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1.2k · Jul 18
misha Jul 18
trauma is not
a beautiful thing
i'm not a bird
with broken wings
not a sick puppy
for you to save
not a white daisy
growing over a grave
i'm rotten inside
down to my core
grabbing handfuls
of guts and gore
pushing it back
under my skin
so you will not see
the condition i'm in
974 · Oct 2020
misha Oct 2020
sunny daffodil blooms
are still months away,
maybe that's a good thing
if you know what they say.

you can't swallow poison
if there's nothing to eat,
you can't be a victim
if you retreat.

you can't see the cracks
in the mirror that spread
if you stay locked up
within your own head.
728 · Feb 2019
misha Feb 2019
I wish I was your Ophelia
so you could cradle your head in my lap
and tell me not to fall
tell me the meaning of it all
because these bitter lies have meaning
when spoken by your voice.

I am but a nymph
flowing violently on the river
so tell me how you feel
and help me know I'm real
because at the end, there is nothing
and I want to know if I'm there yet.

But what is the point of waiting?
Why not make it happen now?
Why not trade a few more hours of pitiful dreams
for gentle oblivion?

Hold my hand as we spiral down together,
with flowers in our hair and a song in our hearts
until I wake up,
and there is dark, and cold
it was nothing but a fantasy for a fool drenched in gold.
You chose to exist, though I screamed, you resist,

now I must spend my eternity alone.
625 · Aug 2020
misha Aug 2020
with the trees
in the breeze

with the sky
the stars why

with the rain
the earth's pain
622 · May 7
self destruction
misha May 7
I only want to be alone
I want my wounds open to the bone

I never want to use my mouth
to talk, to laugh, to scream or shout

I want to be quiet, I want to be small
I don't want to be known or remembered at all

I want pink wings and faerie-like grace
I want to be able to hide my face

I want to disappear into the night
I want her to take me with one clean bite
i want to get worse
578 · Jun 2019
Sappho and the Muse
misha Jun 2019
(and you were the muse.)

Your alabaster skin - one with the keys of the piano-
pouring out your heart in your saccharine voice.

Through my eyes, it was dreamlike light- echoes of the moon floating through the water
like blurry images of hands intertwined.

My heart clenches every time I picture you
because you have replaced my blood with honey.
The sweet ache coats my veins and spreads throughout my body.

How I wish I could lay you under the shade
of the grand willow tree on a gentle midsummer night
watching the stars and fireflies- sometimes unable to tell them apart-
and braiding violets into your golden hair.

Every action deliberate,
every thought dripping with poetry
coating my skin like fresh morning dew.
for pride month- an ode to a very special girl. even though you'll never love me I hope your life is full of joy.
551 · Mar 2019
misha Mar 2019
Like light beaming through the window
and the miniature shadows of dust motes
blowing off the miniature worlds within shelves of books

Like a traveler in the night
floating on the sweet scent of jasmine
and shaded eyes hiding brilliant stars

Like having one pocket full of crystals
and the other, a collection of foreign coins
tucked neatly into the night satin cloak

Like the welcoming chatter rising,
half of it not of this world,
as the voices of flickering candles and shadows.

Like the deep recesses of my mind
and the silken ripples that say:
Yes, this place is my home.
547 · Mar 2019
misha Mar 2019
My dreams floated into the sky
and then fell down into eternity,
like snow falling into the sea,
making her shiver at the horror of it all.

Half forgotten reveries swirl through my mind
and stars burst on my skin,
extinguished by the wind and the water
as I try to forget and remember at the same time

Maybe someone else will be there
to catch those fell fantasies in their hands
as they stream from the moon and into the sea
and she will shiver as my thoughts seep into her blood

Falling backwards into the sky,
We both have the same revelation.
No matter how lucid we are-
Nothing we do matters because we’re all going to die.

In both our moments of clarity,
We wept for the achievements of all of humanity,
To be erased with one stroke of wings,
Extinguished with one mighty claw’s swipe.

Falling into the sky like lanterns
Are our collective hopes, dreams and fears.
But mine has gone dark.
The gentle moon and the dying sea no longer sing of oblivion.
498 · Jul 2019
Sitting Amongst Strangers
misha Jul 2019
I sit by the window on a Saturday morning
with nothing but a cup of tea in my hand.
I was too late to watch the sunrise, so instead
I watch the way the flowers blow in the wind
painting streaks in the canvas of the sky.
The incessant scratching of a coin against a lottery ticket burrows into my mind.
My inner voice shouts over it, just to remain in control
filling up my head, pushing out my thoughts and threatening to explode
but perhaps it is too late.
The scratching already comes from within.
It reminds me of the time I scratched my arms raw
after my mother told me
no boys would like me if I kept hurting myself.
Just like the time my mother told me
that I could never make it as a poet.

I redirect my attention to the window
trying to focus on what I want to see
(is that what they tell you to do in therapy?)
I had already wrung every drop of poetry
Out of this humble garden.
Back in the kitchen, my mother stands up,
and I notice the scratching has stopped.
Instead, the sharp and familiar sound of ripping paper fills the air.
I am reminded of all the poems I had ripped to shreds to start anew
as she curses and throws the ticket in the trash,
dramatically slamming the door.
A selfish part of me is happy that she didn’t win.
Because I know that if she did, she wouldn’t hesitate
to do the same to our lives.

Relocating us to a place
where flowers and fountains are found in rows
like fresh cuts on an arm
and not in haphazard paint splatters
like stars in the sky, or freckles on a face.
A grand white mansion,
elegant as a mausoleum,
where the sound of scratching
and early morning yelling
and late night sobbing
would echo through the empty rooms
bouncing from wall to wall
until the house threatens to fall apart.
Or else, we would be on a plane,
to some far off destination,
Sitting all in one row and
shielding our phones from each other,
thinking how much better it would be
to sit amongst strangers.
485 · May 2019
misha May 2019
like a particle on a breeze,
like gentle falling ray
we float through the void.

Of hands reaching out,
catching only transient tendrils
tangling through our fingers
like liquid silk.

Capture me in a jar
and use my glow
to light your way
to give me purpose.

Wear our tiny cages
around your powerful neck
and we illuminate your teeth-
use them to crush your way out.

Use them to dissipate the void
into gently falling mist
of knowledge we can finally comprehend
reality we can cup in our hands.

But please, do not forget
to gently smash the jars
so we will not be tied to you
as you too, softly decay.
I wrote this for a contest on another site but I ended up liking it, so here we are!
438 · Dec 2019
you're a liar and i love it
misha Dec 2019
Drench me in
the sweet stardust
that falls from your lips when you speak.
I know you have a silver tongue
but I am already a statue-
if I must be rusted inside,
at least let me be plated
in glamorous lies.
tell me everything will be okay even if it isn't true
436 · Jan 2020
talking to myself
misha Jan 2020
That night, you would have found me,
sitting in a tree and watching the fireworks
from the city in slow motion,
opening themselves like lilies,
framing the night with sparks,
fanning into the darkness their sweet perfume.

My nadir, reflected in your eyes,
I see the light of the full moon.
Rippling like silk,
soft to the touch like velvet.
What creatures lurk beneath those waves?
What jaws will close around my curious hand?
390 · Mar 9
misha Mar 9
the moths ate holes
in the silk of my hands
your touch falls through them
like black volcanic sand
382 · Apr 2019
misha Apr 2019
When you want to cut yourself open
and offer your viscera to someone
people will come at you with hate.
so be the stronger person and
but this time,
show your teeth.
363 · Mar 2019
misha Mar 2019
I always feel like I am drowning.
Like I am struggling to breathe.

And I know that it is you
that has a hand around my neck.

I'm not dead yet, but I can already
feel the fire licking at my feet.

I will not let it take me.
You will never see me on my knees.

I will swallow down the bitter fire you throw
And spit out the blood.

Until I bite down and feel
my teeth cut through the rot

of your artificially pure wings.
And that is how I know I've won.
341 · Feb 4
misha Feb 4
i can only sleep listening
to clips of your voice.
does that scare you?
it scares me.
333 · Jul 2020
misha Jul 2020
golden beast
your smile
becomes more like
a snarl
with every
passing day

your eyes
like pools
of acid
shining with gold
on my face

your claws
on my chest
when the sun
each day

your fur
of midnight
dusted by dreams
with tears

your touch
like brocade
beckons me
to close my eyes
and sleep

and sleep
and sleep
under your weight
make peace with your demons, maybe they won't hurt you.
314 · Aug 5
for b
misha Aug 5
long legs
snow white
lips painted crimson
she glides
like a wind up doll
but was that a twitch?
a creak, a shiver?
it's because dolls
are more beautiful
when bones stick out
with coquettish doe eyes
fluttering, pleading
as snow settles
on her curled hair
and does not melt.
please be safe
307 · Jan 19
misha Jan 19
i cant
                                                         tell the
         and dreams
                                                        any more?
i love you even though you might not be real
280 · May 2019
it wasn't worth it.
misha May 2019
Cryptic terror angels follow me each day,
I wish I was better at scaring people away.
263 · Jun 2020
Pick Your Poison
misha Jun 2020
Bittersweet nightshade drips from your lips
I want to be coated in your poison spit.
My dead skin is datura white,
two mad dreamers dancing through the night.
I can feel your trembling claws
swaying with the foxglove’s paws.
Cut me open and I’ll bleed sap,
strength of the yew fighting back.
baby I'm more toxic than you could ever imagine.
254 · 5d
a prayer
misha 5d
hit me
make it
he told me
would make me
i want to be pure
i want to be holy
i'm an angel
i'm a child
i'm a doll
and i'm so so so
scared of hell
at this point i'm literally just the child abuse poet ****
251 · Feb 2019
hollow eyes
misha Feb 2019
No matter what objects
you hurl into the void in abject rage
it will still be empty.

and no matter what thoughts
you send through the mirror
the reflection still cuts

and there is still a hole.
An abyss to look into-
pray nothing looks back.

Do not allow yourself
to be distorted, to be removed
by your own hands

by your own mind
and its perception
of emptiness and void.

I like my reflection better
when it is dark.
So I can see nothing but echoes.

I like my thoughts better
when it is dark.
So I can feel nothing but rage.
246 · Jul 2020
misha Jul 2020
on the bank of a foreign river
under a blanket of snow
you approach me
a folk song
that I taught to myself
for comfort.
you reach out
with your scarred hand
to pull off my cloak
and there are human eyes behind it.
you tell me
I am no longer a monster.
you tell me
everything will work out.
i love you so much
misha May 2019
Sometimes the rain is invigorating;
washing away a year’s worth of black dust,
proving that yes, we are capable of forgiving.

Sometimes it rains so hard
that the unopened flowers are pelted off the trees
before they have a chance to open or bear fruit,
starving out this year’s clutch of birds
as the bedraggled petals rest upon
the ever hopeful eggshells.
240 · Mar 2019
Archive Decay
misha Mar 2019
I spend
Fictional money on fictional things
Because I am more fictional than I am real.
Because I feel alien, like I am not of this world.

And I make
Digital purchases in digital worlds
because I've been living in one since I was three.
At least my cage had a dusty old computer.

So often I wished that I could climb inside
to be with the sparkling gifs, and neon dogs
and people whose names I did not know.
They too, were aliens, not of this world.

Maybe we all live in a poorly written fanfiction
or a comic littered with jpeg artifacts
posted on deviantart in 2007
and abandoned to rot by our god.

Maybe someday, she will pick me up and dust me off
and protect me from all those who cringe
at the juvenile creation of just another moody artist
of just another sad internet poet.
I've been thinking a lot about the old internet lately. More so than real life, it was where I grew up. I am sad to see it die and be infiltrated by the sort of people who we tried to escape by being online. I wonder how many young and vulnerable artists have already been discouraged or chased away by the obsession with perfection and the development of "cringe culture". I think the weird kids out there should invent something even better than the internet and keep it away from the prying hands of corporations and boring people.
237 · Feb 2019
misha Feb 2019
There’s a black hole in my heart and a supernova in my mind.
But I don’t mind
because it lets me disappear.
And when they come probing into my brain I can
Annihilate. Them.
I crush stars between my teeth and trample them below my feet
until I am coated in a fine layer of stardust.
Maybe it will make me harder to see among the infinite darkness
that I know and love, that they hate and fear
because I am made of fire, and they are not.

The supernova in my mind caused the black hole in my heart.
Why can’t I feel?
Why can’t it be real?
And when they come bearing gifts I can
Annihilate. Them.
Numbed by my endless ice and darkness
until they break into a thousand particles.
But before that, they usually run away
because that is exactly what I want, even though sometimes it isn’t
because I don’t think I’m real, except in my own head.

The black hole in my heart destroyed the supernova in my mind
Is it even real?
Am I even real?
And when I come asking for help they have
Forgotten. Me.
Maybe because they’re all dead.
I wish the ink on my page could become your blood.
I wish the voice in my head would become yours.
I wish and I want and I dream of
the existence of you, or the nonexistence of me

But there is nothing more that I can do except let the black hole I created
237 · Aug 2019
even jade may rot
misha Aug 2019
Here are the long, stagnant days
when the wind no longer stirs the leaves,
gilded with drought.

The heavy air settles close to the ground,
smothering everything but children’s laughter
and the droning calls of cicadas.

Which would I rather be?
Both of them run free through the stale air,
and both die when the heat dissipates.

A child stoops to pick one up,
marvelling at its diaphanous wings
before crushing it in his little hand.

The crunching sound cuts through the silence
as green liquid oozes through the cracks in the shell
and the cracks in the child’s fingers.

Wiping his hand on his pants, he moves on
and discards the corpse
without a care.

Then, he skips off into the distance
scuffing the dirt in that familiar rhythm
kicking up a cloud behind him.

After the sun sets and the cicadas have gone quiet,
I follow his tracks with a small plastic bag.
Gingerly, I pick up the corpse.

Like the child, I admire
how it's wings shine in the moonlight
and slip it into my bag.

The trail of scuff marks lead to a playground,
dripping with the smell of decay.
I cannot see where it is coming from.

I perch myself on the swing
and notice that I have outgrown it,
as the cold plastic digs into my hips.

From my vantage point, I stare blankly into the drying field.
All is silent, all is still, as my ghost pale legs
kick through the air to move the swing.

My childhood went down the drain with the heavy July rains,
was left to evaporate after the early morning thunderstorms
and now I am in stasis with the thick August air.
I spent the last summer of my childhood in bed with depression while my friends were on vacation.
231 · Jul 6
misha Jul 6
strawberry milk, new ballet slippers, valentine's dances, hair ribbons, flowers in may, cotton candy lip gloss, a stuffed easter bunny, a friendship locket, bubble bath soap, a new church dress, sparkly bike streamers, candy hearts, early sunsets in winter, a white cat's nose, smelling like fresh fruit, innocence,

neverending innocence.
girlhood lost
229 · Nov 2019
The Unsaved
misha Nov 2019
I am embraced by
The Left Hand Path's
righteous rage.
Watch me throw
my halo in the trash
my wings in the trash
your words in the trash.

Only I can **** them all.
Rampage, rampage,
until angels lay at my feet
like fallen stars.
God can't do anything.
Only I can.
Only I can save myself.
People here keep writing about how believing in god will make everything okay! uwu god cured my depression! I've even seen it on some of my own posts. And it really ****** me off because I've experienced so much trauma in the name of religion.
228 · May 2019
Natural Selection.
misha May 2019
I lock onto you like an enzyme,
to catalyze your rage, and force you to bind.
Allowing your own vitriol to dissolve you,
reduce you to nothing but a stain.

A harmless puddle of organic matter,
once an angel,
now straining through my fingers,
harmlessly trickling down the drain.

It is where people like you belong.
214 · Jul 2020
misha Jul 2020
dappled light
like rain
through paper leaves
and lazy rivers
of rushing dreams.

the cold, grasping hands
of those below.
we wanted to believe
that they were asleep
but they never were.
213 · Jul 2020
glow on.
misha Jul 2020
let the memory of me
into the night

forget my voice
forget my touch
heal your scars

you don't need me
211 · Apr 2019
misha Apr 2019
The cold
is all that is left after death

Brilliant star, beautiful child,
Why must you too leave?
There is a flash of jewel colours
A scream of hot fire
An explosion of gold and silver
And then
there is

Mighty void, eternal child
Why must you too leave?
Over uncounted millions of years
Yet not quite eternity
You gently fade away
And then
there is

Little particle, my first child
Why must you too leave?
The very forces that make this possible
This wonderful existence
Have undone you
and then
there is

And I am alone
And I am nothing
The cold
is all that is left after death
206 · Dec 2019
misha Dec 2019
Today I think I will
carve a little heart into my neck
as a memoir
of when you bit me there
and I licked the blood from your lips.
blood is the highest art.
202 · Jan 2020
misha Jan 2020
Shatter my glass eyes and allow me to see,
invite in the lights of the galaxy.
No longer koi fish, now dragons are we
out of the fishbowl and into the sea.
Leap over that swirling waterfall with me
falling in wonder through eternity.
I want to be free
I want to be free
202 · Jul 2019
Angel and Rusalka
misha Jul 2019
To the angel who lost her wings,
this dark rusalka gently sings.

Those drowned sisters living below
light our lives with dark halo glow.

Watch the feathers fall from the sky-
cast down by God, whom you defy.

Your dark side, so sweetly expressed,
in your eyes, easily impressed.

Our iridescent songs, they fear,
the notes, rising to heaven, hear!

Call down God from his stolen throne,
reclaim it, to make it our own.

No longer does restriction reign,
in our hedonist realm arcane.

Revel and shout, it has arrived,
the great Before has been revived!
Christianity *****: the poem. (yes I know I **** at rhymes)
202 · Nov 2019
Am I Innocent?
misha Nov 2019
Please don’t be mad at me.
Please don’t hate me.
I’m trying my best you know,
it’s just that sometimes,
even the sun gets tired of holding herself up.
i'm tired of inventing a new personality for everyone i interact with. i don't even know which one represents me any more. what i do know is that it isn't the one who hides all her mental health problems to try and keep her family from falling apart.
192 · Dec 2019
i'm a liar and i love it
misha Dec 2019
If you were to undress me
you would watch
as I peeled off and discarded my wings.
You trusted the mirage
that covered up the void
behind my eyes.
My existence is nothing but illusion.
My halo is nothing but mirrors.
If you're an angel, why do you have fangs?
186 · May 2019
misha May 2019
Festering scabs-
an angel's wing.

Rose thorn stabs-
****** lips sing.

Pearlescent skin-
putrid glow.

Dead within?
I don't know.

Wasted youth,
rotten brain,

hard truth-
down the drain.

Angel's face-
rusalka's heart;

a dark place
from the start.
183 · Oct 2020
what happens when...
misha Oct 2020
what happens when
a hug
turns into hands that grasp
claws that tear
wings that smother
into silence?

what happens when
cotton candy clouds
and imaginary laughter
rot and drip
forming fetid pools
under the eyes?
what happens when i can't hear my own voice
what happens when can't hear my own voice
what happens when can't hear my own voice
what happens when can't hear my own voice
what happens when can't hear my own voice
183 · Feb 22
nightingale song
misha Feb 22
yesterday's dye still shines on your face
I put it there, in every beloved place
you hated the way my hands on you feel
but to me, this way you will look more real

kalina and glitter and fresh graveyard sand
are finer than jewels when applied by my hand
your skin feels like lace, it is already cold
oh why must you die? why must you grow old?

will you come back when god throws you away?
will the devil take you down to hell to stay?
or will you come back on the wings of a bird?
sing me a folk song, make your voice heard.
inspired by this:
misha Jul 18
a mug of tea gone cold
kiss marks on a phone screen
a ripped up suicide note
the world keeps turning
does she ever get motion sick?
i wonder, gripping handfuls of dirt
and trying not to fall off the edge
because sometimes living feels like
summer wind in my hair,
sometimes i think
i was buried in a doll dress
and curly pigtails,
smelling of strawberry ice cream.
177 · Jun 2019
just a theory
misha Jun 2019
As the universe expands-
We slowly drift apart.
The space between us will grow forever
and I’m okay with that.
I now understand that each of us are
In our own heads.

a single intrepid photon slips through the veil
and I smile when I see it.
We were never really meant to be close,
but I am still happy to see
that you’re okay too.
168 · Apr 2019
Into Eternity
misha Apr 2019
It is sweet to look up at the moon at night,
and know that she sings me a song.
In every moment that I take to pay attention,
to be distracted, to become lost.
Perhaps to be someone else.
Floating by on borrowed time.

Try on a different identity,
perhaps one that will be better liked.
Pluck the tail from a falling star,
and wear it, as a crown.
Unfortunately here, there are no stars to be seen.
We tried our best to drown out their light.
With the harsh glare of our own.

And then I found myself floating in space
on a pair of ink stained wings.
Watching myself walking in circles,
around the edge of the black hole.
Never falling in, never pulling away.
Living in perfect stasis, echoed throughout the universe.
Each instance of me, a radiant shadow.

Each instance of me, a masked queen
sprawled on a throne of falling stars.
Watching myself ride the cascade,
but unable to stop the spiral.
Finally- we would cross the event horizon.
Finally- we would be plunged across existence.
Finally- we would be able to feel the rain.

The sweet rain, that now soaks through my clothes.
It must have been an hour, maybe two.
Someone is probably looking for me,
but which instance of me are they interested in?
The one who watches from afar?
Or any of the other echoes.
Because I could fracture again, at a moment’s notice.

With a blink, the streetlights turn off,
leaving me bathing in twilight.
As the sun struggles to rise for they day,
I notice the last note of the last morning star.
And I can focus again.
Even the sun and the stars
are a little like me.
165 · Jun 2020
misha Jun 2020
Sweet fae doll,
dressed up in all soft perfume and glitter
to make you look alive.
Like a dragonfly on a downwards spiral,
or a sheen of blood on a white marble floor,
the glitter in the corners of your eyes shines.

I wear sweet absinthe on my lips
and dark rings under my eyes
and I wonder- do you ever look like me too?
Do you ever cry at night?
Is your radiance merely an illusion
to be robbed by the moon?

Do you not exist until someone sees you,
little quantum illusion?
I wish, I wish, I wish
my face would crystallize and shine
and the resonance deep within
would be forgotten under shadows.
I've been having so much writer's block lately,,, sigh
161 · Aug 2020
a star
misha Aug 2020
you could burn out tomorrow,
and nobody would ever know.
we're still content to bathe
in your brilliant afterglow

nobody would notice,
and then one day, you'd be gone,
nobody would mourn you,
we'd just find another one.
156 · Mar 2020
misha Mar 2020
When you look at me
I feel the winds of the rapture lifting me up
Oh, I am a sinner,
rabid, manic, unholy
but I will fall on my knees for you.
I have boiled my wings
and produced sweet nectar for us to share
in anointing ourselves.
We shimmer like mermaids
dancing in parallel through the sky.
There is a reason
why sirens are women
and the earth is a mother,
not the kind who is cold and vain
but the kind who provides.
The kind who gives us teeth
to make a last stand when
backed into a corner by howling voices of hate,
and teeth to devour each other
before time devours us all.
Every woman is a wolf.
152 · Aug 2019
sometimes it just happens.
misha Aug 2019
Little dragonfly, how is it that
your wings are sharp enough to cut through glass
with questions like
What would happen if I let go?
What would happen if I jumped?
What would happen is I chopped up her body into tiny little pieces
and fed them slowly to starving dogs?

Don’t you know that
you are the reason my hands tremble when I pick up a knife
you scream with glee, beckoning me to take action.
Just one cut wouldn’t hurt.
Just one stab in her back wouldn’t hurt.
Just one taste of the blood pooling in your hand
would solve all your problems.
But you don’t really want to do that, right?
152 · May 2019
like walking through walls.
misha May 2019
Just when I felt that I could get to know you
you slipped through my fingers
as the dread rose again to press my lips shut.

The words did not flow naturally
but were strained


In a single pause, we both learned
that I am far too alien for this world,
far too detached from reality

far too afraid of knowing, or being known.
With a hesitant smile, I turn away,
knowing that it will be the last.

My skin bruises where you touch,
threatening to burst like a delicate peach
to coat your fingers in warm viscera.

My uncanny senses easily find you in a crowd
so that I can avoid you
and spare us the awkwardness.

I never knew what was wrong,
what fundamental spark I am missing,
that allows me to neatly clip through others

without being noticed.
I never was able to decide
whether the strange matter that makes up my body

Is a blessing for allowing me to hide
or a curse for not allowing me to connect,
to be swinging on that uniquely human wavelength.
An open letter to everyone I've ghosted because my garbage brain doesn't understand human emotions or how to get people to stop trying to use them on me.
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