i kiss my salty tears off my fingertips
and tell myself "ur strong" "ur beautiful" "i luv u"
U never did what i needed so i decided its time someone did it.
y not that someone be me?
It's has a bitter taste,
Others said, a sweetest than sweet honey, Like they said. it's kind a sugary but nectary, someone said. I found in me, Salty When I am kicked away
footprints traced in sandy waters sunflower fields bloomed in thorns thunderstorms swept in salty air Her spirit twinkled of northern lights flirting with a million acres of honeydew blossoms She was the magic that he adored
Salt lines stains tired cheeks
Passed by overused dimples Like flowing steady creeks Taking turns in their descent Rushing very simply
A t a l l clear glass of water. Crystal clear, smooth and cool, it's standing there, waiting for you. You take a sip, waiting for the moment... You wince. What happened? Where is the cool, crispy, smooth sensation? Who knew that such an attractive, cool, and clear glass of water could be so nasty? From the outside, it had looked so good, so ready. But it was unknown that the water was full of salt. Similar to water, we humans are too. We can look kind and sweet, but be rude untrue.
Inspired when I unknowingly drank a glass of salty water.
So much to take to vibrate in higher states
To liberate what you must pay. I try to make myself see, I find emptiness in an invisible sea. Held, blind, my eyes are not mine, But the truth is clear , But my lips are sealed, Anyway there is no one to hear. While i am connected i am leaving symbols maybe someone will read for me my roles. Words Of Harfouchism
This illness in my mind is terminal.
There is nothing that can cure it. It speaks oh so nonsensical. It’s to be honest, quite hysterical. Well. I shot myself in the end Whilst lamenting in my bathtub. The hysteria was just too much For my shattered heart to handle. The judge declared her the winner. I whimpered in defeat. I didn’t even place. Maybe I’m just not that unique Or damaged enough for poetry. The metallic taste of blood As I drown in senseless grief Tells me I’m not good enough. To get back on my feet. Her flared trousers tell me. She has a great sense of style! My black eyeliner. It tells others I’m a coward. A lamb ready for slaughter. No Baphomet or Muhammad Just a lost girl. Locked in a vault of failure. Being served defeat. Getting grimaces from the waiter. It’s th-the illness. It’s forming cracks in my bonce. It’s preventing me from winning. From ever being at the top. Y’know what? She may always win. With her pale moon skin. Her suction cup stomach. Her body so thin. But me? Just another **** failure, aren't I? Laying dead in a bathtub.
poem I wrote (with a couple edits) for a 24hr poetry contest. I was feeling a tad salty about this one chick.