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elina Jan 2020
i was given a succulent in the 2nd week of uni.
it was small, green, young like me.
it was already flourishing unlike me.
i overwatered it in the beginning, too flushed,
too eager to take care of someone else.
my first month living alone.
i knocked it over 1 night.
half of its leaves came off after a careless nudge.
it was exam season.
now i stare at it, thinking.
does it embody me? the rot inside me?
half the leaves missing, a fifth growing a sick green?
is that my portrait of dorian gray?
i dare not water it. i dare not touch it.
my own portrait shut away.
it is now 1 day from semester 2.
will i survive?
Jun 2019 · 447
elina Jun 2019
a swindler, sneaky yet gentle,
disguised as an island in the Mediterranean,
i think i may have left my heart there
in the pale limestone and the hissing
accents and the sun oozing into my skin

i wonder if there grows a garden of hearts,
from tourists wandering stumbling
onto late night buses on the coastlines
whose hearts have found a second home
under the limestone ribs

a botanical garden of our blood pumping organs,
what would it say on my description?
a gentle harvest, grown with 5 days
and mitski's pink in the night
and the waitress's soft smile
on the lantern lit streets of valletta

now i'm home, heartless, and yet
sickeningly longing for you,
a thief, a monster, to steal it again
i wasnt even 5 days there and yet im homesick when im home..away from malta
Aug 2018 · 151
elina Aug 2018
i'm in a life of sharks
scared of bleeding, even a trickle of red
they'll eat me the second i grimace, stumble, swear, eat
the moment i act like a human

its a life of pedestals and i won first place
but the pedestals unsteady and my only prize is not being listened to
im sad
Jul 2018 · 1.8k
elina Jul 2018
i’m seven years old, waiting to get old.
i can’t wait to make my own decisions:
eat sweets before lunchtime, buy every
barbie out there, run outside when i
want to.
i can’t wait to be old.

i’m fourteen years old, waiting to get old.
i cannot wait to be myself finally: be
independent without my parents,
wear what i want, go to every place i
want to, say every curse word i want to.
i can’t wait to be old.

i’m seventeen years old, scared of getting old.
i’m scared of becoming eighteen years old:
to go to university by myself, having to move
out by myself, to pay all the bills i don’t even
know how to, to be adult which seems so tiring and stressful.
i don’t want to get old.

i’m eighteen years old, trying to enjoy my youth while it’s here.
i’m taking the most while i can: taking spontaneous trips to
my grandma, going to the cinema at 10 in the evening,
listening to all the mellow albums i can, dancing in the grass,
wearing all the dresses i have.
i’m trying to be young.

i’m all the years to come, trying not get old.
i’m a little scared of death and a little scared of
getting old: of being unfunny, of not smiling anymore at
beautiful sunsets, of not enjoying myself anymore, of not understanding children anymore, of not being myself anymore.
i’m young and old and everything in between.
i'm accepting being that.
getting old is hard
Jul 2016 · 526
elina Jul 2016
she was the devil in a sorcerer's bones,
a wreath of thorns and skeletons
on her mind.

those words spilled
from the mouths of weaklings,
crowned heads; Jason.

oh, how she loved cruces - unraveling
another's soul to heed their
sins, virtues, luscious blemishes.

his were a pretty face and
the glint of sworn gold.
hers was mislaid ardour.

in her garden of ****** roses, her heart
was hefted with the measure
of a feather.

within shadows, she ruled once more.
reading mythology.
Jul 2016 · 190
/ /
elina Jul 2016
/ /
i can feel my bones,
and the people stepping
on them, smashing them
to pieces.

is it so easy?
to break others, and not
feel sorry. is that how
you live from night to night?

you've locked me in
a cage with no lock.
how could i ever escape

/ /
why did you hurt me?
Jun 2016 · 207
| |
elina Jun 2016
| |
fervour stings at my tongue,
only ephemeral, with
the bite of a shattered snake.

the serpent rears its head
with a grandeur of an old soul,
thwarting the strife inside
me erecting from ashes and rotten

your fingers strut athwart
the unholy scars of my memoirs. and
you murmur with blood in your words
and lips, i see black.

| |
Jun 2016 · 156
elina Jun 2016
dried flowers look
as if death is
warm and enthralling,
that it's more than
bleak and black.

red drips in

is ripping apart
flowers, blossoms
a crime?
shrieks, murmurs of

is it okay?

Jun 2016 · 652
elina Jun 2016
it is raining,
with a smokiness
lisping through the
stifling air.

the haze tightens
its fist around my
neck - red tremors
in my eyes

the trembles of the
fog are grace in my
ears; but smoke alarms
still tick in these halls.
stumbling through dreams
May 2016 · 292
elina May 2016
a little aeroplane fluttered
on the fluffs of water in the
dim grey skies

i smile. freedom
is such a struggle to achieve.
my hand rose, and i waved.

the little aeroplane waved back,
stripes of white left behind. the
little aeroplane flew lower and
waved me back twice.

the skies pulsed. a quaver shook
my earth. i wasn't smiling anymore.
my hand wasn't moving.

a little black dot flapped, coiled,
streamed, trembled, fell. i found
i was rippling, as seas do on
their lonely paths.

and i realised:
oh. it's me.

Mar 2016 · 231
elina Mar 2016
can fool so easily;
yours are of yellow shades,
reminding me of gold
in your soul
and honey glistering your lips

i can see always
the intensity of your ardour
reflected in hues of my
madness for you

warmth is you.
i find it so simply
when i'm beside you

you lead me to fields
of dandelions, poppies,
daffodils, yellow wildflowers;
and your sunny eyes grin
when i skip around in
such yellow freedom

you give me daisies
and laugh whilst i
make a crown to
put on your head

why does flower
rhyme with power?

all i can see
is amber
embedded in your locks
and pools of fire

why do the flames
control you?

yellow is turning reddish

you give me now
tulips, roses,

i dye my
just the
way you like
in crimson shades

our home is filled with
rubies not
gold or suns

i note the walls
blushing when
you come

can i still
call it


can be fooled
so easily
prequel-sequel to 'i might'.
Mar 2016 · 261
i walk
elina Mar 2016
on the cracking roads
lined with glistening snow;
it's slithering closer
to being lonelier

white crunches so beautifully
beneath my black feet,
trickling with
drip drip drip

i kneel,
something stinging inside me,
and stab a bare hand
into the gleam

light emerges as flush
fascination becomes me;
rouge fingers caress
at you. and sparks

crispness softens
into supple in my hands,
forthwith i have a sphere
of frost and ice

i know what to do

you're near
i sense it

fists clenched
in frigidness,
i rise,
warmth slipping
from my eyes

i walk

at once,
i'm holding nothing
the cold has faded;

**you become ice.
Mar 2016 · 575
i might
elina Mar 2016
remember you
as you danced so gracefully
in the beats of the night and love,
locks of hair fluttering in the wind
and glittering eyes grinning back at me

but then
you turn your back
and i'm reminded of red
hurried apologies.
darkness bellows within you

some part of me hopes
you're better than this;
the walls are seeping
cracking but
you don't see

i spot holes and
tears in the diva
you weren't always like this
or that

dandelions and giggles
and shades of sunsets are now
tainted with you

i can't leave
i can't stay
i can't

will you?
domestic violence needs to be stopped
Feb 2016 · 166
i now know
elina Feb 2016
they say
storms are people
or souls are to be passion
in us
for you used to be
Jan 2016 · 215
elina Jan 2016
walks alone
in the dead of the night
with shadows
and wolves beside her hand

have claimed
to see her red eyes
of blood and fury
through the mist of darkness
piercing fear into their rotten souls

sharp laugh
at the stories
of the woman in black and red
with shadowwolves at her command
and wicked in her blood and bones
shakes the world of shade

say she was born
on the blood moon
from the minds of fiends below

state her mother’s death
was her first sin
and the evil of her father
her second

claim mankind’s sins
are to be hers
for she is the one
who induces weakness
in the strong and the wise

declare hell
is to be hers
for the blood of devil
runs through her bones


do not know
that monsters are not born
from blood and minds
they are made
with words and actions

do not offer
a helping hand
to all starving and dying and suffering
to serve under them
and to be their own
to be fierce as wolves
and menacing as dark

and so she walks
with no fear of others
with her saved ones
shadows. they creep and crawl.

— The End —