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jewel Mar 11
those shadows under your weary eyes
that change with every passing night;
line them like dreary curtains, hiding your many plights.
your head still plays that one tune;
and your shadows are like the dark side of the moon.

never the same, as if it were night in a field of rye --
accompanied by the pearly lights of the midnight sky.
the inky blackness of your conscious hemorrhage,
drenched in freezing waters, against the depths of your memory begin to effleurage.

which at once creates a hazy fog in your great ocean,
too still and opaque to make a single motion;
and those dark, glimmering eyes open with the golden sunrise;
warm and blooming, syrupy and glaze

swirling with auburn and chocolate haze.
i can never forget, and i will never regret.
you speak, you ramble; you and your cares;
and you breathe, breathing a mist into the cold air.

you wake, from your slumber in that freezing past,
stuck behind that window pane of shattered glass.
i love both of you; you and your other half --
the reason i break out in a severe laugh.
the dark side of your moon --

the sliver of light that breaking through.
your heavy-lidded awkwardness, a
shy smile, as you grip your coffee -
this winter chill in your bones, your meek and quiet authority.

the rose blooms in your face, when you quicken your pace.
the other is teeming with vigor. he is filled with a profound rigor;
eventually he will intrude,

forced to pay for his life through servitude.
he wakes in the dead of night to do what he believes is right;
he wraps himself in white armor, becoming the knight.
with crimson on his hands and
plum bruises on his knuckles, he retreats,

and so the hectic process repeats.
his trauma heals and dawn arrives,
and the other wakes up, believing the muddled disguise.
you lose track of your sleep, the days, the time;
your pain, the month, your mind.

your insomnia grows at your windowpane,
like a flowering *** of healthy nightshade.
and your crinkled, dusty flat,
along with your wrinkled kitchen mat;
is perfect for a lazy evening chat.

and though you may undergo many changes,
i will still love you and your many phases.
copyrighted, poemsbyjewel (2025).
Vi Jun 2024
They call me
A...
Mummy
Partner
& Love

They call me
Friend
Lover
Playmate

They call me
Sister
Daughter
& Auntie Iva

They call me
Mother Dearest
When they're feeling
Cultured
& Refined

Or Mummylumps
When feeling
Content
Shiny
Or snugly

They call me
Hey you
Miss
& Ma'am
When I'm just another body
In line
In traffic
In their way

They call me
Vivi
Vi
Or by my full name
When they know my mom and dad

They call me
Student
Client
Patient
Or User
When they want my money

They call me
With tears, sometimes
Or with ire
With confusion
Joy
Or small triumphs
When I have the privilege
Of being their person


They call me names
These are their names
They are not mine
Written on silent solo retreat spring 2024
Rory Mels Tims Feb 2019
Lewis Carroll,
The numbers were driving him insane.

George Orwell,
His family didn't know yet.

Mark Twain,
A childhood on the rivers.

A pseudonym is a weapon like no other.
moon-kissedstar May 2015
"Do you ever wonder where these voices came from?"

I closed my eyes and for a moment, I thought I was talking to someone else…

“Yes, I am them. They were the identities formed within my insecurities. A life I wished that I was once in; the shoes of someone I wanted to be… And to that, I have made you exist, but not living…"
Ysa Pa May 2015
There is an object lying on my desk
Something so simple yet so picturesque
Whose value tends to be forgotten
With a purpose wasted over and over again

With the help of tools, it's radiance flows
With a bit of aid, it will surely glow
Often, the results are better than we know
But if left untouched, it would be hollow

An empty space, a blank canvas
Utilized properly, it would surely surpass
All the expectations and the doubts
Grab it now  and let your identity sprout

May it be an artwork or literary
A musical score or a piece of origami
A sheet of paper, no matter how small
Can make a difference for us all

Something so thin and so plain
Offers numerous experiences we can attain
Take advantage of the entire blank space
Let us put our imaginations in replace
I randomly wrote this while staring at a blank bond paper on my desk ^-^

I was supposed to make a report for some school subject but I ended up realizing the importance of paper and how it's somewhat related to individuals searching for identities...
They were children tasting sugar
For the first time
Without all the artificial layers
The raw sweetness
Making them gasp and shiver
Anticipating for more
Turning them into wild animals
Ravaging its meal
Showing their true identities
Buried in these colors

— The End —