emnabee 8m
Let us not see.

I wish not to see
what is right in front of me.

Words telling my head
things I don’t want, to be.

Someone is hurt.
Always, it seems.

If I will it away,
will it cease?
Every day.
a home
here with
coals 'bout
tarter there's
aflame that
mustn't rake
this world
again if
hypnotics lest
than ions
seed hygiene
while it's
really artificial
and much
pervasive in
matters of
the stars
A seed of hope
I am in love with your reflection,
the one you refuse to see,
I am yearning to hear your song,
the one your voice deny singing.
My well-known stranger,
my learned unbeknown;
dying to accept - living in denial.
A dream
which is fated to remain
a fantasy.
Opened eyes that see so little
Cataracts of cynicism cloud your life
You preach about how you see reality
Yet you fall prey to your own illusion

Denied of a life of warmth and light
You bear the burden of your own grudge
Struggling with the pain
Baring your fangs to all who come near you

Pride that's shallow
It leads the way to solitude
Are your broken beliefs worth this much?
Has your anger tainted you beyond repair?

Strength that is a fraud
You stand tall with those blind eyes ablazed
That power of yours is nothing more than a lie to hide your pain
People tend to hide from reality and live a lie just to not hurt.
zeebee 6d
you have no idea.
it's funny to me
how you have no idea.

i've spent exactly five hundred and ninety-nine days
denying any semblance of romantic notions.
i've spent exactly one year, seven months, three weeks, and a day
with a fragment of my soul
in love with you.

five hundred and ninety-nine days ago,
i had no idea.
(much like how you have no idea, even now)
i didn't even think
i just knew-
i wanted to know you.
i wanted to be your friend.
i wanted to be near you.
a crush never occurred to me!
but that fragment of my soul;
something tells me it knew this whole time.
it knew and it wanted to reach out to you.
so i've followed you
i've sought you out from crowds
(not really knowing that i was searching
for you, specifically)
this whole time.

maybe i should clarify but
when i speak of denial
i speak of mine.
i spent these eighty-one weeks and a day
telling myself i only wanted to be your friend.
there was simply no way, in my mind
that i wanted to hold you
kiss you
love you.

i still don't want to kiss you.
not right now.
but i would love to lean into your side,
and curl an arm around your waist
and hide my face in your neck.
solfang 7d
you're slowly erased
from my mind;
that the pain of
the past is not
resurfacing anymore

but maybe—
I overwrote it
with denial,
that I forgot how

love, anger and heartbreak

once looked like on the
blank canvas,
of my healing heart.

would new colours,
be drawn across
anytime soon?
recently I don't feel pain anymore, but could it be because there are new feelings? hmm...?
emnabee Apr 16
Why did I lie to myself?
Why did I deny?

As if there were two parts of me.

One to hide my hurt.
So the other can’t see.
Tried to trick myself, but it didn’t work.
i have to paint
this grey garden
with a rainbow of blossoms,
she said, holding the
forever-unplanted seeds
in her bloody hands 
from last night's rage;
green eyes staring at
Mary Sue's garden of
thousand kaleidoscopes,

until the day where
a sage came for one
nice cup of tea, 
only to witness 
her pathetic,
inane weeps,
the aftermath of
seemingly endless
stories of loathing 
and other poisons.

the sage stabbed
and scarred her
delicate hand softly
with feather-covered
needle, she wept 
aloud a cry of 
polychromatic agony.

the storms finally 
calmed, as she voiced
out her dubiety of
her own metamorphosis,
the last question of
the day,

the question she
asked herself 
in her chrysalis
days after.

a story of my own, how i'm impatient to change the flaws i have after someone told me that, and how it stressed me out.
emnabee Mar 13
Facing demons that are not real,
I send words into the wind.
Emotional arrival, after long denial.
It is not wrong to mend.

Writing is a cure, that’s all.
(I don’t mean to offend.)
The demon isn’t real,
I know.

And you are not him.
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