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Jiya Jul 1
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 25
it's okay
if you're too broken
to love me


i'm broken too



...no hard feelings...
Jiya May 22
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 28
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


...no 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.

Well.
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
Hey.
Um.
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.
Uh.
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.
Yeah…
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.
Jiya Jul 2019
the wrong side of town
where the crackheads lie
a bud at their side
high schoolers who’ve ruined their lives
here they reside
their pale skin is concealed by a hood
raised to disguise their bloodshot eyes
they smell of sadness and regret
they smell of mould and sweat
they smell of addiction, of denial
another life lost to the clouds
long story short, my friends are friends with a significant number of drug addicts
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