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Pasacao, Camarines Sur
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19/Transmasculine
i have a lot of old embarrassing poems on here but i dont wanna delete them. I might upload a new poem once in a …
15/M/no where
I am a man sees himself with the end that Romeo meet but poetry is leading him away from that luckily and I'm now a …
Poems
Kim Yu May 2015
Tsala Ya Nnete
Kim Yu
May 2015
Tsala e ya nnete tota
E lerato le popota
Ga e go bone makoa
Ga e go tsenye ka sekgwa.
Fa lefatshe le tlhanoga
Le ditshotlo di tlhatloga
O mongwe fela yo o gomotsang
Ke tsala e e go ratang.
Tsala ya maaka, ramatlhajana
Tsamaya le ena nakonyana
Melato a ka e go bolaisa
Fa go buiwa o a itshegisa.
O go tsenya mo kotsing
A go potise ka fa mosing,
Le phepa la gagwe leina
O le tlhatswitse la wena.
Botsala jwa nnete
Ga bo tlhwatlhwa e bokete
Bo rekwa ka setshego
Le lerato la tlholego.
E lerato le popota
Ga e go bone makoa
Ga e go tsenye ka sekgwa.
Fa lefatshe le tlhanoga
Le ditshotlo di tlhatloga
O mongwe fela yo o gomotsang
Ke tsala e e go ratang.
Tsala ya maaka, ramatlhajana
Tsamaya le ena nakonyana
Melato a ka e go bolaisa
Fa go buiwa o a itshegisa.
O go tsenya mo kotsing
A go potise ka fa mosing,
Le phepa la gagwe leina
O le tlhatswitse la wena.
Botsala jwa nnete
Ga bo tlhwatlhwa e bokete
Bo rekwa ka setshego
Le lerato la tlholego.
Fell in love with this poem in my High school days, it's a Tswana poem about A True Friend...very beautiful.
Katie Biesiada Apr 2016
Tattoo
Katie Biesiada
Apr 2016
She kissed your cheek and smiled widely,
the corners of her mouth almost touching her
impeccably tattooed eyebrows.
She was not what you had pictured
from the back and forth email conversations
on quotes and designs and sizes.
She asked you to take a seat as she went to
smoke a cigarette outside the shop with a coworker;
Anna was her name...with two jack russel terriers -
one of them is like a honey badger apparently.
It's funny how the mind remembers certain things...
the way the smoke on her tongue smelled as she leaned in
adding ink to her needle,
or the song she kept humming while you
bit your tongue and stared at the decorated ceiling.
But the pain of the needle depositing the
ink
into your skin was welcome...
It was nothing compared to the internal turmoil you were
experiencing the past seven days.
It almost felt good...
Not adrenaline good, but like good that you were capable of
feeling
something besides sadness and anger.
In the Barcelona airport two days earlier, you made your appointment.
One on your hip, one on your foot
100 pound deposit. No problem.
You needed something to occupy your
mind
from the pain it endured over your "holiday."
So much for a holiday...
Surprise! Your friend is a backstabbing *****
who "secretly" hates you and tried to
ditch you repeatedly.
The needle grazes your hipbone and you wince.
"You okay?" Tota coos in her Italian accent.
You nod, but you know you're not really okay...
You never were...probably never will be OKAY.
Your mind wanders...wishing you were home
and not in London, three thousand miles away from
the only people who seem to care.
"Done!" Tota exclaims.
You examine her work, smiling.
The first time you have smiled in days.
"Get ready...this one is gona hurt!" she says, half excited.
You don't care...nothing can hurt more than your heart...
Too bad that can't be tattooed...
the corners of her mouth almost touching her
impeccably tattooed eyebrows.
She was not what you had pictured
from the back and forth email conversations
on quotes and designs and sizes.
She asked you to take a seat as she went to
smoke a cigarette outside the shop with a coworker;
Anna was her name...with two jack russel terriers -
one of them is like a honey badger apparently.
It's funny how the mind remembers certain things...
the way the smoke on her tongue smelled as she leaned in
adding ink to her needle,
or the song she kept humming while you
bit your tongue and stared at the decorated ceiling.
But the pain of the needle depositing the
ink
into your skin was welcome...
It was nothing compared to the internal turmoil you were
experiencing the past seven days.
It almost felt good...
Not adrenaline good, but like good that you were capable of
feeling
something besides sadness and anger.
In the Barcelona airport two days earlier, you made your appointment.
One on your hip, one on your foot
100 pound deposit. No problem.
You needed something to occupy your
mind
from the pain it endured over your "holiday."
So much for a holiday...
Surprise! Your friend is a backstabbing *****
who "secretly" hates you and tried to
ditch you repeatedly.
The needle grazes your hipbone and you wince.
"You okay?" Tota coos in her Italian accent.
You nod, but you know you're not really okay...
You never were...probably never will be OKAY.
Your mind wanders...wishing you were home
and not in London, three thousand miles away from
the only people who seem to care.
"Done!" Tota exclaims.
You examine her work, smiling.
The first time you have smiled in days.
"Get ready...this one is gona hurt!" she says, half excited.
You don't care...nothing can hurt more than your heart...
Too bad that can't be tattooed...
Velvet Elk Dec 2014
Piyak, Niso, Nisto
Velvet Elk
Dec 2014
Piyak
Nipiyakwaskātikawin kiyāpic ce kisākihin
e macāwasisīwi yān ce Penāsin hāw
ninēstomon ninanothacihikwak oki
ni wēsaki mosihtān nipakamistikwanihokawin kanihithoyan
Sepī kinwastēwikamikwa ita mistāpiwak kinakiskawānawak
Nospatahten wēthipāpwi ekā ikēpakitatāmowīn
Nikanistāpāwān awikāchi nēyaw kitasipweyahotew
Nikaaskēthihten nikawi esi mihcicitik tapiskoc āniskawēthikosak
Tapwe kithipan asay pinipakāw
Māka Manitokosisān nitīhihk ayāw
Wētha e - apisīsisīyān ekwa e māthātiseyān. Nikakīpatisin
kiyam āta cmachātisēyān Nipīhkihik tāpisochkona
Namwac nikawihtēn nikapāpwān hāw
Namac nikawihtēn awikāci maciskotehk nikihtotān hāw
Niso
Pesim wapimēw tipiskāwi pesimwa tahtokesikāw
kēhkānakosiwak ācakosak pitowenam awēyak
Nikipahokanwin…Nikāwi
Nitakēhtēn tipistihona pihtokamihk
Pīhcāyik mistikowatihk nikīmocimāton
Nimāmitonithitēn epimmāsāhki ohcikiwāpowina
Nitakimāwak ahkētāp acāhkosak
Peyak mena neso tānihki, tanihki kohci kitimāhiyek
Tepwāsin nohtāwi e-tipiskāk ekwa e-kesikāk
kēmōc namwac kikawīhten
Kāwitha wīhta maciskotihk kikītisahotin
Kasākocihitin Tota kītitān
Nistomitanow nike taketason kihtwān
akehtaso isko kitaponipathik kihtwām
Nisto
Pipon! Titipi konakāw aski
nita okīsikohkān konihk
e-wāskāpit thoskisiw wāsisiw kona
pēyakwan enīmihitochik wāskā
nitosīhtān mistahiwāskahikan - chīstē
okimāskwīsis oma nētha nimistahiwāskahikanihk
namōtha wītha kitimāki nihithāsis
nimithosin ēkwa niwapiskisin tāpiskōch kona
Nikāwi - nikakwātakithawēsin
namotha ninohtē pīmātisin epakwātaman pimatisiwin
mena machihtowin.
Namōtha nohtaw athistiniw itāmihk nasakāhk
Tānthikoh kinwēs ota wihchēkanohk kāwīkipahokaweyān!
Ispē kiwēyāni nikasēkipatwān
Pimātisēyani āhpo nipēyāni, Nikāwi, nikasēkipatwān.
I
I’m here all alone. Do you still love me?
Am I bad? I’m sorry. Come get me. Please.
I cry and cry and cry, the big ones tease.
I hurt. She hits my head when I speak Cree.
In screaming bath houses we face giants.
I inhale black water with each blue breath.
Will I drown or float softly into death?
I miss you nimama in this city of ants.
All too slow the seasons change, the leaves go.
But now Jesus Christ lives inside my heart.
Since I’m a little, ugly girl. Not Smart.
Although, I’m bad He makes me white as snow.
I promise I won’t tell. I promise. Please.
And I won’t tell or I’ll go to hell. Please.
II
The fast sun tags the moon day after day.
Under bright stars echoing footsteps come
Inside the bad room I call for you nimama
I counted the steps along the hallway.
I stay in a box, in silence I cry
Shiny tear drop bubbles float in my mind
Beneath and behind sad stars, I count blind.
One plus one is two. Why? Why hurt me? Why?
Call me dear Father by night and by day.
And this is our secret, you will not tell.
Now don’t tell. I can send you straight to hell.
I’m bigger than you. You do what I say.
I can count to thirty over again
Count until it’s over, over again.
III
Winter has come! Snow has covered the world.
I’m a little snow angel that glimmers
In spirals, fluffy, shiny snow shimmers
See the dancing snow flakes around me twirl.
I made a castle. Look what I can do!
I’m the princess of my own snow castle.
No filthy little Indian rascal.
I am a pretty and white snow flake too.
Nimama, my chest crackles hot fiery red rage
How can I live when I hate life and sin?
Where there’s no less human in my skin.
How long will I stink and rot in this cage!?
And when I leave here I will wear my braids.
Forever Nimama I will wear my braids.
* Nimama * Plains Cree for Mom or Mother
#Cree Translation by B. Charles
Nipiyakwaskātikawin kiyāpic ce kisākihin
e macāwasisīwi yān ce Penāsin hāw
ninēstomon ninanothacihikwak oki
ni wēsaki mosihtān nipakamistikwanihokawin kanihithoyan
Sepī kinwastēwikamikwa ita mistāpiwak kinakiskawānawak
Nospatahten wēthipāpwi ekā ikēpakitatāmowīn
Nikanistāpāwān awikāchi nēyaw kitasipweyahotew
Nikaaskēthihten nikawi esi mihcicitik tapiskoc āniskawēthikosak
Tapwe kithipan asay pinipakāw
Māka Manitokosisān nitīhihk ayāw
Wētha e - apisīsisīyān ekwa e māthātiseyān. Nikakīpatisin
kiyam āta cmachātisēyān Nipīhkihik tāpisochkona
Namwac nikawihtēn nikapāpwān hāw
Namac nikawihtēn awikāci maciskotehk nikihtotān hāw
Niso
Pesim wapimēw tipiskāwi pesimwa tahtokesikāw
kēhkānakosiwak ācakosak pitowenam awēyak
Nikipahokanwin…Nikāwi
Nitakēhtēn tipistihona pihtokamihk
Pīhcāyik mistikowatihk nikīmocimāton
Nimāmitonithitēn epimmāsāhki ohcikiwāpowina
Nitakimāwak ahkētāp acāhkosak
Peyak mena neso tānihki, tanihki kohci kitimāhiyek
Tepwāsin nohtāwi e-tipiskāk ekwa e-kesikāk
kēmōc namwac kikawīhten
Kāwitha wīhta maciskotihk kikītisahotin
Kasākocihitin Tota kītitān
Nistomitanow nike taketason kihtwān
akehtaso isko kitaponipathik kihtwām
Nisto
Pipon! Titipi konakāw aski
nita okīsikohkān konihk
e-wāskāpit thoskisiw wāsisiw kona
pēyakwan enīmihitochik wāskā
nitosīhtān mistahiwāskahikan - chīstē
okimāskwīsis oma nētha nimistahiwāskahikanihk
namōtha wītha kitimāki nihithāsis
nimithosin ēkwa niwapiskisin tāpiskōch kona
Nikāwi - nikakwātakithawēsin
namotha ninohtē pīmātisin epakwātaman pimatisiwin
mena machihtowin.
Namōtha nohtaw athistiniw itāmihk nasakāhk
Tānthikoh kinwēs ota wihchēkanohk kāwīkipahokaweyān!
Ispē kiwēyāni nikasēkipatwān
Pimātisēyani āhpo nipēyāni, Nikāwi, nikasēkipatwān.
I
I’m here all alone. Do you still love me?
Am I bad? I’m sorry. Come get me. Please.
I cry and cry and cry, the big ones tease.
I hurt. She hits my head when I speak Cree.
In screaming bath houses we face giants.
I inhale black water with each blue breath.
Will I drown or float softly into death?
I miss you nimama in this city of ants.
All too slow the seasons change, the leaves go.
But now Jesus Christ lives inside my heart.
Since I’m a little, ugly girl. Not Smart.
Although, I’m bad He makes me white as snow.
I promise I won’t tell. I promise. Please.
And I won’t tell or I’ll go to hell. Please.
II
The fast sun tags the moon day after day.
Under bright stars echoing footsteps come
Inside the bad room I call for you nimama
I counted the steps along the hallway.
I stay in a box, in silence I cry
Shiny tear drop bubbles float in my mind
Beneath and behind sad stars, I count blind.
One plus one is two. Why? Why hurt me? Why?
Call me dear Father by night and by day.
And this is our secret, you will not tell.
Now don’t tell. I can send you straight to hell.
I’m bigger than you. You do what I say.
I can count to thirty over again
Count until it’s over, over again.
III
Winter has come! Snow has covered the world.
I’m a little snow angel that glimmers
In spirals, fluffy, shiny snow shimmers
See the dancing snow flakes around me twirl.
I made a castle. Look what I can do!
I’m the princess of my own snow castle.
No filthy little Indian rascal.
I am a pretty and white snow flake too.
Nimama, my chest crackles hot fiery red rage
How can I live when I hate life and sin?
Where there’s no less human in my skin.
How long will I stink and rot in this cage!?
And when I leave here I will wear my braids.
Forever Nimama I will wear my braids.
* Nimama * Plains Cree for Mom or Mother
#Cree Translation by B. Charles