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Love isn't blind,
blind are those,
who never loved.
 Nov 2018 Mary Velarde
kailee
us
 Nov 2018 Mary Velarde
kailee
us
love is still love
even with the bruises
the blood and bare knuckles

death is still death
even with the sorrow
the grief,hate, and tragedy

i am still me
even with the scars
the mental illness' and the past

why cant i be me around you?
is it because of the way we love?
or is it because of how he died?
 Jul 2018 Mary Velarde
Bec
The first time
you said you loved
me, it was as if
I had been pulled aboard
a life raft after being
lost at sea. But
I see now that this
raft is littered with
holes and
we are sinking, but
you are convinced
that your love is a
teacup to scoop out
the water pooling around
my ankles and you will save
us, but the teacup has a crack
down one side and
do you see where I
am going with this?
A tablespoon of water
will never put out
a forest fire; I am burning
through acres.
 Jul 2018 Mary Velarde
Leonardo J
I.   I often look at your beautiful face, but that isn't why I love you.

you are looking in the mirror forty years from now,
and you have long surrendered to time,
your beauty will betray you,
it will betray us,
this you already know,
the heavens and hells tug at your flesh
slowly carving wrinkles
at the pillars of your youth.

II. The Ocean Blue

For on the surface they swim, and on the surface you look
but few so ever dive where a madman would go
to the dark chilly solitary crevices,
of where true beauty lies,
that is where I found you,
in the deep darkness
that is where I saw you,
alone, so beautiful, pristine,
cold in the dark.
THE SMELL OF PURPLE

She says she can
smell yellow.

She says she can
smell blue.

Despite not being able to
spell either colour.

'Yellow smells
the same as blue.'

'...like a wet kitty
drying by the fire.'

'Red smells like
Mummy when she kisses.'

'Her kisses smell different
when she kisses you...
...then she smells like flames
with little orange tips! '

'Purple
is my favourite smell...

...it smells just like
a magic spell! '

I kiss her goodnight
like lilac(only lighter)    

with little flecks of purple
scattered here & there.
 Jul 2018 Mary Velarde
amanda
love is not made of giving and taking in equal parts
it is not a favor for a favor
i owe you nothing

love is not a compromise reached after long deliberation
it is not hurting on Monday
and healing on Tuesday

love is not touching because you will leave if i do not
it is not feigning naivety
when you see me cry

love is not the untimely squandering of innocence
it is not the suffocating grip of guilt
it is not your unwelcome touch

love is not
love is not
love is not
I read a quote somewhere that said,
"I don't know how many times I have survived myself, without telling anyone else."

And I felt those words shoot through every nerve in my body. I felt them so deeply.

And I wonder how many of us feel the same way.

How many nights we fought off the suicidal thoughts, the urge to cut, the urge to purge, the urge to run or to hide out, alone, too afraid to worry or bother our friends and family.

How many days and nights have we all suffered in our own darkness alone?

People like us fight a battle no one can ever fathom because it's a battle no one can see. And we don't let them.

I've fought myself and survived myself alone so many nights.

There were nights I use to lose my own battle. But some how still came out alive.

I guess that's how we keep going. Because every time we give up we come out stronger.

You fight yourself and beat yourself up for so long that eventually you become a master of surviving a war.

We're warriors.

"I don't know how many times I've survived myself, without telling anyone else."

Tonight, I'm telling all of you.

I survived myself.

And if you're still here and you're reading this, you survived yourself too.

It's not easy but you did it.

And I'm so proud of you all.
The original quote "I dont know how many times I survived myself, without telling anyone else.", which triggered the whole poem was written by @deadwatered. A talented poet I follow on tumblr.
After years of aimless wanderings
Leaving behind the cities of midnight revels
And the fevered journey in metro rails,
I am back at the land of my people.

Wherever I went,
Under which ever roof I slept,
I had carried my land,
As a jewel in a casket
And ensured it rested safe
Ever under my pillow

As I moved with aliens
Unable to merge with their cultural mores,
I saw my land glimmer in darkness
Like a dew drop on a moon blanched leaf

When I sweated in the blistering sands
A patch of green landscape, like an oasis
Wafted me in a cool embrace
Then dreams poured in like star light
And I wandered in the meadows of my youthful love
My heart struggling to forget old longings
And memories lashing upon me like tidal waves

Pursued by that inalienable shadow
Suddenly being born in flesh and blood
I hastened to the streets of my youth
With hopes galore and plans vivid

But alas! There is none to recognize me
Oh! I am a stranger here
An unwelcome stranger among total strangers
Now I wonder which is truly my land?
The one left behind or the one just landed in?

Oscillating between these two worlds,
My fractured identity looms large
With worms of memories wriggling in my flesh
And a myth suddenly dying in my brain
I am glad to share with my friends here that this poem- My Fractured Identity- is prescribed for the 10th Grade students-English for Junior High School- entitled Voyagers, in the country of Philippines. The exciting thing is that my poem appears among the writings of eminent men like James Joyce, Rudyard Kipling, Shelley, Virginia Woolf, Jules Verne, Jean Jacques Rousseau and the like. I feel it a great honor !!
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