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Sabila Siddiqui Jul 2019
I sat there like a museum of moments,
a mosaic of emotions
as she dissected my personas
and did an autopsy of my past.

Memories climbed my spine
from the forgotten attics in my heart
with every question, she asked.

But my tongue was a drought
and my voice box was a rust box,
as the child in me
was bullied into quietude.

My edgy, messy and raw memories
molded my perception,
rewrote my interpretation
and deepened my experience.

There was underlying vengeance
as the layers of fabricated scabs were scrapped
to disclose the deeply entrenched, tender emotional scars.

As the present, struck a cord
my limbs would turn into cement
as the echo would bring me back
to the endless street of time
and I would be dragged
through open wounds within me.

The pain would seep in the nooks
and crannies of my soul.
At every jibe and remark
one more part of my flesh
would be chiseled away.

The sky would join in my sorrow
as the clouds gathered like sheep
summoned by a shepherd
and then we would begin to weep
our unresolved issues
onto tissues.

I revisited the bathrooms
that became sanctuary in high school
with its gossip soaked walls
and tear-stained countertops.

I dream of the people
that have lost their way in my memory;
a fabrication of nostalgia.
But the tranquility of waves,
can’t even erase the memories of their wrongdoings.

My past engraved itself
into my muscle memory
ingrained its teachings
and matured my sensibility.

The dim shadows that would creep
And the blues that I would pour
are becoming budding flowers in my chest.

Weaving from the same web
I was entangled in
building from the same sorrows
I was drowning in.

I began connecting,
understanding its stem
stitching my memories.

I write for my younger self
who felt silenced and erased by the world.

I shape all the tainted pieces of memories
into art and paint shades of my past
as each is soaked in a memory.

I craft subconscious relief,
breathing memories
into 6 alphabets
that were strung into paragraphs,
beginnings and end.

I reached out to corners
to bring out
sunrises and sunsets
and reignite dying embers
as I de-spell the damage that silently reverterbrates through generation.

I find home in my skin
and love myself, whole;
Shadows, crevice and all.
San-Pei Lee Jul 2019
a raging hollow in the chest
breathing air
still no combustion
darling just a spark
then perhaps
the heart's embers
crackle and burn
into fires in the sky
wishes in the night
Mehek Jun 2019
I'm a stormy landslide
And you're an earthquake
A disheveling tide
Tide that caresses me
While I subside
Subside to heathens
The heathens whose embers forever collide
Collide in the arms of your feigned stride.
.
.
.
Mehek
To no one in particular.
c Apr 2019
Tonight I burn with a reckless abandon
Both ends in embers
I am choking on my smoke
I’m sorry I’m blunt
I’m sorry I’m numb
I’m sorry I run away
From everything trying to help me
I cannot share my sadness with you.
George Krokos Mar 2019
I am prospecting for love in the chamber of the heart
and if love is to be found there I'll have done my part.
How deep will I have to go depends on that ground
in which buried is a love so many say is to be found.

How can I be sure when it's so dark and cold in there
without any light or warmth to see or feel seems bare.
I'll have to strike at any dying embers of love for You
that I carry with me always which once felt to be true.

Time and neglect should've extinguished them by now
but it seems they're still smouldering inside somehow.
With the fuel of desire awakened thinking of You again
those flames of love may rise and glow once more then.

The gold nugget of Your love is to be found in the heart
one has to look deeply in there and make a sincere start.
There's no real way of telling just how far one has to go
'till the light and warmth of Your love is experienced so.

Sensations rise up within along the spine to one's crown
where a light appears to the inner gaze fixed in that town
of the space between the two eyes in one's mind where
darkness is usually seen but now gets dispersed in there.
_______
Written early in 2018. A mystical and spiritual expression of a journey in a poem.
Andrew Feb 2019
I guess I'm weaker than I thought
I see that now when I think of the ember of your lips

Cinder by cinder you were all brunt up

When I held you closer you turned to ashes in my arms

And I tired to forget you and
I tried to replace you
But I guess I'm weaker than I thought

Oh when our fires were bright
We danced to the nights
But once dulled to ashes

You ran with the winds
As I try to keep you aflame

Little did I know your wick had burnt out

And now my embers are weak like yours so now it's dark.
Danielle Oct 2018
The embers still spark.
I’d mute them with tears,
But oddly everything has dried up.
Everything is either hot,
Or harsh cold.
At this crossroads
I can’t take the middle path
And so I stand frostbitten and burning bright.
Can't take the path I want so I'm standing around probably like an idiot, but right now that's okay, for now.
Eric Babsy Oct 2018
Snow like embers to the skin.
Been searching without and within.
Fragile as a flower start cringe.
Blinded by storm wicked dreams begin..

Then the cardinal lit the flame.
With her voice a glorious aim.
Only one of it’s kind.
Only looking forward and behind.

See this is also true of passion and love.
The kind of heaven that is sent from above.
Only way they can have love.
Is to receive what they lost, freedom of a dove.

Only one can have the gift.
They say with a grunt, a ***** gist.
They return every season.
Only for mating, a certain kind of reason.

They guide my way.
Through the storm a certain way.
Only to be left behind again.
This is the kind of love I send.
MicMag Sep 2018
so effing hot today

my skin melting
fat crackling
muscles sizzling
flesh evaporating
bones cracking
skeleton crumbling
burning down
to glowing embers

even my ashes echoing
lamenting the heat
Did someone turn on a giant oven outside?
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