Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
basil Oct 2021
so long did i ignore
the red flags,
i avoided hearing the music
for what it was.

perhaps,
when you’re deafened by love,
you cant hear the dismal chords.
i couldn’t hear the mismatched notes
over the melody.

through broken-down vibrato,
i learned to love your song.
i listened to you on repeat,
until i memorized its entirety.

when i would listen enough,
i could hear the imperfections.
i heard your words,
i grew to hate the music.
basil Jul 2021
what is your love like?

does it smell like cigarettes,
and feel like home?
would your hands fit in mine
perfectly?

does it look like a sunset,
and sound like my favorite song?
is your voice gentle
when you tell me
“i
         love
                         you”
?

my love is intense,
i suffocate.
are
            you
ready?

will you leave me
when i become too much?

my love is rotting bodies,
together,
just trying to stay alive.

will you leave
when i become
too much?
hi, i'm back from my ridiculously long writer's block. i hope you all are doing well.
basil Dec 2020
it has been seven months since my ****.
it has been seven months since my ****.

every day, it gets worse.
every day and those after, i am once again told,
“it’s your fault”
i know, every day,
that they are not wrong.

it has been seven months since my ****.
it has been seven months since my ****.

every day and those after,
i lose myself,
more and more.
i’m rotting and
disgusting.
i am lost
and i am scared.

it has been seven months since my ****.
it has been seven months since my ****.

every day and those after,
i am reminded.
“he felt more anxiety than you ever will,”
she says,
“they left him waiting, thinking his life was over,
for an entire weekend.”
a weekend? ha, amature.
i’ve been knowing.
my life is over, and has been
for seven months.
he got off free,
i got a life sentence.

it has been seven months since my ****.
it has been seven months since my ****.

be careful- don’t forget!!
he is not a ******,
you are not a victim.
he’s just a boy,
in the moment.
you know how they are.

it has been seven months since my ****.
it has been seven months since my ****.

maybe i’m just lying.
what if i’m wrong?
and i’m just
a product of what has already happened to me?
since it is my fault,
since i still don’t know how to take accountability,
maybe it’s not even real.

it has been seven months since my ****.
it has been seven months since my ****.

in church, they talk about ****** purity.
am i going to hell for this?

it has been seven months since my ****.
it has been seven months since my ****.

his hands are still all over me.
all
over
me.
i tried to scrub it all away,
the flesh came off my body.
he still found a way
to write his name
on
my bones.

it has been seven months since my ****.
it has been seven months since my ****.

i can’t look in the mirror anymore.
it’s never me.
every time i look,
it’s always someone new.
a grotesque figure.
i can’t stand to see myself.

it has been seven months since my ****.
it has been seven months since my ****.

my face often becomes numb.
i throw my hands under boiling water and still feel
nothing.

seven months.
that’s
212 days,
5088 hours.
i don’t know who i am
anymore.
wrote this for my creative writing class <33 enjoy
  Nov 2020 basil
TheConcretePoet
our
once
strong
bond-

now
looks
like
this

con  
n   e    
ct   i      o              n

b   r   o - 
k   e   n

it's different-
it's
g
o  
n  


e.

I've changed-
we've changed.

with
plenty of
help
from the
o u t s i d e
world.

instead of
finishing
sentences-
they are now
c
u

t
o f f.

the ditch
has
already
been
dug.

the dirt
just needs
to be
placed
back
and stepped
upon like
our once
strong
bond.

i insist...

after
you.

'Yours and everyone's concrete poet'
👷🏻‍♂️👷🏿‍♂️
  Nov 2020 basil
TheConcretePoet
the mind
of a
poet
seems
ever
inundated
with
storms
and
floods.

don't
ever
bother
trying to
save us.

we
enjoy
the
storms.

if you
were
like us,
you
might
understand?

deeply
we
absorb
every
word of
every
storm.

it's then,

that i
suggest
that you
prepare
for a
rogue
wave.

we
will
swell up
from
our
depths
and
engulf
any foe.

'Yours and everyone's concrete poet'
👷🏿‍♂️👷🏻‍♂️
  Oct 2020 basil
ari
my blood is on his hands,
but oh,
he got away!
"he's a thief! he's a thief!" i cry
as he runs into the distance
with my innocence in a bag
thrown over his shoulder
i scream and shrill
"there's not enough evidence," they said
but my blood!
oh, my blood!
it's on his hands!
i want to douse him in gasoline and throw matches on him
i will laugh and smile while he screams
Next page