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Shukorina Feb 2012
So today, as I was a walking down memory lane
I reached for dreams on tops of trees,
picked memories from shrubbery frames.
I searched for who I might be,
but was shocked and perplexed,
that mysterious part of me,
had not been planted just yet...
Shukorina Nov 2011
I don’t see the same me others do.
I get told that I’m lots of things .
In my mind most of them never seem to make sense,
to correlate more or less.
It’s like this list they keep pulling out of air.
When ever I read it, it says the same thing,
but never do I understand.
Beautiful they say,
why don’t I see it?
Intelligent or smart,
then why don’t I understand you?
Its like this over whelming tide
that my soul got ****** into.
No matter how hard I resist,
I always let it take me in the end,
Right before I break free.
I’m always up long enough though,
long enough to see right where I want to be,
where I should,
but never have I,
or will I,
or can I attain it,
and it burns me.
But for some reason I can’t stop.
I don't enjoy sticking my hand into the fire
but since I haven't felt or seen the sun
from under the water
I don't know what it really feels like any more.
At least when your hand is in the fire
you feel pain
rather that then nothing.
Everything is better then nothing.
At least,
in my eyes.
Shukorina Sep 2017
The word potential is one of self sabotage.
It is dedicated to those unable to put their dreams to work.
Potential is a word given to the indicated who are poised to have talent but no drive, ambition but no discipline.
Potential is given to the abundant group of people who are able to breathe but never live life.
Potential.
A word made to create your grave before you've died.
I haven't figured out how to stay away from the trap.
However, a promise to myself is that I will do more then breathe.
Shukorina Dec 2011
When walking down the street
I have a tendency to get looks
an eye glance here and there
I don’t mind it to much
it means I’m special
it’s when the glances come with ignorance
my mind has a tendency to get flustered.
that’s when it hits.
and I’m the lost one
because I refuse to be seen as one thing
since my speech and race don’t seem to quite match
I apparently have an identity crisis
but that’s cool
I realize my worth is more then in my skin
I don’t mean to be indignant
but I refuse to not be heard
There is more to my identity
then the complexion that was placed on me
a wise guy once said
                                                                ­                                  “we are the people every one wants to be like,
                                                           ­                                                          but never the people you want to be”
while I understand that all colors don’t really make a rainbow,
I know they can still blend to make art
create beauty in whats become this ugly world
and instead of catching the falling hate
                                                                ­                                                             throw out love
                                                          ­                                                              p­assion
                                                        ­                                                        exciteme­nt
                                                                ­                                     Acceptance...
and understand what is
or change it to make what needs to be
                                                     I consider myself a Woman
                                                         ­                                I know that I'm a Friend
                                                      ­    I  try to be  a Learner
                                                                ­                        I will be a Lover
But I will not be considered to be anything other
THEN WHAT I AM!
**** that
just to clear up the confusion
                                                       ­                                             I
                                                                ­                                         am not
                                                             ­                                                          a *Color.
Supposed to be spoken word, so i figured the formatting might help your hear me more then read me.
Shukorina Apr 2012
I Hate Leeches.
They are just a little too sneaky for my blood.
I never notice them till i feel that raw irritation on my body,
that sudden sense of loss I never can seem to get rid of.  
I try and look for before that sensation happens,
but they wear these little disguises called friendships.  

I Hate Leeches.
they creep on my arteries so easily,
I rip them out,
but their sharp little suckers tear my skin.
No matter what,
leeches always have me bleed out.
Shukorina Aug 2012
I woke up facing light
I saw the bright glimmer from his armor
even through the forest trees
So I Began To Follow .

It wasn’t hard,
unlike his defensive foot steps.
They were so loud I didn’t have to watch my own.
They was a grace to them though,
the way the grass bent beneath his feet.

He found a way to make the forest listen,
without even really saying anything.
He wasn’t perfect, this tin man.
His armor squeaked, I could see it bothered him.
Although I can’t be to sure, it was difficult for him.
To show Emotion that is, Metal Features and all.

As I continued to follow,
I found this odd fascination creep.
So I started to follow a little closer each day,
learning what made him tick.
Wondering if he could feel, while utterly unaware,
that he knew I was tracking his defensive footsteps.

I had become reckless and he craved new company,
outside of forest animals.
One day, courage ambushed me and without thinking,
I touched him.
He was cold and hard, he clutched my hand in his.
I tried to run.
It was a useless effort, with a simple yank, I was pulled back in.

Strength and sheer curiosity kept me locked in.
His imperfection was just so beautiful.
One day I woke up,
to find him laying above me.
He looked down on me, like he always does.
Instead of anger or fear coming to my side,
apprehension did.

Apprehension left me for Jealousy,
Observation then lead the way to understanding.
As I began to relax, I noticed the flecks of rust
that flew from his joints.
The sun looked through them,
making them create a silvery red hue all around this
beautiful
tin man.
Shukorina Nov 2011
Be careful when fighting
what rumbles beneath my bed,
what only appears when sight is gone
Understand that while I have men
I only really believe in you staying forever.
While off at the battle of my silly girl emotions,
you seem to be the only one who,
when even fighting for me
remains in my arms.
Shukorina Sep 2017
In the pit of every person, there is a child.
Each child is different.
Some beg to be loved, some beg to alone, some so timid they know not of speaking, let alone the art of begging.
It is undeniable however, that we each have one that lives in us forever.
A child that we groom, prime or contort depending on our conviction, so that we become unrecognizable as we grow into adulthood.
Shukorina May 2013
Is it wrong that you aren't the one who belongs to me?
To be fully aware of that,
yet still be dying to taste the sweetness left on your breath from the liquor and cigarettes.
Is it terrible to envision myself gliding over your tattoos and clinging on to your hair.
I can see it.
Jumping off of responsibility.
Actually walking off, each button on your shirt being another step towards the edge.
I stop innocently flirting.
I start wanting,
dangerously craving,
desperately feenin',
until I wake up next to Sailor Jerry in the morning,
I look around for my friends and find myself alone,
the only other people in the room are remorse and shame.
With a pathetic look and a layer of filth they keep trying to scrape off with warm water,
its terrifying how much they looks like me.
Shukorina Feb 2012
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 Apr 2014
Instability is exciting.
The constant search for solid ground incites all forms of emotion,
so one is never bored.
There is this everlasting feeling of being in a state of free falling.
It starts by randomly scraping against walls,
then moves to finding moments of light filled clarity,
to scrambling to find a truth to clutch onto in a darkness that may feel endless.
Through out instability, whether it is exciting or terrifying,
the growth you feel and attain becomes insatiable.
Shukorina Apr 2014
Looking for an intimate teacher.
A professor of the body.
One who can show me how to engage in sexuality the way They want me too.
Lead me into intimacy by educating me about my own body.
Answer every question i have about this energy exchange.
How does this work?
How do I work it?
How am I supposed to touch you?
What am I supposed to say?
I say it like that?
Why is it wrong to have more than one teacher over time?
What does it mean to be sensual?
What does being sensual mean to you?
I need an educator with patience,
one willing to work through the kinks so to speak.
Universe! Send me a guide who understands what it means to be an auditory and kinesthetic learner.
One who will whisper some directions to me while they guide my hands to where they need to be.
I am looking for a fearless lover,
one unafraid of saying those awkward directions like,
           Move Like  This.
                        Lift Up More.
                                 Listen to me and just...
                                                   *Relax.
Shukorina Jan 2012
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
Tension
Excitement
Nerve
Uncertain
Dear Relationships
I Don’t Get You. .
Shukorina Mar 2012
Rocked by thunder.
A light that nearly blinded me,
over much to quickly.
Just a flash that passed me,
During a night that we only refer to as a blur.
Early in the morning I slip from the clouds of the storm,  
making the small leap home.
Where I bath in my bittersweet guilty pleasure.
So aware of the rain and mud that won’t clean off,
chuckling to myself,
“it shouldn’t have been that much fun.”
Sobriety and insanity had a wonderful balance that night.
As we stole stars from the sky,
ran from the upset nature,
while playing in the sky’s tears over her lost friends.
There was splendor in all her rage.
There was a beauty in her pain.
Shukorina Jan 2014
The pendant around my neck could not possibly be more ironic.
Given as a token of love
but holds peter pan and his fear of commitment and responsibility.
I have reached the most odd of cross roads.
Deciding if I am with you because I love you
or because I am scared no one else will ever love me like you do.
I have created quite the dilemma here, you have become my best friend.
And yet I know making you only my best friend would make me lose you altogether.
Peter Pan was never just a children’s tale, It was a tragedy.
This is old but i just decided to share it.
Shukorina Dec 2011
Infamy.
When gaining infamy
what comes to mind,
a ***** deed or two,
self acts or other
things that revolt rather then compel.
I never saw innocence being cause to the torch,
while most women are known for giving to much,
I’m known for what I refused to share.
Perhaps infamy is the wrong word.
What makes it so difficult for them to understand.
It baffles me.
Its quite simple.
Well thats it.
Why won’t I give it up,
well,
Simplicity.
Shukorina Jan 2012
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.
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 Nov 2011
Ask
Ask again
keep Asking
see what you find
no broken hearts,
perhaps
a few bitter words
Ask again,
but now
I'm going to Ask something of you
hand me no nothings that temporarily light up the room
no false hoods which end in the dark
No need for charms
for I don’t seek love tales
when reaching out
be it only for me
so I know
that no matter what
we are always within grasp of each other
love my heart beat like rhythmical music
a tune which should sync
at least one day
but please
if you want to know what I want
just
Ask.
Shukorina Nov 2012
I hate this pounding thought in my mind.
Needing clarity, but held down by the vines in the fog covered forest.
Always thought you wouldn't leave me to wayside and yet...
Departed, you left me to rot in this trap.
Enabling you forward, I don't even fight back.
Quite overwhelms me, and my body begins to ache.
Underneath the silence, my chest finally breaks .
All alone, no one can see the lonely soul.
Crawling out of the body, in hopes to find her beloved.
You.
Not my best written piece, but probably my most blunt.
Shukorina Mar 2012
Darling talk maybe cheap,
but I pay a pretty penny for those thoughts of yours.
I lose my own self
in order to gain parts of you.
Offering dreams and futures that coincide,
turning them into what you want them, or me
to be.
I ask for only love as compensation.
A small price for such big ideas.
Some would call it a steal for what I’m willing to give.
If I were you, I would take this bargain while she’s hot.
Shukorina Jan 2012
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
I feel it hit
so hard I’m nearly blown to the ground
the winds that say
“we were only passing through”
attempts at catching them are feeble at best
sad but realistic
and painful to witness
changeing myself so I parachute
all to keep the winds that once moved so sweetly
reality hits me again
the winds say
“it was only a matter of time”
I try to maintain this form all to see its blowing me back
why do the winds never stay?
Is the point to simply send you a shiver
then be on their way
to blow past what is no longer loved
or perhaps appreciable
for after a tornado pushes through
nothing can be recognized.
Shukorina Nov 2011
Once upon a time
There was four lovelies
four ladies who synced as one
fell into each other by luck and happen stance
for which they felt thankful
then the winds began to change
hit by the rains of men
and the winds of arrogance
struck down by to firm a belief in forgiveness
which left their hearts more then one mistake ago
once upon a time
There was Four lovelies
still lovely they may be
but synced they are not
lost in singularity which
once upon a time
they hated so
once upon a time
There Was Four lovelies
who broke their own ties with each other
separated and alone they all felt
now lost
in what was once a beautiful garden
which became a grotesque forest
instead of love and memory growing
Contempt and Petty grievances Festered
There Once Was Four
Four Lovelies
I say Once because they are no longer One.
Shukorina Jan 2012
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
My ideas are beginning  to change
yet smiles break free.
Shukorina Dec 2011
I never understood why God made Pain.
why he would sends trials which break you,
bring you to a brink that one can’t help but fall from
why the Relief hit so hard after
how lights seemed so much Brighter
after the final push though
the Sun’s rays felt so much Warmer
then it occurred to me.
It’s Always Darkest Before The Dawn.
Shukorina Dec 2011
When walking through the woods
I heard him.
He spoke simple,concise.
Words more harsh then arctic winds
drifting past my heart.
No real pain though,
I was so cold my body was numb.
He had become a raw irritation.
With a smile on his face
He took his ax,
split my confidence like birch wood,
sprinkled the kindling of my ego
around me.
“It’s just not what i thought it would be,
I hope we can still be friends.”
He never told me what he though it was.
Shukorina Dec 2012
Such a sly one he is.
Makes a five second kiss linger for hours.
Before actual contact,
a touch can feel sensational.
Sliding hands in places they definitely shouldn't go,
and not being stopped by hands that should definitely try.
Its hard to stop something you shouldn't have, but want so bad.
With a smile that inches up the side of his face,
a smug expression that I was annoyed to have liked.
It almost makes it worse when he falls into your lap.
Then again,
He seems to fall into everyone’s lap.
Shukorina Nov 2012
I look out side my window and see it.
This outrageous rose brush .
It wasn't the best roses I had ever seen, but its colors were ...
vibrant?
No.
Passionate .
I stepped outside with out shoes.
I liked the feeling of wet grass,
the smell of the air.
Everything seemed so fresh.
I began to worry the closer I came.
The rose bush suddenly began to rot.
Sympathy rolled over me, so I reached out to touch it.
That mistake wrapped around my arm,
made its way around my body,
and then covered my mouth.
The thorn covered branches made cuts and gashes all along my skin.
As I bled,
the reds became more violent,
yet the whites seemed more pure.
As the colors began to steal feelings,
I crumbled.
With out even trying the roses swallowed me whole.
With out any resistance,
I let it over power me.

— The End —