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Jiya Sep 2020
i am a very sad person

my daily musings consist of
falling tastefully from
the glorious heights of
towering buildings
in the CBD

overzealous edgy branding
accentuates my
razor sharp words
showing off my
sexiest features

i have the hallmarks of
a depressed teenager?
shocker innit
i wear it on my sleeve
my emotions, that is
or rather
under my sleeve

it took a couple years but
finally I have come to find
that people appreciate a splash of
broken young lady in their lives

i’m just kinda
sick of pushing it down y’know
my new hobbies include
******* the will to live
out of unsuspecting
girls who
run around preaching
false niceties

you see
it's because I’m also
a very mad person
in more ways than one
i have poison on my tongue
spitting cynical-juices
at everyone who dares speak

just, ignore me! Please!
i beg of you.
let my sadness simmer
with the boiling of my blood

‘double, double toil and trouble
fire burn and cauldron bubble’

i recite the lines as
i cackle away
understanding that
the witches from Macbeth
were really just women
with attitude

in this guise I prepare
to the rip the flesh
from the bones of
those whom I love the most

for I am sad and mad
therefore it is a justified
act of violence
and one who is both sad and mad
can only hope to commit
such acts of treachery

i shall feel joy
for the first time in years
smiling a ****** smile
as acting on ones deepest desires
is awfully fulfilling
Jiya Jul 2020
yet this is the void

no light in the world is bright enough

to bring it warmth
section from a long poem of mine
Jiya May 2020
it's okay
if you're too broken
to love me

i'm broken too hard feelings...
Jiya May 2020
my darling
we both have issues

don't shut me out
when you're sad

i love you too much
to ignore you

when you are in need of attention
especially now

i give you space
to grieve

over your emotions
at this time

but say hello
let me know you're still breathing

that you still love me.
Jiya Apr 2020
i dream about your lips...

...they look nice

pleasantly pink and supple
delectable even
i’m sure they’ll feel so wonderful
placed delicately upon mine

i indulge in the thought of your touch

(warm and safe)

curled up at your side
breathing you in
your scent unknown to me

something i’m eager to decipher

once i am released from this cage
i promise to devour you
every inch of your body
no secrets between our skin

and if you so choose clothes either...

just pure ecstasy
produced by the entanglement
of unveiled bodies

and teen angst

i fantasise about love
and how we might make it
time and time again
beside the purest of touch

(a soft embrace)

never forgetting it began with a song
and grew with isolation
cultivating longing
strengthening our bond...


        ­                                                                 ­       ...good enough...

...until the day i can hold your hand
i haven't been very active on this site for a while until my emails started blowing up due to a poem I wrote way back in 2018 when i was 14! i hope now that i'm mere days away from 16 my poetry has improved and matured. i'm sure 14 year old me is giddy with excitement over the traction that poem has gotten over the past day or two.
Jiya Aug 2019
This illness in my mind is terminal.
There is nothing that can cure it.
It speaks oh so nonsensical.
It’s to be honest, quite hysterical.

I shot myself in the end
Whilst lamenting in my bathtub.
The hysteria was just too much
For my shattered heart to handle.

The judge declared her​​ the winner.
I whimpered in defeat.
I didn’t even place.
Maybe I’m just not that unique

Or damaged enough for poetry.

The metallic taste of blood
As I drown in senseless grief​
Tells me I’m not good enough.
To get back on my feet.

Her flared trousers tell me.
She has a great sense of style!
My black eyeliner.
It tells others I’m a coward.
A lamb ready for slaughter.
No Baphomet or Muhammad

Just a lost girl.

Locked in a vault of failure.
Being served defeat.
Getting grimaces from the waiter.

It’s th-the illness.
It’s forming cracks in my bonce.
It’s preventing me from winning.
From ever being at the top.

Y’know what?
She may always win.
With her pale moon skin.
Her suction cup stomach.
Her body so thin.

But me?

Just another **** failure, aren't I?
Laying dead in a bathtub.
poem I wrote (with a couple edits) for a 24hr poetry contest. I was feeling a tad salty about this one chick.
Jiya Aug 2019
I know this is a bit soon.
I process thoughts quite rapidly. A fatal flaw if you ask me.
I think I might take up your offer to chat.
It’s complicated.
But, something made me realise it might be a good idea. Even though my first instinct is that it isn’t.
I may or may not explain later.
So uh, can we. Talk that is.
Whenever is cool.
I just…yeah.
I’ll stop rambling and actually send this.
An actual email I sent to my teacher about a year ago that looking back upon sounded quite poetic. And looking back upon it from the perspective of myself now I’ve realised how far him and I have come in our relationship and how he truely has become like a father and mentor to me as I truely love him with all my heart.
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