#descriptions
Do your eyes still traverse the corridors of memory, like a VCR
rewinding its cherished tapes? Capturing your reflection in the
mirror—still _radiant, unadorned, and unapologetic._ I still find
myself consumed by jealousy for that bathroom mirror,
privileged to witness you from every corner of your room.
Consumed by the sinister allure of your skin’s shadowy depths,
a brilliance emerges that rivals the most exquisite treasure.
My dear, you continue to weave a tapestry of uncertainty around
me—thoughts hovering like spectres above, even as you attempt
to mask the passage of time with a new hue in your hair.
Yet, your capricious emotions betray you, revealing strands of silver
that ravenously consume my heart, and each sigh a testament to
your power. You ought not to linger in the recesses of my mind,
yet these last seven days have only intensified my fascination,
leaving me utterly weak.
I cast my laments to the skies, my spirit weeping profusely – the
cascade of your lip’s whisper, the tempestuous tides of your form,
the fortress of towering trees echoing the curve of your legs – how
can I possibly avert my gaze from your enchanting eyes? You have
transformed my heart into a crime scene, slaying me piece by piece,
all for the sake of uniting with you.
Dec 8, 2024
Dec 8, 2024 at 5:32 AM UTC
I’ve got:
Horns for thoughts; and feelings that are for the vague
Glass for eyes, their tears are just old memories of dreams
A nose exhaust, blowing hot smoke to cool off the engine
A beard of grass; hoping the waters of time helps it grow
I’ve got:
A void for a smile; a darkness that quietly hides away in the pit
Quiet lips made out of violin strings; a humble refrain to play
A mighty sword for words, with a bold voice so cutthroat
And each breath is ****** being an inch of one’s lost vanity
I’ve got:
Wrists like a heavy grey cloud; a sleeve that can easily bleed
Fingers made of needles; an unfortunate hold pinned to the present
Denim for skin; the dyed hues of generations stuck in my genes
Moss for a heart; a love only by the surface- no seeds to grow
I’ve got:
Bones made out of dust; can’t clean the stain of sin by myself
Ginger in my soul; aromatic- filled with a vigour of liveliness
But this body is so meagre; so eager to find new means to grow
But I don’t own a piece of it, at all- I’ve borrowed it for a time,
An agreement with life; as sleep is the middleman and death
Is the Great debt collector…
Jul 29, 2024
Jul 29, 2024 at 11:49 AM UTC
_Blossoming cheeks;_
_sweet flower kisses,_
_and butterfly hints,_
_of wings flaring careless words on lips._
_The space of heaven;_
_between those two stars,_
_of both day and night,_
_And with devilish thick_
_structured thighs;_
_there's a resting lust in between._
_None of which,_
_I dare open the gates as wide._
_Bare chest; full of development,_
_and a warmth to my resting head._
_Fast asleep on the pillows;_
_and silk smooth skin, as matching sheets._
_Bellowing down the centre;_
_to a circle within a circle._
_As with the precious silver of a belly ring._
_Dark as the night without stars;_
_flowing downstream; is her fine hair._
_Covering a neck of amber;_
_scented in perfumes of a spring's desire._
_And a shape biteable by first eyes;_
_as with the passions of a bodied pear._
_Towards a great sized past;_
_and truly a large behind._
_A middle line of strong metal,_
_as love's swordlike spine._
_Tanned leather,_
_running young of two calves._
_And the heels that strut the purest intentions;_
_of the feet of doves._
_Perfect is a stranger;_
_but still a stranger on their own._
_Never to have met,_
_perhaps of my descriptions,_
_the individual would show._
Jan 26, 2022
Jan 26, 2022 at 12:06 PM UTC
She told me that if she was anything
She was a desperate attempt
Of a human life form
She told me that she never felt sanity
Never felt normal
But she told me that her desperation
Was just because she wanted to fit in
It wasn't her fault
She was the daughter of the guardian
'I just want my story to be told,
Truthfully indeed,'
She said to me, as I sipped my tea
'Truthful, I can try,
But honey, story telling is based on lies,'
I smiled as I finished my brew
And walked out planning the death of you.
Apr 16, 2020
Apr 16, 2020 at 1:42 AM UTC
He has dark hair
Almost like the night
Dark enough to seem as though it was black
Even though it was blue shining bright
He is completely different in the day
Saying things he would never say
His mouth is a cruel curve
Because everything he says is absurd
His eyes a gleaming blue
To match his night-like hair
He isn't you
I wish you were here
Apr 9, 2020
Apr 9, 2020 at 2:01 AM UTC
Perpetually lost
Figuratively stuck
Exhaustingly overworked
Disgustingly underpaid
Literally confused
Effortlessly cliche
Beautifully me
Jan 17, 2019
Jan 17, 2019 at 3:17 PM UTC
Dark waves crash against a nearby rock,
as I sit and watch the salt litter every inch.
Small droplets find their way to my skin,
and soon paint patterns across my canvas.
One that has not been blank for so long --
instead,
this is not the first time.
My miles of skin crave for your touch,
but you are gone.
I cannot bring myself to forget
how your eyes used to trail my body.
We’d sit by that little waterfall and wait
for the mist to carry its way to us,
leaving us wanting more.
As we sat in our little patch of green,
we would count the stars.
The faint feeling of your finger,
finding its way to my hand --
and a face that never leaves my head.
A nose strong and slightly crooked,
like the tree branches creating a canopy
of leaves above --
hiding us from the moon’s light
and the shadows of the night.
And lips,
moulding perfectly with mine --
like two lone puzzle pieces,
finally finding their home,
amongst the jagged ones
surrounding them.
A time so perfect,
that flowed so nicely --
that I long for again someday,
like the waves in autumn,
striking this rock beside
me.
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 4:23 PM UTC
Because a thing may seem cliche won't mean it isn't right.
Warm sunbeams, drumbeat thunder, and the clash of dark and light.
Or just because it's overused, don't say it can't be true.
Old words and phrases well describe my burning love for you.
Jun 15, 2018
Jun 15, 2018 at 10:24 AM UTC
An old lion sits on the balcony writing a letter to his lover describing the moment he first saw her; he uses the moon as his lamplight as he murmurs the next line.
"I thought: you are the best drawing I've ever seen..
The most captivating painting,
Most sensual of all the sculptures."
Mar 19, 2018
Mar 19, 2018 at 5:44 PM UTC
In my mind you'd see frosted windows
Deep thoughts on chilly nights
overcast skies in midday
Mauve grey black and white
Puddles that fill potholes
and stars a mile above your crown
Forests of enchanting pine trees
Vivid cities and abandoned towns
Winter and blinding snowstorms
Mountains jagged yet soft and pink
Rivers and lakes and oceans
Lyrics that force you to think
It's soberness and possibility
A serene drive in silent streets
Independence and stability
Fallen leaves that parade the streets
Thoughts that wander as you do
Buses filled with empty seats
Open fields and morning dew
The first ray of light at as you awake
Simplicity warmth and elegance
And the rhythm of the breaths you take
The essential components are the spaces
The emptiness and silence
It is not a lack or void to fill
Simply memories with traces
The space and vacancy inside
Leaves room for inspiration
Gives new thoughts their proper places
Lost in thought
Lost in my mind
Lost in the stars dew and fields
but not blind
Lost in the analogy
But I've never lost my way
Accustomed to each reality
One foot in each doorway
Feb 4, 2016
Feb 4, 2016 at 8:28 PM UTC
It is the shape that your life forms
When you're chasing him and he's chasing you,
But you never get anywhere.
A beautiful thing that was never meant to be.
It is the ring on your finger when you
Don't listen to yourself,
When you think with your heart,
When you assume that
Tomorrow will be kinder.
It is the hole in the wall you want
Your fist to make when you argue again.
It is the tears that stream down your face instead.
It is the way you turn as you look at the stars
And beg for answers, and none ever come.
Jan 6, 2016
Jan 6, 2016 at 3:33 PM UTC
His hair was like gold silk gently whipping around in the soft breeze
like straw fields of golden harvest
like the fields of so many yesterdays,
so many years in the past,
like a history that lasts
His eyes were blue like pools of a river
black pupils like where it's too deep to see to the bottom,
warm and inviting, do things live there?
his ears so round like the mushroom coming out of the tree
was it medicine or something to eat?
his skin so smooth like silk
glittered in the sunset with golden hue
as the air moved across it like sandpaper
His inner beauty was that of a warrior, and a lover
his courage was strong like a strong man
with torso chiseled and stable frame
his bravery was like the arm of a warrior
bulging and strong and swinging forth
with lightening speed and precision seldom matched
his head was pure with innocence
as he had learned you can do no wrong
thoughts pulsate from his mind like soft white light
heart beating with excellent, soft precision
like a fairy flapping his wings,
his blood was happy
and finally, he moved
May 12, 2015
May 12, 2015 at 8:36 PM UTC
From the moment I met you
I knew you were decent
Though not really that innocent
But you were a nice guy
Though you are shy
You still have this charm
Your voice that ain't so manly
Yet for me it was heavenly
Just to hear your voice was enough for me
You may not be the brightest
But among the stars, you are
Your witty answers and logical explanations
These serve as my best inspirations
Your strategic ways
and inspiring plays
They always make my days
I'd wish upon a star
That my love for you
Wont bear a single scar
So honey my dear
I sure do hope everything is clear
Just don't make me bear a single tear
For I might grow in fear
Of your face
That served as my favorite maze
Whenever my emotions are in a haze
May 7, 2015
May 7, 2015 at 12:10 PM UTC
your face is like marble
perfectly contoured to reflect your state
an evershifting masterpiece
like sand flowing through an hourglass
time slipped away
and your hair like a beach on a crisp day
your voice like a warm stream
my limbs long to intertwine themselves with yours
like the twisting knarls of an overgrown cedar
growing into one another
and though grainy through pixelated screens
you are beauty
in unconventional ways
the words i use to describe you are mundane
and unsuited to yourself
though the english language could not have the capacity
to encapsulate your beauty in any words
and you are
beautiful i mean
i see you
and i cant believe that i am the one to give you butterflies
when tones buzz
and miniscule letters are recieved
i physically cannot contain my feelings
i do a lap
jump up and down
run anywhere
to try and come to grips with you
and how you feel about me
because the butterflies that i feel when i even think about you
fill me to the brim
and burst out in a sigh
or a squeal
some physical reminder of the way you make me feel
like a young mountain range
we are still shifting
and evolving around one another
your magnificent peaks shadow my jagged cliffs
and our plates push up against one another
creating friction
in the best of ways
but the best of days
are made even better
by simply reminding myself that you are a wireless connection away
an entity to feel emotions towards
because your beauty
will always be real to me
and if i ever forget to tell you
please read this poem
Nov 28, 2014
Nov 28, 2014 at 4:01 AM UTC
I can't say what I want to you,
because it is held up in my chest,
I want to scream and let it out,
but I fear that is not best.
They always say never show your hand,
for a modest man is admirable,
but now I must make my stand,
and put myself all in,
by telling you that I love you.
It is not just a love that you see in the flicks,
or the type that you read in the books,
my love is like a thousand bricks,
landing upon your head.................
**** the formalities. **** the artistry.
There is no art in love,
there are no metaphors,
similes,
onomatopoeias...
There is only that unheard of force which keeps me going,
the battery to my soul,
the engine to my heart.
There is only that unheard of lift when I hear your voice,
it flies me above the clouds,
letting me see what I can be.
The only art which I can see,
which involves loves beauty,
is the masterpiece that the lord made,
when he graced us with you my fair maid.
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 2:54 AM UTC
you are so very inconsiderate
you do not taste the sweetness of their
s o u l s like I do
you do not savor the ice from a man's veins,
cooling your white bone snappers
like I do
you do not study a blue green brown black red purple yellow orange
i r i s
like I do.
you do not live
with other people's hearts
deeply set
in your marred palms
like I do.
Jun 17, 2014
Jun 17, 2014 at 4:45 PM UTC
It is the color of clasped hands,
of disease spreading through the town-
clogging the throats of young children,
making mothers scream and curse their God.
it is the color of dropping eyes,
of rubber bones and leaden limbs-
struggling to raise their arms for a chance of victory,
making bodies collapse and smack the concrete.
it is the color of tight lips,
of darting eyes flitting from face to face-
wondering who to trust with the heaviness,
making heads spin and sweat drip.
it is the color of the aftermath
of scars trailing up and down your once soft skin-
crossing up and down your limbs, carrying guilt,
making young boys and girls howl at the moon
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 7:34 PM UTC