#hannamaemata96
Souls do not weigh much.
Not at all-
that they can outdo the lightness of a feather
and even the barest of all wrecked hearts.
Souls- too delicate,
that they stray upon vibration of the thinnest air.
You see, I have a soul.
It will take me.
And I will let it.
And as for you,
who is a soul wrapped within a soul-
if the air takes you,
then I shall let you go.
Feb 1, 2016
Feb 1, 2016 at 11:52 PM UTC
I won’t turn off the lights for you.
Because that is what your eyelids
Are for.
Some darkness in this world
Are made from the layers we put
Before our sight
Whenever we close our eyes.
Jan 15, 2016
Jan 15, 2016 at 1:12 PM UTC
I look at you as if
I am looking at a photograph,
knowing exactly what place
and season it was taken.
I look at you as if
I know exactly which parts
of your face get to be touched
by the light.
I look at you as if
my old capture of your smile
hanging bloodless
on my wall
is not the only role
you'll ever play in my life.
Jan 12, 2016
Jan 12, 2016 at 12:00 PM UTC
When will you understand
the concept of my being here?
That I am here,
ready to interpret
your random glances
into dying for help.
That I am here
if you need someone
to lace up your shoes,
to dry away your tear-laden tissues,
and to save you from all the rules.
I am here. Notice me.
Walk upon the shelf
where I sit nearby and see me.
See that I am here
–looking past the people, promise,
and warmth just to snuggle my sight
unto its righteous home- that is you.
Still I ask, when will you understand
the concept of my being here?
Jan 8, 2016
Jan 8, 2016 at 11:24 AM UTC
Our story,
this story-
will take time.
Like reading a book
from chapter one,
it'll take time.
And I am
not a fan of waiting-
but God,
I will let it.
Jan 8, 2016
Jan 8, 2016 at 11:18 AM UTC
I hope
you remember yourself
well-enough tonight.
Because we all know
how fireworks are proud,
and loud and glittery
while sadness is illuminating
at its own sky,
somewhere in the
year-long night
living inside you.
Dec 31, 2015
Dec 31, 2015 at 3:13 AM UTC
We were younger than our feelings.
We were far behind the perfect time.
We were searching for that hour
between midnight and the next minute,
only to know that there is no such thing
- not even a lie.
They said
"True love waits"
-but they didn't tell us
what will happen
after all the waiting.
Dec 30, 2015
Dec 30, 2015 at 12:03 PM UTC
I stand here too still
Like a tree in a meadow
Though trees are alive
Dec 28, 2015
Dec 28, 2015 at 1:37 PM UTC
When this world has deprived you
Land beneath your feet,
Air for you to breathe,
Hope to grant you sleep,
I will be here.
And I will write
Of you,
For you,
To you-
I will write a world
through and through.
No matter how all edges
has pinned my arms
on the tamest grounds,
still I will write
of one true wild.
I will write a world made
For you, especially for you-
To survive.
Dec 25, 2015
Dec 25, 2015 at 5:24 PM UTC
You need to get out of bed.
You need to get a life.
They said.
Yes, I do need to get out of bed.
All these lying in bed without
Winking a **** sleep
Is mocking my sheets
To shame.
I do need to get out of it.
Also
My pillow
Almost
Smells like the sea.
Salty drops of moisture
Wasting themselves in the sponge
That is my pillow.
And it’s like the sea to me.
The sea and its lust in drowning me to life.
The sea I always create.
The sea that dries up
Before the morning light.
Dec 25, 2015
Dec 25, 2015 at 10:23 AM UTC
Some days,
I wish I could ride away
And be one of those
Strange disappearances.
What a vivid of a “some days”
This night is.
Dec 20, 2015
Dec 20, 2015 at 8:55 AM UTC
Time.
What of it?
What of time that rips
helpless memories
away from the present air?
Can’t you see?
-that no matter how
we glamour time we lost
as “history”,
regardless of how we count
ancient hours
as great stories splattered
across books
-still,
none of it and none of it,
will ever belong to us again?
Time gives us photograph,
too dead in black and white,
and within the inches of its
tangibility rest
the bruises left by longing.
That is time.
That is what of it.
Dec 13, 2015
Dec 13, 2015 at 1:06 AM UTC
You are the feast
in all of my verses.
Seen in every letter.
Bold in every word.
You reign worlds
between my ink and paper,
and a galaxy on my typewriter-
But all these, you'll never know-
not a breath from me,
not a scrap of my soul.
Dec 12, 2015
Dec 12, 2015 at 11:26 AM UTC
If you ever find yourself slouched on the world’s perfect riddance
If, somehow, all the air that’s stayed with you are smokes of cigarettes
If you know that you have fallen into the hands of hell, blazing with fire,
Flickering like live wire,
Seek further down the path-
Intrude further down the core-
For there is no question,
How diamonds find derision, isolation and hell
As places to score a flawless sleep.
Dec 11, 2015
Dec 11, 2015 at 8:19 AM UTC
He smokes cigarettes to set the ocean on fire.
And before he can even dry a drop
from the salty carnival of waves,
he has already consumed most of himself.
While the ocean, the waves, all of it-
will not mourn for him no matter
how it roars of blue,
no matter how it bowls
the most ardent tears
lavishly.
Dec 8, 2015
Dec 8, 2015 at 10:40 AM UTC
I see that your side of our closet
has gone blank.
And I,
I do not know
what to do with these walls
full of our photographs.
Dec 1, 2015
Dec 1, 2015 at 9:08 AM UTC
There is no distance
like the space that there is
between me and
this old photograph
resting on the
the most immediate side
of my bed.
Nov 30, 2015
Nov 30, 2015 at 8:37 AM UTC
I remember
one of those nights,
right before you rang
at my door,
when I used to call
writing
a chore.
Nov 29, 2015
Nov 29, 2015 at 2:04 AM UTC
I love you- too much
That my ghost shall die,
a thousand deaths,
again and again
to bury any memory that's
capable of haunting you-
to chase away the burn
that may brew my nightly visit.
I love you- too much,
That you shall never see
my shadow, my scar, my remains
even at the most obvious places.
I love you- too much
That you shall never
hear that I do, ever again.
Nov 28, 2015
Nov 28, 2015 at 9:11 AM UTC
What are you going to do —
now that I stare at you,
listening into the silence, howling
the absence of noise?
What are you going to do —
now that my heart and all the ounce
of reason that embraces it, drops
into the cold tile floor?
What are you going to do —
now when the distance that separates
my feet to your feet is a
giant stretch of air, and people,
and books and rubble and
impossibility
and dying chances?
Nov 27, 2015
Nov 27, 2015 at 7:06 AM UTC
I bought an expensive bind of pages to write my thoughts in.
But the words prefer to fit at the back of my hand,
at the margins of my books,
at the most random places
and hideous cases
- all characters prefer
to rest atop all ironic spaces
- each word calling every piece of missing touch,
each word wanting to compensate
for the oozing weight of not having much.
Nov 26, 2015
Nov 26, 2015 at 11:14 PM UTC
Why tonight?
Of all nights, knitted carefully by the slenderest of hands,
To form into a year, that springs into decades and centuries
And into a future with both of us gone –
Of all nights, that I have lain awake, asleep, disturbed, in love –
Why tonight?
Of all nights, why this night – when the moon shows nothing but its fullness
And bareness and disguise?
Why tonight?
Of all people, completing the billionth count, filling the shards of this planet we pity to call continents –
Why you?
Nov 26, 2015
Nov 26, 2015 at 10:45 AM UTC
I wonder if I tilt my head a bit on the side,
so my jaw would be angled just right,
so my nose would be touched nicely by shadows,
so my eyes would spark to lure the light-
I wonder if I walk a few steps towards, perhaps a few steps back-
I wonder if some type of arm stretch, or head rest-
will make you ask for my number.
And you- a fine sculpt of a man
do not need to do any but breathe then,
to have it.
Nov 25, 2015
Nov 25, 2015 at 9:39 AM UTC
I remained
a bud,
a pup,
a mere silhouette
of the imaginary.
I limit
the heights
that can be
conquered by my grasp.
Oh,
how I stopped growing
to stay
in love.
Nov 16, 2015
Nov 16, 2015 at 9:40 AM UTC