Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
I am a Jellyfish
colorful yet pain-inflicitng
I remind myself to forget the bad things.
**I keep on floating.
 Jan 2016 Sumina Thapaliya
The springs groan and the backboard sounds a sharp crack under my weight.
It’s been doing that ever since some friends and I used it
As a trampoline on my eleventh birthday.

I slouch in the middle of my safe haven and look at my life decorated on the red walls.
I marvel at all of the roses I’ve ever received hanging upside-down along my ceiling.
My favorite is the dyed-blue bouquet that my dad gave to me years ago “just cause”.
Sometimes their dried, cracked petals fall to my floor, but I save those, too.

I notice the posters that have tattooed my walls since I was a kid,
An old James Dean portrait, Abbey Road, and Kissing the War Goodbye.
There’s my record player sitting underneath Fleetwood Mac’s Rumors,
One of the many vinyls my grandpa had given to me growing up.
Over there is my massive bookcase, holding well over two hundred stories.
I scan their spines until my eyes spot my two favorite books,
In Memoriam by Tennyson and Stephen King’s novella, The Body.

This is where I go when I need time to think or when I just want to be alone, safe.

But then I look behind me at the black cityscape my uncle painted on my wall
Just a few months before he hung himself.
I remember the hole in the wall hidden behind my door
That I made with my fist the night I first told my mom I hated her.
Above my record player is the last picture of my sister and me before I lost her
And scattered across the floor are the many journals that hold my darkest thoughts.

This place is me.
It is my Heaven, my haven, and my Hell.
Its been almost 2 years
Since I’ve thought of you.
But all that time went down the drain
When I saw you that day.
Suddenly my scars were ripped open again
And you came flooding out.
The itsy bitsy spider
Climbed up
The lanky boy
And on his head
It made a nest
Weaving a web
In between threads
Of curly hair
You'd think
He'd notice
He did not
Surprised his girlfriend
When she ran her fingers
Through his hair
He's bald now.
I found a fairy on a golden rose along a silver stream.
The rose must surely dream I said,
to raise an emerald leaf, and have you lay within its bud,
to touch and taste your sweet.
This budding bloom she did reply, this slender flower with its dew,
all memories of the rain her blushing petals hold within,
and so this lovely rose and I,
Today we dream as two.

What of the rain I did reply, do drops of rain fall down in dreams?
Happy to leave their cloudy sky?
The rain she says in its defense, makes pools where poppies drown,
They float upon this silver stream to enter a land of flower dreams,
where all our fancies sprout and spring,
Only to return again next year to sing the lyrics of the trees,
And give the bees their buzzy sound.

The fairy stretched her gossamer wings and caused the blooms to blush.
Why must you ask such trivial things,
in delicious moments such as these?
Your questions they are all remote,
and cause the ladybugs to sneeze.
The mystery now I put to you, as a hush fell over the trees
Is dare you now, or dare you ever
dream a dragonfly dream?
Posted once, years ago, and then removed in a fit of passion..
 Jan 2016 Sumina Thapaliya
As if covering yourself in blankets
And wearing expensive mascara will protect your heart this time.

I’ll be your girl anytime
From now until the end
You’ve stolen this young heart of mine
You’ve become more than just a friend
I’ll hold you
And help you
Through the toughest times indeed
Renouncing never these feelings of mine
Passion for you I bleed
There never was another angel
Who could have stolen my heart from this distance
You have managed to break in anyway
And to you I give no resistance
Good Morning to my Angel
A poetic reply to her goodmorning poem, which is not posted, it is her's.
If I had a nickel for every promise that I was made. I would be able to buy enough bubble gum to supply all of Americas 3rd grade. All of the political promises that never come true. All of the nonsense promises that we are told. All are worth wooden nickels that we can never spend. So if I had a nickel for every promise made, I just might be a rich man.
All of a sudden...
I'm really tired,
I want to go to sleep
but thoughts of you
    haunt me
they keep me awake.
Next page