Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Meysa Apr 2020
my dear - even when it hurts to
for your smile may be like the ray of sunshine
which escapes the curtains at dawn
for another
whose sun no longer does the things it is
the sun does
Meysa Apr 2020
He always wanted me to write about him
he would joke about it quite often
I'd dismiss it
I'd dismiss him
and now
he's all I write
Meysa Apr 2020
Good. Bad.
I have been them.
- on being karma
Meysa Apr 2020


They come to me.
But they never seem to go as easily
as they come to me.
I'm a simple girl.
I want nothing more than to bathe in my solitude.
But these men,
so foolish by nature
they want nothing
more than to claim me.

They threaten my essence.

And so well
I hurt them.
So well I hurt them too - my dear
So well in fact
that they come for seconds.
And when I start hurting them
I can't seem to stop.

I carry their morsels,
their names
in my every stride
in my sway lies their broken hearts.
At night, I lay on a bed of virtuous compliments.
I adorn my flesh with their promises
my skin reeks of their tenderest secrets.
My dress
a construct of their desires alone.
You will hear their fervent pleas
from time to time
concealed so effortlessly beneath my laugh
a soft cackle.

It is true.

I have dulled many lives.
Yet I have never felt more alive.
Because my dear
I’m sure that you too
would agree
I wear them well

les garçons.
- do not try to convince her that your companionship is better than her solitude
Meysa Apr 2020
I fear losing someone.

No, not to another.

To God.

But what I fear more is
losing someone
to God
and not missing them
not like I should.
- truth is the victim of war
Meysa May 2020
you keep rubbing your thumb over the same old wound
and you wonder why it stings?
silly girl
Meysa May 2020
my mother's trust issues are leaking into my chest
my father's tendency to forfeit humans for his solidarity
I feel my persona bending to accommodate them
- identity is an oh-so fragile topic
Meysa May 2020
I am a writer and I've always known it.
Even when my feeble self-esteem conspired against my urge to pick up a pen.
I carried it around
like you carry relics
my pens.
Remained tethered to them.
I write now.
Perhaps because I am not a talker.
Meysa Apr 2020
How could I love myself
                                                 If I didn’t study the clumsy crevices that lay in my stomach?
How could I love myself
                                                 If I didn’t nurse the jagged grooves that make up my spine?
How could I love myself
                                                 If I didn’t unearth the secrets that my pores harvested at night?
I am touching parts of myself that I have never touched before.
Meysa May 2020
Like flirting with a cigarette, studying it
teasing it between these slender fingers.
Turning it this way
that way
and putting it out after one
measly puff.
You know, before the cancer seeps in
like that.
Meysa Jun 2020
you feel a storm
you move fast
you etch his name above your navel with hungry fingers
- the art of infatuation

- check out my personal blog at, I will be posting regularly on there
Meysa Apr 2020
like ivy around my thighs
a disease of the tongue
take me
Meysa Apr 2020
my lover
he once told me
that he would like to be tattooed onto me
but between my ribs pounding with the octaves of his words
my skin delirious for his curious touch
my mind
immersed with the thrill that he brought forth
I forgot to tell him

I forgot to tell him that I didn't like tattoos
- on the new lover
Meysa Apr 2020
at times, they would choke me
other times, I'd simply forget how to breath
- the intensity of those butterflies always crippled me
Meysa Apr 2020
The day the earth set me forth
flowers blossomed in my mother's chest
and ivy tucked itself beneath her tendons.
Perhaps that is why I forfeit good men for anarchists.

I was born neither one thing
nor the other.
- on identity of the self
Meysa Apr 2020
you tiptoe around them
as though they are museums
paintbrush in hand to dust their
veil in hand to clothe their
but tell me,
how do the exhibitionists serve you?
- the exhibitionist is a person who behaves in extravagant ways intended to attract attention, often a narcissist.
Meysa Apr 2020
you fight depression
armed but with a frown
your mother's tenacity
I hope that they told you
that for every bad
you did
a tonne
of good
- bad habits don't make you a bad person
Meysa Apr 2020
take me.
to where the grass is not green
show me.
things that the naked eye has never once
Meysa Apr 2020
I feel
less volatile
less awake.
I've been biting my lip
Wearing my own blood as lipstick,
tears as mascara.
Whilst solidarity whispers dark words into my ears.
the crowds
they tell tales
of how pretty
I look.
- please see the definition of toska, as no single word in the English dictionary has the ability to encompass the depth of the word
Meysa May 2020
I thought
that love
entailed war
wars waged against others
wars waged against the world

not of the self.
Meysa Apr 2020
I think that
as a writer
my writing is my biggest strength
yet my biggest weakness
because if you lose yourself in these flurry of words
you will come to love me
but if you see past them
you will come to know me.
- I pour a little bit of myself into every poem that I write.

— The End —