Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
if yesterday
was your last tomorrow
what does that make today
while you are trying to decide
if you lived or died
your time is wasting away
I'm sorry if I resemble a sparrow
With a fear of flight
When I shield my abdomen
With apologetic arms.

As if my trembling elbows
Could avert your glances
Long enough to distract you
From your examination of
The inadequacy
That lay beneath.

I'm sorry if my fingers stumble
Upon yours when you
Glide them across
Skin that's already been
Rewarded in stripes
And metal kisses.

I only say sorry
Because If I could,
I'd place my regret
In a envelope
Addressed to your eyes,
Entitled the parts of me you
Dare not see.

The parts that make me
Me.
You started off as a beacon
A shred of light in the dark
You started off as a song
One with the perfect melody
One with lyrics that fit my skin
And a tune that stroked my heart

You started off as something new
Something gorgeous in my eyes
Something that became my only truth
And erdicated all the lies

You turned into a heated kiss
One that warmed the pieces of my heart
And transformed into my passion
One that could never be torn apart

And now these tears that lie soaking in my bed
Has left these traces of voices in my head
Ones that tell me I'll never be good enough
Ones that fill me with an evil sort of stuff

A voice so empty it leaves shivers in my spine
A voice so broken because you had never been truly mine
 Jan 2016 Farah Hizoune
wordvango
right there between those apostrophes
dashes or commas
The symmetry of
openness inside
Two quotation marks
an ellipsis ...
awaiting for
a period to finish
right.
This was the jungle
bristles sticking me obliviously
the grade forced a monkey's canopy dance
yet I hadn't left the ground
some insatiable thirst for excitement
pushed the course upwards
scrambling through fruit and fallen nuts with a
lifeless leaf litter
but the trees and their roots
anchored my ascent
after spotting some passion fruit
I understood the symbol
the ideal descent
legs brace and flex
as the stream bed becomes a reality
with uncanny placement
a majestic pool lay
awaiting my pleasured cooling
the ancient energy oozed from the ground
shimmered between leaves
and bounced from sky to water
I now understood the name Valley of the Kings
10/25/14
Ea
You care about starving children
but dumpsters house five course meals
we preach the sea ice is melting
when carbon clouds still trail our wheels
Don't misunderstand
the idealist talking isn't the problem
beyond complaining
beyond capitalism, socialism, red or blue
look where your finger is pointing
take your straight arm
bend completely at the elbow
understand the new direction
and heal you
1/4/15
New earth settles after a volcanic birth.
It's fresh and arrogant.
The ocean shuffles knowingly aware of the naivety,
but continues apathetically.
As they meet early on
the rock resists as the Queen's Guard resists attention.
Even when
the ocean's relentless battery takes a chip from the rock's side,
the rock mocks the injury,
"It took you that long?"
However, the rock still doesn't grasp its predicament.
 Dec 2015 Farah Hizoune
Graff1980
I am certain she does not love me
the way that I love her
so full,
so poetically passionately,
so self-destructively,
so lovely,
In all her darkness.

A black sun that burns brighter
than any celestial body;
I would let myself burn
to touch it,
to see it I would let
myself go blind.

I hope she does not mind
that I love her so deeply.
I give it freely,
not expecting anything
explicit in return.

Hoping that she
will always be merely
one poem or message
away from me.
I am a sinking ship
Amidst a calm ocean
No turbulent waves
No frenzied, rioting sea
Just me slowly falling
Into depths unreached
With anchors at my feet
And no oxygen for the trip
This year has been crushing
The pressure so dense against me
Yet still so gentle and somehow kind
With no great and terrible tsunamis
To drag me to foreign waters
And still, in the calm, I do sink
No lifeboats, and no landmass.

Just the ocean, the pressure, and me
I don't think I'm going to make it to 17.
The world is a hard, harsh world
I am too soft for it
I feel very alone
Next page