I am seeing the colours
Mixing and blending
All lines blurred
I can't see you
Red, orange and blue.
Most days, I want to get away.
Most day I do not know what to say.
Still, I try.
Sometimes I even
do too much.
The line is always blurred to me.
Maybe that is why I am always
I respect people's boundaries.
The biggest problem;
I do not respect my own.
There are some pieces of me
I will never get back.
They say you live and you learn.
I would like to say that the lessons are
And as that big hand keeps on
I realize that there is,
so much time.
It gets better.
A**** real and reality
I follow the blurred real pictures
Which spiral away from divinity.
he carried the ocean in his eyes
it had never been flooded
till that one day
it spilled, flooding his mind
drowning his views
making him lost
until he would one day find,
the eye of the storm
maybe i am here.
would you see me?
the door is open--
you can walk on out.
see all the teenagers
i don't think it's your scene
over here with me.
maybe i am there.
could you hear me?
the capitals are low--
turning sentences inside out.
see all the thoughts
the vision is blurred
over here with me.
maybe i am no longer.
could you sense me?
that's not what this poem is about.
see my blank stare
midnight all around.
the time is all gone
over here with me.
The ones with blurred faces
Knocked down my door last night
And tugged at my limbs with such desperation
- A rigorous exercise.
Their hands, rattling in a sharp neon glow
Stole away many things as they held me down
And shone the bright lights into my eyes,
Turning my pupils into hollowed colour:
During the break-in.
All I see are faces I could not recognize. The strangers we face today are the people that break our hearts in the morrow.
i like it when my vision fills with color
kaleidoscoping into hybrid hues
or when skinny fine lines
grow into weathered wrinkles
i like it when borders border on nonexistent
and everything blends together
i like it when lines grow bold
the strokes of a paintbrush gaining confidence
with every motion
i like it when lines are crossed
over and over
into a tangle of yarn
a ball of wibbly wobbly timey wimey stuff
i like it when lines are blurred
and reality breaks down
letting my imagination roam wildly
i like it when things don't make sense
because i always know
that i can find that line
that leads me back home
just a poem about lines, guys.
I would like to say
If I’m not
Am I getting caught
This is my blind spot
Seeing blurred lines
Hoping for God signs
Just imagine if I disappeared,
Would your memory of me be blurred?
Rusting away in your mind,
Leaving me behind.
A face you had known, a name you had heard.
What does one do when the lines of the meaning of love are blurred for a girl at the age of fourteen?
When a girl is pinned down to a bed even though she said
But let it happen because she thought that was how relationships were supposed to be.
Maybe he didn’t listen because I’m wrong
This is meant to happen
I’m his girlfriend.
I should be okay with him groping me.
Stop being so uncomfortable.
Stop squirming underneath his grasp.
Stop trying to pry his fingers off of your breast as he laughs at your struggle.
He’s your boyfriend.
He loves you.
This is okay.
It must be okay
Because the pattern continued.
It must just be love when your boyfriend tries to touch you in untouched places while you’re trying to sleep
At the age of fifteen.
I’d never been touched there before
I’d never even touched myself there before.
And I had never felt any more uncomfortable in my whole life
But who was I to say
It was love,
And it wasn’t assault, right?
Surely I- a young, normal girl- didn’t become a victim of ****** assault
I didn’t say no.
I was too scared to say no.
I was too scared that the words
Became lost in my mouth
And my eyes were stuck shut because they were too scared
Too see the kind of love he was giving me.
And I wanted to leave but I couldn’t
Because love is supposed to be this way.
I never had a physical experience showing otherwise.
This must be love
The lines are not blurred.
This is how it is.
For a moment I thought that maybe
I wasn’t wrong.
That this repetition of touching
That this lack of approval
My body is my body
I’m not found strung on the shelves of *** shops
Or delivered in a package with a bow on top
Spread across the table for a man’s full course meal.
I am a person
And just because I have ******* and curves and a vulnerable physique does not mean I am up for grabs--
He told me he loved me
But if that was love that was no love of mine
And I told him
I exposed him
I may have been in tears but I told him I knew everything that he had been doing to me and I called out his love
Did not apologize.
He did not explain himself to me.
He just told me that
It was okay.
I was okay.
Because that’s right.
I am nothing
I am nothing
How silly of me to think otherwise
How silly of me that I almost forgot that I am nothing more
Than an object for you to touch how you please.
Who needs sleep
When the man can’t wait
For you to wake up
For you to yell
Because who am I to say no?