futile.

everything hurts without you.
was this how you felt? i am rambling again, i cannot make sense of what i want to say to you
nadine shane Oct 2020
i am
nothing more than
a vestige of existence;
an iota of deception.

even if
the rays of the sun
encapsulate me,
the streaks of moonlight
seem to weave itself
the empty shell that i am;

the murmurs
of the night-entangled hallways
call out to me,
claiming me as their own.

i am
nothing more
than an intruder
in this borrowed body,
mourning for the tragedies
forgotten and erased.
the night is drunk with rage.
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