Afiqah 9h

she has always had
the sullen dusky clouds
sitting alongside her
even when you came,
they lightly stood there, delicately
until they slowly learn and
start to sift a little,
swinging on by hidden treetops
wading through
the low rumblings of your thunder
that could probably settle in with hers
but they didn’t linger too far,
since they knew,
this body could never hold onto
such mirthful delirium for long
seeing how
she could lavish upon
one’s love in heavy storms
and forget her soul’s grains turning soggy

-a.

The 'I' ~ 'we' ~ 'two' ~ 'three' - that can be told,
is not the 'Me,' ~ 'Us,' ~ 'dichotomy'
of threefold myth-informed souls
living the  9 + 2 = 5
tragedy.

mjad 1d

It can be so hard to make your way through
The crowd of hatred
Of people going against you

It can be hard to disregard
The negative shouts and voices
That tell you you're going the wrong way

It can be hard to believe in yourself
And to simply breathe and understand
That your own voice

Which tries so hard to be heard
May tremble and shake
And that is okay

As long as you believe the words
That are being shaken out
Even though it can be hard

Afiqah 1d

I think that's probably
where I found the devil's arms
quite heavenly
right after I decide to settle
and fold my soul in him
on nights
I've spent howling at the truth
from that damned skeptical scene
which then
starts to sit a little
too palatially

-a.

I picked out a funeral song back when I was still alive.

Of course I did all the preparations when I was alive. I still sang the song of my life long before I ended up here.

I still want a good song to "play me out".
So I picked "Save Rock And Roll" by Fall Out Boy to usher me into Elton John styled heaven white tuxedos and all.

But death is so simple. It happens and nobody can stop it. I don't need to plan my funeral when I know you can do it for me.

I would joke about writing your eulogy, like we expected you to go first. And we didn't back then. Back when I was still alive.

So now that I'm... here.
Pick the song for me.
I think you know which one would put me to rest.

Shout the eulogy at everyone, tell them how this wasn't supposed to happen, but it does. My family will be as sad as I was thinking about when they would end up here. But now they just watch.

And I guess I that's all I can do now.

When asked to write about my funeral, this is what I came up with.
Kesha 2d

your peace
ful
lips.

full of wander
lust.

it is I
you are
seek
ing.

it is I
you are
lov
ing.

the stars
kiss
ing

your
eye
lids.

the moon
mass
aging


every cre
vice.

drink

swa

llow.

hollow
words

empty
whis
pers.

sha­
king
hands.

cuddle
me

love
me

carr
ess

me

Experimenting with the breaking of words, tell me your thoughts. The style was inspired by a dear friend and encouraged by another. Thank you.

Maybe I’ve been holding the words in too long
Because now they are too afraid to come alone

I’m lost,
trying to swim
in a dry sea,
trying to force
myself to
draw breath
in an atmosphere
w i t h o u t    o x y g e n.
I reach,
but I can’t find
anything.
I’m an empty w
                         e
                          l
                          l,
and I don’t know
how to refill
myself.
However hard
I try,
however desperately
I grasp,
there’s nothing
to hold on to.

Star BG 3d

I play in a pool of words,
drifting with waves that keep me buoyant.
Ripples of wind open heart moving body poised to write,

Backstroke, becomes a phase worthy to scribe.
Butterfly, lets me move across untamed page.
Crawl, lets me ponder and write creatively and clearly.

With breath, I choose to glide through waves of thoughts.

Breast stroke, makes me in touch with heart rhythms.
Side stroke, lets me cut through painful memories.
Free style, allows me to advent a poem uniquely and elegantly to fill page.

With breath, I float gracefully through waves of thoughts.

Trudgen, stoke thrusts self across fields of bubble infused jargon.

Dog Paddle, brings life to my pen strokes as I flutter with dancing words.

Diving, I do deep into emotions to orchestrate a poem like that of a peal exquisite.

With breath, all waves carry my poetic human vessel to my island.
The place where pen and paper are at hand.

Carry the past as an experience
Live the present as an experienced

Next page