Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jasmine Reid Jan 24
No one writes poetry about happy days and sunshine days,
they write about when their minds were trapped in caves, those days that are now broken memories and hearts
I Live.
the time when you are just seven
the time when just know odd and even
the time when you don't breakeven
missing that year seven
where we are not mistaken
where we are not longing for affection
where issues are not getting worsen
can we begin again
Daniel Dec 2021
He was alone in a deep puddle of his own tears, saltwater burning his cheek and pelicans circling. He is aware of his state, feverish agony, but something prevents him from standing and walking away. "if I remain here, my tears will swallow me whole. My skin will shrivel and rot. But no matter how hard I try, I simply cannot leave this place, or this very own static position"

He's waiting for a hand to pull him out of his misery, for that one well-known hand left him long ago. He's waiting for someone to sympathize with his pain once again, but time goes by, and the pelicans are soon to become vultures. Instead of circling, they will eat them up raw.
Daniel Nov 2021
“you look just like your father”
Such revolting words to hear at a young age.
“my father is old”, I´d say, and I don´t want to look like him.

Something about the eyes I suppose. Small teary eyes, reminiscent of youth, that disappear when he smiles truthfully.
I didn't like looking like my father
My mother is much prettier, her glamorous touch and understanding voice, a radiance that lives on with her presence.
Dad is not delicate.
Strong rough hands,
Knows nothing of true beauty
Dominant tones in his speech.
It's a bittersweet feeling
Looking like someone you don't fully recognize;
We look precisely alike
Yet I do not wish to be him, in a way.

I don't think I've ever seen him cry.
His emotions are concealed deep within
For vulnerability is his weakness
Because his father taught him so.

But then again, I've seen him laugh,
And I believe that shows more range,
Like he is almost letting go
Are you letting go, dad?
I'd like it if you did.

For the moments you show me things are cherished like the most important treasure
When you say hopeful words about the weather, or kiss me on the cheek
Like you always used to do.
I feel small, dad
Smaller than I've ever felt
And to me, you are so grand
A giant even.
You know all the answers, no doubt about it,
I just need you to tell them softly. Softest.
You tend to speak so harshly
Are you still to comprehend
That we are not the same?

I need your beauty, dad.
I need you when you laugh,
When you sing,
When you hold me close to your chest like a child and run your fingers through my hair,
Saying whatever you need to say,
Adam's apple vibrating,
and hesitate to let go.

I look just like you, indeed
Therefore I'm afraid
you don't see me.
Sombro Oct 2021
The bright moments of the past do not die
They do not lie idly in the earth, buried beneath unpassable tombs
Their beauty does not fester or languish
Their times come again

They are reborn, are the bright things that come
Those jewels dug up by autonomous spades
They do not die, they are reborn
Our excitement like an old friend reunited

Do not mourn the past, it did not fall
Left to rot, mummified in worms
As a child when we picked it up, as an adult when we carry it
Those moments live on with us

Again
I was walking about old haunts and thinking of all the memories made within them. I felt really melancholy that those moments had gone and would never come again. Then I realised that those moments are not gone, not dead, but rather are carried within us. I passed a dark hole in the woods I had found as a kid and had felt sure that it was full of fairies and gnomes. I realised that I still feel that now every time I discover holes in the woods that seem dark and mysterious, and feel that same excitement from my youth. What we picked up as children, we carry as adults, the past does not die, but lives with us.
Sombro Oct 2021
Boa
I felt her on my belly
A well fed boa
Squatting for the day

She writhed as my heart beat
Drawing tighter to my
Pinched breaths

I saw wild eyes, glancing, prancing
Sprites, friends of the serpent,
Laughed, for I had fallen mute

To the forest floor, and lay poisoned
Shrinking before a gleeful crowd
In love with an animal.
Sombro Oct 2021
Embarrassment
The first x on paper
The first glint of gold
The first step to success
Embarrassment
Next page