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Isabelle Apr 2018
Violet

these violets are for you
to cover violet bruises he caused you
these violets are blue
not the color of kick he left you
these violets are true
not like him, untrue
these violets are flowers
not the color of violence
so please, these flowers are for you
you deserve love not abuse
violet for you
Isabelle Apr 2018
Wish

i asked the genie
if i could get a five wish
instead of three
“my lady, the more the wish,
the more you greed,
so now let me grant your wishes”
and so I told the mighty genie
“don’t let him forget me”
“don’t let him forget me”
“don’t let him forget me”
that’s it, now tell me if it’s greed
“don’t let him forget me”
“don’t let him forget me”
“don’t let him forget me”
  Apr 2018 Isabelle
Mister J
Hidden in this heart
Are my feelings kept from you
Should they be revealed?
Haiku #13
Isabelle Apr 2018
Hemorrhage

a fatal hemorrhage
blood blood blood
hurt hurts the heart
but the patient poet
is still breathing, alive
blood dripping
draining her out
but she’s a fighter and so
she bleed words instead
the page is almost full
but still a hemorrhage of words
continuously pours out
from her jaded soul and broken heart
Isabelle Apr 2018
the room smelled of spilled wine
before the lampshade totally went off
a nightgown was seen on the floor
now the room smelled of more than just lust
- it was love, a violent one
oh, imagine the aftermath
thanks for the word!
sneaking some writing amidst the busy schedule
Isabelle Apr 2018
now that you were gone
you were the only ghost
that i want to haunt me
forever and ever
for Lola, now my angel
.
So far, it was the longest days I’ve stayed (home) since you were gone. I guess I have to get used to you being ‘gone’. And when I say “gone” it’s not just being physically absent. It’s not just some word for the emptiness. It’s not just the vacuum.
.
‘Gone’ is the untouched lipstick, not knowing it can’t never be used again. ‘Gone’ is the pair of slippers under your bed, I wonder when was the last time you wore them. ‘Gone’ is realising your armchair is vacant. ‘Gone’ is the unfinished skirt you were trying to sew. ‘Gone’ is the deck of cards left on your cupboard, nobody won’t ever play them again. ‘Gone’ are the half empty medicine containers. ‘Gone’ is the space beside my bed.
.
When we lose someone we scan our mind and heart. We search for memories, those striking and meaningful. We ache for that sentimental and big memories that we often overlooked the simple moments in between. As I stay here in “our” bed, I wish so much that I could just watch you as you play solitaire or as you take your medicines- such ordinary things that I took for granted but would **** to experience one more time when it’s all over.
.
Look at it, there should be no understated days. Seize each moment with your love ones, those tiny little moments are what stitches together our very existence. Appreciate each moment before it becomes a memory. Embrace them, squeeze them tight in your heart because one day, unknown to you, it will be the last time you’ll ever experience them.
.
Oh, how I would defy everything just to hug you one more time. Until we meet again **
.
words on write up inspired by some fb post which i read long ago, can’t remember where i saw it.
  Mar 2018 Isabelle
vanessa ann
flatten your tongue
slip it between your teeth

n.

your little lips
forming an elipsis

o.

put them together
and may you declare
a word you’d so carefully deny—
no.

you spell it out
on table tops
shout it
from the rooftops

and when cursed hands
seek to defile your shrine
may you exclaim
"i am mine"
for my precious friends with hearts too soft to say no. may you be a little more selfish.
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