#poemsporn
Your hands are a spare room for grass blades and wilting flowers —
they wound just the same now,
die just the same.
One day we will too.
I breathe you in,
stale air and brimstone fill my lungs
like the flood that came after us —
it has our name on it:
a misguided retribution.
I remember leaving,
the soil turning parched as our soles,
the shadows' first treason,
the cold, cold air,
the distance between our clothed body,
drifting away like continents.
Soon, you will speak in tongues,
a language you cannot love me in
and still, I'll call your name, softly,
like a desperate counter-curse.
I am still here,
a darkened rib for the devil to collect.
I am yours first, before I am his.
But you are worth the fire and the first sin it's ever seen
the crash site, the rock shards buried on my arms —
I am good as a dead woman — a wide-eyed mortal
I will walk to you on skipping stones,
sinking stones
with my bones set on fire and the world up in flames —
this is our undoing in the colors of a sunset
but it's nothing we've seen before.
I know good. I know evil.
I know flames and the way it burns. I know death and its finality.
I know a lot of things now,
but only one of them matters, Adam —
I know you are worth the fall.
Jul 4, 2021
Jul 4, 2021 at 11:23 PM UTC
i am quiet as
an iridescent, swan paperweight,
sitting and melting on sadness —
on sheets and sheets of it.
maybe this entire time,
i have been on the edge,
lying like a sand angel
and wading through dead buttercups.
i write a premonition
and call it a poem.
if these walls could speak,
they would call me a resident.
an outsider.
a hostage victim.
a sorry sight.
a paperweight sitting
in the middle of misery.
i am quiet as
an iridescent, swan paperweight,
sitting and melting on sadness —
on sheets and sheets of it;
oh, how i long
to fall and break
into a thousand pieces —
one, just small enough
to be invisible
to slip away
and have
no trace of pervasive sadness —
it glistens in casual,
technicolored mockery.
and i am quiet —
oh, so quiet.
oh, how i long
to fall and break.
Apr 17, 2021
Apr 17, 2021 at 3:25 AM UTC
a sheer curtain caught in a crossfire,
i stand here,
pure,
still,
and burning tenderly —
burning softly before your eyes.
i liken myself
to a child's laughter falling
on patches of sunlight —
to persephone giving in
to the licking flames,
but she is no more than
a fading ghost,
and my skin —
no more than a haunted woodland.
i hold on to the flames,
to this perplexity:
how can immolation
look so soft,
so cleansing,
so **** hypnotic?
when it feels everything but.
a sheer curtain caught in a crossfire,
i stand here,
pure,
still,
burning tenderly
into oblivion —
just as softly before your eyes.
Apr 5, 2021
Apr 5, 2021 at 4:14 AM UTC
all the weight of the night sits on my shoulders,
like a ****** of crows pecking on a graying bruise —
i cave under; my entire skin —
it falls apart, in grace,
from the constant touch, like liquid mercury;
such an anomaly, such an irony,
such words mused, lying there in a trance-like state
under all the weight of the night.
i wish it takes with it my sorrows
the second it lifts itself.
yet, i remain.
soon, the dawn will creep and break, eventually,
from holding me up in vain.
such a pity
maybe i will break with it.
Mar 27, 2021
Mar 27, 2021 at 10:21 PM UTC
what good is a poem under a scab —
i keep on peeling and peeling, asking
is there more to this skin
marred by my restless fingerprints —
they've all been but subtle.
what good is a poem under a scab —
it still is a wound
over which rusty dahlias mourn and spread
and maybe if i dig my fingers deep enough,
i will find an exit —
all ****
all dust.
all quiet aching.
still, it's an escape.
and what good is a girl under a scab?
some of them are made to run —
to fashion wings and fly.
so darling, seal your wings all you want
all poetry and beeswax
and prayers to the gods
who do not speak your name,
and still, the sun would only watch you fall
as the sea spray worships
your scabbing skin.
all sad things belong to the sea
and maybe that is what you wanted.
maybe that is what you wanted after all.
— fray narte
Nov 21, 2020
Nov 21, 2020 at 7:06 AM UTC
to this, i resign
and i will lie motionless,
as november nights lovingly peel my skin.
strip me down,
i am sick of feeling callouses.
i am sick of my sheets
licking all these wounds clean.
i am sick of waiting for tenderness
to grow from my open sores
so strip me down —
this is as loving as it can get.
to this, i resign —
to the mercy of lonely, november nights.
so hold me down,
a pillow on my face —
petunias in my throat:
this is as soft as i can be.
peel me open. peel me raw,
and beneath it all, perhaps, i'll stumble
on something that finally
looks like home.
Nov 5, 2020
Nov 5, 2020 at 6:32 AM UTC
oh, to live with sadness, so deep — it has started spreading;
i can feel its crushing weight: a stampede.
my trampled bones have started to resemble
wildflowers as they decay
and the soil flinches at the sight
of something so pure —
something so tainted.
behold, the lamb of god
has become the big, cruel wolf;
this is what happens to delicate things
after they're done breaking —
after they're done rotting.
this is what happens to pure things
after the sins and sacrificial rites.
behold, the lamb of god —
the scapegoat
has become the wolf
and one day, it will outrun the forest fog — spreading —
consuming.
devouring.
one day, it will outrun the howling in its chest.
one day it will outrun the ironic aching of ribs, long emptied.
oh, to be a girl and not a wolf.
to live with sadness and trampled bones.
maybe one day, i too, will outrun myself
Oct 22, 2020
Oct 22, 2020 at 4:27 AM UTC
this poem is a lovechild
of my weary skin
and the sensual creeping of an all-consuming melancholia;
my voice, hoarse
from calling for the gods
whose names all fall away
at the sight of my undoing —
besides, who falls apart
at ungodly hours
but sinners?
why hast thou forsaken me —
there no longer is a need for this
when they had all forgotten your name
hours before the daybreak.
and yet everyday, i still wake,
waiting for this bed to collapse
under the weight of my hollow bones, holding
the weight of the frailest chaos
to ever befall these sorry sheets —
i thirst,
for a new kind of skin, unstained,
untouched —
wide enough
to hold all this weight of sadness
lying in these sorry sheets.
i've wanted too many epitaphs for a girl who's still alive;
today it's started wanting me back.
now, i tire,
wrap the cloth around my skin:
all ashen, all stench,
all cold, all dead.
now take this poem.
take this lovechild in your arms —
all brown eyes and little hands;
half melancholia;
barely a girl.
now take this body;
take its peace.
bury it in a pauper's field.
Aug 24, 2020
Aug 24, 2020 at 2:06 AM UTC
It was raining over clouds
I found he is searching to get a shelter
He never lost a hope
What triggered him to attempt his best
As he walked every mile
He heard a soul speaking to him
Just as he heard, it was me standing in pain
He felt we need to move on
Irrelevant even if what it may
Just as he heard my cries
He took a lead to show me a shelter
and
He left himself alone in rain forever
Jun 7, 2020
Jun 7, 2020 at 7:21 AM UTC
There’s not much left,
other than a soft ash that covers the branches.
I could tell you it was angry,
I could tell you I’m covered in acid burns
Shaped like words, it hurts.
I could tell you the smoke filled my lungs
to the brim,
And left lesions of soot
across my low beating heart
At least everything is still.
There are no more leaves,
the only hum I hear
is the ringing in my ears,
and the tears,
are dry now, too.
I could tell you how comely
this all looks
The destruction, the debris-
but you deserve your own pity;
Abandon me with mine.
Nov 18, 2019
Nov 18, 2019 at 4:10 PM UTC
When he left, it was never new to you. There was no such thing such as shredding of tears. There was no kaleidoscope of memories. There was no hopes urging you to pull him back. There was no poem written in your notebooks. There was no entry in your diary. There was no wishful thinking while waiting for the wishing stars. There was no such thing like trying to talk to him and discuss what and where did you go wrong, because you knew from the very beginning, everything was wrong.
And then you dated him. You talked about your recent scores in your quizzes while eating ice cream with him. You celebrated your 19th birthday with him, and it was magical, the nicest feeling you never felt for so long. You had long conversations at night with him that you even dared to each other who sleeps first must treat the other. You have shared about the little things that made your day happy. You both have prayed for true love you thought you both once have. You found yourself motivating him through rousing words and so he does the same way to you.You say every single good night every dozing off moments at 2 or 3 am. And while the rest of your family was in dreams, you were there beneath your blankets giggling at his corny jokes while yawning. Your smiles to each other was in utmost real when you bumped each other on the busy hallways at school. When everyone stares at you both because of your weird chemistry, you could not give a **** care at all. You realize you don't want the whole world, just him in it.
And when he left, right after your 19th birthday, it was never new to you. There was no such thing such as shredding of tears. There was no kaleidoscope of memories. There was no hopes urging you to pull him back. There was no poem written in your notebooks. There was no entry in your diary. There was no wishful thinking while waiting for the wishing stars. There was no such thing like trying to talk to him and discuss what and where did you go wrong, because you knew from the very beginning, everything was wrong.
With no throe in your heart, you accepted everything--the way you used to.
Jul 12, 2019
Jul 12, 2019 at 7:21 PM UTC
i have a graveyard of letters;
relics dug up from plath’s oven
now, trapped
in the gaps of my ribs,
paper-cutting through the bones;
some are reduced to debris
coming undone like angels,
falling from crumbling buildings —
crumbling minds —
columns that snap
like they’re the threads of my life
nevermind the punctures,
nevermind the fall;
broken spines
and fractured bones —
they all hurt
just the same.
nevermind the metaphors,
nevermind the words;
poetries,
and suicide notes —
they all look
just the same.
Jun 10, 2019
Jun 10, 2019 at 1:50 AM UTC
A witch howls with pain
As the full moon becomes clearer in the sky
Reminding her the death of her lover
Jun 3, 2019
Jun 3, 2019 at 1:48 AM UTC
Park benches, coffee, and cigarettes
A morning picture with you
Sometimes a book in hand, with my head on your lap and we would call it a nice day
On rainy days, we would curl up on the couch
Blanket wrapped around us, and I would wear your most coveted gray hoodie.
Switching tv channels, we would never find something interesting enough to watch
We'd instead nap and still call it a nice day
We went to a Sunday mass once even if I never prayed since my grandma died
I never believed much in anything,
Not even in angels nor the saints
But I wanted to believe you're a blessing.
That Sunday was such a nice day
Jun 3, 2019
Jun 3, 2019 at 1:16 AM UTC
the only way i can catch my sleep
is to count the reasons why iloveyou
but until now, i'm still awake
oh i forgot to remind myself
that my love for you is always
endless
May 21, 2019
May 21, 2019 at 12:39 PM UTC
From gloomy eyes to happy feet,
from being homeless to finding home
in a heartbeat
Mar 2, 2019
Mar 2, 2019 at 11:49 AM UTC
Darkness.
Do not
be so afraid
of the darkness within
embrace it.
Sadness.
do not
play hide & seek
with the sadness within
face it.
So that when light & happiness enter, darkness & sadness can leave & not live there in disguise.
Mar 2, 2019
Mar 2, 2019 at 11:47 AM UTC
You, my love
should stay
away
from my mind
and my heart
For my mind twists and turns
scenarios to stop me
from letting you go
when I never
held you at first
For my heart
gives up giving up
on you
and beats
to tell me
you're a part of me,
not apart from me
Missing you is like
missing a heart beat
Forgetting you is like
Forgetting to breathe
I'd rather miss
a few beats
and do a couple dance
on my own,
than change the lyrics
of my love song
Feb 27, 2019
Feb 27, 2019 at 2:32 PM UTC
They tell us we discriminate because of the color of their skin.
An unjustly comment and they only see us as whites.
Stuck between a now cold war between colors.
They paint an image of victimization as they feel unfairly treated in ancestry years.
I say , get over it.
Dec 13, 2018
Dec 13, 2018 at 4:16 AM UTC
How many has marked this broken lover between the sheet and on the streets.
How many has gripped her hips and tasted her lips.
How many has , not once , but countless times degraded her in her bliss , shattered her gift , ruined and wrecked her for her next "knight" .
How many of you will come to realize that many of us still hide.
How many of you , will see.
How many will there be.
Dec 13, 2018
Dec 13, 2018 at 4:12 AM UTC
I forgot that I know how to write,
Forgotten the flowery words.
I forgot what could be might,
Forgotten that I am broad.
I learned to forget and not care,
Learned to shove things away.
I learned to bear,
Learned in a hard way
Nov 7, 2018
Nov 7, 2018 at 8:00 AM UTC
Her brown eyes and long lashes makes the scene perfect as she blankly stare the air, it's as if she's staring the eyes of her lover.
But her lover wasn't there. She is just staring a blank dead air. She then throw her gaze at me and a tear had fallen.
I sit in front of her.
"How are you?", I asked. Her mouth is shut so she prefers to answer me with another tear.
She must be really terribly broken. Being brokenhearted is not new to her. She already had bad experiences in love but, this pretty worst.
I noticed her new haircut and new hair color. I noticed how she carelessly put her blush on and lipstick. I noticed the thick books she brought with her, desperate in putting herself in the world of thoughts of the authors. I noticed how she terribly dressed herself. I noticed her cheekbones and her swollen eyes.
She looks so terrible but a new one-a new version of herself. But her silence and her mourning brown eyes say it all-that she is not new, just a terrible version of herself.
Maybe she had come to think that if she doesn't look like the girl who fall in love with him, maybe she wouldn't feel the same way like that girl.
But she's wrong. Her state right now is a realization that she can't change her heart nor can fool it. She can't easily erase her feelings for him nor can forget it. So she will still end up-the girl who hopelessly fall in love with her lover.
I can never escaped a hundred of bullets of pain, a 175000 lbs-rocket ship of tears, a 3-tank of long nights and a hydrogen bomb of memories, I said to myself in the mirror.
So I’m gonna let them hit me one at a time and, at all cost, I will savor each ache and bruise. In this way, I will heal.
Because this is the beauty of pain and this is how I define love.
Jan 30, 2018
Jan 30, 2018 at 7:51 PM UTC
*You have a circle
where everything
is closed around
while I have a line
that has no size,
no width,
no length,
no depth,
and no one.*
@qyflorentino
Oct 14, 2017
Oct 14, 2017 at 8:42 PM UTC
I will love you in everything you do
You’re perfect in my eyes
You’re amazing in every move you make
I will be with you as long as I can
It will hurt my heart but at least
I tried
Oct 8, 2017
Oct 8, 2017 at 7:17 PM UTC
Tonight I will cry
Because I fell terrible inside
Loving you is a mistake
That I can’t skip
I’m stuck on you like
Everyday I’m wanting you
But you never gave me anything
In return
Oct 8, 2017
Oct 8, 2017 at 6:38 AM UTC