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The way we rewrite
Our histories,

The way we polish
Our achievements

The way we conceal
Our all our flaws

I have to wonder
About memory

Was I ever that "me"
That I recall
Was reading camila's 'How's this song called' when my brain did this.
 Aug 2019 Scarlet Niamh
words are like the squiggle in your eye
just out of reach and then they wiggle
then they die
i’m Pretty sure I don’t know how to write anymore.
Blackberries dripping with Summer dew and
you with stains on your patterned shirt.

Alert to the possibility that death could be the death of me
I decline to climb the tallest tree and sit down on a rock.

I remember the taste
which was yesterday,
things taste differently today.

My thoughts are put down in the order of appearance
and not necessarily in the order of occurrence,
but you've probably noticed that.

And I'm watching a pink sash being slowly wound around an unbecoming sky.
Crowds gather in the waiting train
Kids fidgeting
Mothers panicking
Man with eyes of steel
glares at me from the opposite seat
Suddenly the train lurches forward
quickly gathering speed
All the tension seems to lift
Kids settle down
Mothers look out of the window
Man opposite puts his head back
and closes his eyes
Yes, the journey has now begun
I am not a passionate person,
Or so I would tell you.
My cheeks blush at the thought of being kissed,
And physical affections are often turned away,
Feeling desire for someone is like a new language,
And I had little want to understand it.
I am not a passionate person in the way most would believe.
But I am a passionate person.
Give my heart an emotion,
and my mouth will make it known.
Flood me in kisses,
and my hands will go to work on paper.
Writing my love for you is a fire,
It's flames devour your every action,
For I may not make myself known when it comes to body language.
But in the written word,
you will never live a day to question how my soul aches to show its affection.
 Aug 2017 Scarlet Niamh
Dhaara T
I love you
So much
I dream
Of saving you
From drowning.

I despise you
So much
I dream
Of drowning you
To death.

Every day.
 Aug 2017 Scarlet Niamh
Poetic T
Aromas never smelt
                    the same,
inhaling the essence of

              tasting your lips
                          a single kiss
cherry blossom moments.
 Jul 2017 Scarlet Niamh
 Jul 2017 Scarlet Niamh
i almost like it better when i'm thinking too much
makes me feel like i'm alive and not some dead battery found in the trash when it can no longer be used
find peace in the swirling thoughts in my head like a toilet that wont flush
because it means i'm still alive
still able to comprehend what you're saying
still able to feel.
i will live another day and get caught on something new
and probably trip
and fall
back to that low feeling i'm used to
but that's okay
because hey, after all i'm alive
and right now that's good enough.
 Jul 2017 Scarlet Niamh
KD Miller

A plank of wood,
sand mites bite our ankles
my ankles

One in the morning at the
Gated Beach Community
and the signs said

Without parental supervision,
No one under 16 allowed
but there I was, 15

Dealing with a bad lease on my brain, don't forget yours, too
parents nowhere to be found

Or maybe two buildings over
Years later, it's night
I step over puddles, drunk boys

Walk around the complex laughing
Trying to remember when I found that sort of thing fun,

Remembering never,
I sit on a ledge--
And you'd never guess the sea

Was several hundred feet away
with the way the sky bleeds black
congealing, together

The Atlantic and it.
Remembering my old obsession
With blood, my old poems

Speaking feverishly of it
adding meaningless symbols-
the flower the color of it,

or the sky in the morning in august
trying, selfishly, to make sense of my life.

I wish to run a fever-- forget this place ever existed
Or you, truthfully.
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