Shukorina

Shukorina Feb 2012

The fabric soft against my skin.
I slip into it,
ravishing the feeling of this moment.
Wondering how many more tomorrows will feel this way.
Until I realize its soiled,
these disgusting stains that have made me collateral damage.
Its so grimy!
So foul!
How revolting!
How I hate my self for hating you...
                                                                                                                                                      Its like I can't escape him.
His stench of betrayal follows me  every where!
I can’t clean it off!
The pride that once held this ivory shade,
is now smeared and torn with images of you.
                                                                                                                                           Fine then, be with her.
Pearl buttons and lace ties hang by mere threads
where beautiful memories once stitched them together.
You've left me tarnished and tainted.
                                                                                                                      What did i see in you.
It’s like the world can see this new shade.
A stench that seeps from the stains!
Creating this barricade from who I want to be!
Who I want to show to him.
I hide my now homely love,
stuck in box,
beneath my bed,
unable to rid my self of your Pandora's box,
in ambition to make sure,
no one will ever see this ***** laundry.

Think of the side italics as thoughts...
Also,
it's not about what you might think it's about.
;)

Shukorina Feb 2012

Fire from the Star.

The Star scuttles across the skies
finding and changing orbits.
Escaping into the twilight,
when stuck in one satellite for to long.
It thrives on the eyes that look upon it.

Always hiding its scorching heat behind it’s glittering glow.
Many try to catch it,falling towards the night .
Those who do, find heartbreak in their palms.
It’s still not understood, why they could not stop gazing.
It was a look that seemed clasped upon a blinding spectacle.

Tricked by this delightful burning.
They can’t clean off this permanent ash,
completely soiled by the shooting Star.
Forever scared and left lonely by a false light,
that lead them to dusk.

Shukorina Jan 2012

The Many Faces Of Mr. Right.

Your touch is really all that's appealing.
Only the sensations are what I yearn for,
not you.
Nothing romantic or loving,
more into just kissing
or touching.
We’ve learned to love that instead.
Cut out the fallacies and fabrications.
With sweet sensations that last for moments
and keep the satisfaction for periods of time.
Over the dramatics of courting for now
and diving into convenient friendships.
Never thinking of the changing winds that accompany this...alternative
and as the critters of consequence attempt to creep upon,
feel no fear since,
it was worth it...
Fear only escorts regret,
which this mindset has room for neither.
The elusive Mr.Right seems to be in constant hiding,
so for a time,
no matter how brief,
deem the other wonderful and fit.
Find comfort in the company
of right now.

I keep seeing this concept every where,songs, movies, and book, and it intrigued me, so I wrote about it.

Shukorina Jan 2012

Temperamental Faith

There is this idea.
One that lingers through the people it wants to reach.
A concept that wants to grip you.
I attempt to wrap myself around it,
clinging to the lack of clarity.
Hoping for what I want it to be.
It slithers through my fingers
leaving only the residue to show
that I never really had a chance.
“You want faith? Then you work for it,”
It said with a thunderous roar.
I hear the words but still don’t comprehend them.
The thought taunts me with its mystery,
I yearn to know it,
feel it.
While it constantly surrounds me,
I can never pull it close.
As figures fade to ghosts
I look towards the sky,
its before I can cage my words
they escape into no man’s land
with this vengeangful cry!
“God! why am I the only one who can’t feel you!”

Shukorina Jan 2012

The Turning Tides of College.

My ideas are beginning to change
yet smiles break free.

Shukorina Jan 2012

Hymn of a Song Bird

The songbird out side the window,
trickling out notes of music.
Sang that confidence was her falsehood.
Though she flew above the others
looking down from the illuminating sky.
Her head cocked as if confused,
as she lets out another song.
She finds speech with out words.

As it poured into the ears of those down below,
sounds bounced off broken hearts and friendships.
Hidden arrogance began to echo,
collecting a harmony of tensions.
The songbird wanted all to hear her,
her flight never ending.
No matter what pleading passed,
the songbird’s melody played on.

Out of breath the lengthy flight left the bird to be.
Her voice has cracked like the birch
leaving her shattered, and detached.
Tired as she maybe,
when shes flying shes at peace.
Does the bird not know she caused her isolation?
Do sing song bird,
Are these false hoods as well?

Shukorina Jan 2012

I've lost my voice in poetry...I think.

Listen* for it.
Whats trying to be found,
it was within grasp,
but lost when not put to use.
Where is it?
Why won’t it come back?
Insanity is beginning to creep with out it
please come back
                                                                                                                                                      to me...
                                                                                                                                               before I lose myself with you.
All that's left is apologies and tithes,
amends that should have been extended long ago.
Words with out direction that need to spoken.
                                                                                                                                     I feel you near
but constantly
                                                                                                                               you remain evasive.
Constantly craving                                                                                   our past,
when you would drift to the edge,
tip forward showcases,
and present the different reality
                                                                                                                    *of who I am.