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suddenly all of the pens i own
are either gone,
or left alone
no amount of penniless pettiness
came from my mouth,
no mutters,
nor silence left
to give,
forgive the narratives,
which lingers
the tip
of thy fingers,
that holds restless
to scab and release
what remains
in scars
the pus which ferments
on hatred and
the scent
burning cocoa beans and smoke
that knocks on my eyes
a blurry vision
rose-tainted glasses,
the taste
of bitterness
in farewell.
here i lie, between the frustrations of every transition in life.

Floral pattern grazing wood floors,
Into my tea sunshine pours.

Birds chirp and sing,
carnations sway and swing.

To my unfortunate delight,
this is how I write,
early morning prose.
Meera 2d
Some poets write with pen
And others with pain
Just a random thought...
There's something I'm itching to write
but I bite my lips and grip the pencil tight.

Nothing comes to mind.

I write this sentence but it doesn't sound quite right, it doesn't quite capture the essence of tonight.

I stare at the wall, then back at the paper where no words land. My thoughts make my hair stand and I want people to understand.

But my hand doesn't move.

So I sit back and write about not knowing what to write.
Here we go again. Hahah.
Snowflakes scraped underneath fingernail tips
When the charcoal was pressed harder.
As often as the cheetah runs with the crocodiles by the nile
They do not look for each other.

As often as the bees sing
Only once could they muster poison and sting
With a clockwork, shelter and carpentry of honey.
The fruitness of a living body.

The sound that gets lost in the woods
Gets lost and carried
Flying through the whispers between the branches and twigs.
All the creatures are all but lost
Yet the striking fur
Hunters into firing hot shells across
and the falcon fell.

A shouting cull
The silence that meant that wildly blooms have been collected.
A bouquet was calling the passing hours
Wrapped in the scraped white spirit of the wooden towers.
© Teri Darlene Basallote Yeo
I feel like I’m missing a part of me
My stomach gets nauseous and queezy

When thinking of you dating other guys
Seeing you’re on bumble was a surprise

From what you’ve said I thought in time we might work at this
I didn’t want to say anything but I would have been remiss

I’m working on my communication and overthinking
Sometimes I just need to talk to you and get a little convincing

But I really find it hard to get through each day
When there’s so many things I want to say

But I’m scared to do any more damage
Making something neither of us can manage

I hope what you’ve said is true
And you not interested in finding someone new

I haven’t even been thinking about dating
For you I’m just patiently waiting

Because I think no matter how much I hurt you’re worth the pain
Just to hopefully be able to hold you again

Take the time you need and do what you think is best
Hopefully you’ll realize that I may not pass every test
But I’ll always care for you and try harder than the rest

So go do you and I’ll just be here
Writing about you and my thoughts like a shity shakespear
Heera 4d
I am not able to write anymore
There is this pain
Still sounding fresh
Pounding against my chest
Heartbeats feeling like sinners drum
But there is nothing i can do
I want to write it all
But it's not happening
Probably because i'm hoping
The pain would turn into something beautiful
Probably love
Will show up on my doorway
Whilst i'm pretending to be busy with other stuff
Healing and hurting are so confusing
Sometimes you are undergoing both
Well i said it would be last on love
And this one isnt for love/anyone
This one is just the truth that i'm not able to write anymore
A body made from the undying devotion was to be forgotten
Built by the memory of devotion's husband.

A swaying heritage
Under the surface
On a sleepy cloud made of forceful courage.
Her voice
The forest hovering
and all of life
From her glass lips of
The worldly wife.

Her weightless gold of skin
My saviour is a Queen.
Precious beyond anything,
Hey! her love is in everything.
© Teri Darlene Basallote Yeo
Em 4d
When you write
Do you think of what to say?
Do you aim to see a certain way?
Are you careful with your words?
Slipping in a secret password?

Do you even care to rhyme?
Or are you frugal with your time?
Do you want to send a message?
Or perhaps a foreboding presage?

At the end of the day
A poem is a poem
Even one as simple as this
Even if it falls flat.

Like this.
i sure as hell d on t uwu
u bet i looked up rhymes for some of these
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