A new page has turned.
Your eyes are blinded by the bright shine of the clear page.
You’re not scared because you don’t know what your expecting.
You are scared because you’re leveling up.
With each level you move up in life, the more you develop yourself in your new skin.
Eventually, the right time will come.
You’ll look back at how much of the page you’ve covered.
Stories of happiness, hardships, lessons and much more.
When you look forward, you’ll keep putting your best foot forward.
People told me
I should write a poetry,
A happy one,
When I am feeling blue
I have been writing
For so very long,
And I'm still crying,
Tell me what MUST I do?
On these quiet days?
When moon shines down?
When souls all embrace?
The rain will wash away
All these words,
Provoked ire from these pains,
That my heart can't take
Set me free..
- Ella Salvador
(c) September 2019
She took a step back in life, but I guess
you can tell from the weariness she wear
and from the strain lines her brow bear
which her eyes tried to hide: without success
for the shadow beneath them- a gift from sleepless
night and restless thought that always appear
tireless and make her heart sag with despair;
and all this brought upon by a single mess:
from which she has now learn that loyalty
comes an awful second behind self interest and
a bird in hand is worth more than twenty
on a tree.She has taken a step back in life and
had she trust men she would've been in a pretty
hot soup instead of looking forward to a step forward.
A B Faniki © 5/09/2019 all right serve A sonnet about problem in life -taking a step back in life is not ones end of life.
Crossing paths with him
was fate; a piece of
the puzzle in my life
that I had yet to find
Only I had not a clue
of what was incomplete
before that whimsical
day when his
eyes looked right
A familiar feeling rose
to light from which my
soul overflowed with
of love to share...
I live and breathe no regrets,
Even for the actions for where I hesitate.
Even for the moments a conclusion seems so distant.
I accept no regrets as my actions and my thoughts define me,
For I can only learn by my wrong doings,
For I am only strong by moving past my mistakes.
I accept no regrets as my choices birthed my morality.
And in turn arose my consciousness and with them my identity.
For I am the embodiment of regret,
Not in the sense it consumes me,
On the contrary that I consume regret,
That I can only develop through this sickening sixth sense and awaken in a new light, battered yet learnt.
As damage envisions my strength.
When a choice cannot be made
And the best option is to avoid and ignore
The world conspires for the path to be laid
So that an imposition births from what is no more
Signs at the crossroads with time fade
So the guidance once there becomes a matter of interpretation
Foundations of any sound structure are bound to degrade
Leaving past conviction to become
a shadow of its confusion
To the undecided...a choice is a chance
A leap of faith, a say in the path to be travelled
Options bounce around, executing fear’s dance
But life’s Russian roulette is the courage of the reckless compelled
September was a
My tongue, swollen
And aching to
Spill these words
On why it hurts to talk.
My lips, fat and
Speckled in ruby,
September is a jagged
Blade, rusted by
"Why did you go?"
September tasted like
Smelled like morning breath.
It sounded like
Grinding teeth and
I couldn’t move for days.
September felt like
Until I saw the color,
And it was like
My eyes were brand new.
Another who could see
Them in his own way
Lifted some of the
He’s a reminder to exhale,
To appreciate the loss
Of the ones we love;
The poster child of
This type of pain.
So I breathe,
And September is here
But now September
Tastes like sweet *** and
L&M, the gemstones
Kissed from my lips.
September smells like
Warm sheets and apples,
And it sounds just
Like your laugh.
September is a
Drunken kiss and
101 "I love you’s",
And even that isn’t
Enough to express
How much it all means.
September feels like
As it should have felt.
The pain rots and sheds,
as it smoulders her bones
and burns her skin third degree.
Loss and jealousy enwrap
her scorched heart into ashes,
while lava flows off her tongue
as it promises vengeance.
She becomes a vortex of emotions
engulfing her own life,
dwelling in the
merry go round thoughts.
Until she picks up the pen
and tucks the rage and ache
within the 26 alphabets
to sentences to paragraphs.
Ashes and embers stain the paper
as they ebb, blot and flow,
crafting the cathartic relief
until the paper stains darker
than the shades of her mind.
The blues that would pour,
become the budding flowers
in her chest.
cobblestones into steppingstones,
amplifying her narrative.
She tosses the losses
and crosses beyond the horizon.
A candle flame burns deep
inside her solar plexus
as she transmogrifies the shards into a mosaic;
the strings of the web she was entangled in
weaved into embroidery to embellish her soul.
The cries and lies,
made her wise
as she built from the same sorrows
she was drowning in.
She put her ache on cadence
and turned up a brain wavelength.
She finally found her salvation
a dive deep and wide into
the depth of introspection
pulling from the cronies and nooks
the parts built and undiscovered.
She armed herself with
empathy fueled passion
as she has burnt, learnt
and learn to yearn the better
while she steers forward
with a transfigured mindset.
For the people who came,
now leave as poems.