#punctured
so much to give
but so closed off
a glass
filled to the brim
waiting to spill
others take tentative sips
or pour it out completely
I just want to be savored
drank slowly over time
enjoyed through all seasons
while my heart may be punctured
oozing out love to anyone who looks
my bones are hard and sharp
waiting to poke through this flesh
and stab if need be
to want to love
so freely
to want to receive
the same
you'd think it'd be easier
to crack open this ribcage
Sep 8, 2019
Sep 8, 2019 at 1:35 PM UTC
Nothing...had enchanted me more,
than that big yellow rose...
bright, stunning at the tip of its tall stem,
soft petals.....yet to fully unfurl,
its inner part...a soothing light shaded swirl...
i sniffed a bit of its fragrance,
and felt its softness...but,
i got pricked by a hidden thorn,
---
just a tiny puncture...yet,
my finger bled so much...
---
i walked on through the garden,
...with my pricked finger inside my mouth,
i was amazed by other flowers, more colorful ones,
but, the yellow, pink, red roses outshone them all...
with care this time, i touched a big pink,
slowly.........and, again, i didn't see,
another thorn was in the way
---
it was more painful
it bled even more...
---
i stood thinking, while bleeding...
its beauty, its silky feel...its
fragrance that lingers in the mind
would all be difficult to resist,
the pain from the thorns...harder to forget,
but, i'd still want to walk through this vast
garden....live this life...and seek those roses
feel them...be inspired...over and over
---
never mind the spikes!
never mind the pain!
---
love is beautiful like a rose
a rose is beautiful like genuine love,
there are thorns...hindrances and
hurdles, that come with its beauty....yet,
that wonderful feeling of loving,
and being loved, in return,
the wanting, the longing for it,
never dies...the fear of bleeding,
is ignored,
---
for, what is life without love?
and what is love without pain?
---
isn't love lovelier...more hopeful
the next time around?
---
a rose could never be a rose
without its many thorns...
---
Sally
©Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
April 11, 2018
May 13, 2018
May 13, 2018 at 12:04 AM UTC
This feeling...
Heavy...
Like a wreath bearing down my neck.
Every fibre in me seem to be at loggerheads.
My heart...
Pounding.
Each beat is a hammer
sledging away at my saneness.
My breaths...
Premature and short.
Inconsistent.
I respire full but with punctured lungs.
May 19, 2016
May 19, 2016 at 12:14 PM UTC
**gingerly on the knife-point of a problem
my inflated ego slowly was punctured
i heard the hiss of its demystification
in that constricted moment of revelation
a moment that enthused about the demise
of my avid hallucination now laid bare
salvation, the voice of naked truths chanted
is neither in the fig leaves nor in bashfulness
and the humming monotone of desperation
is a boost to candid inactivity and stillness
it is in such big-bore moments that we of
puerile yearnings recognize our childishness
a voice told me to stop tempting fate forthwith
for in truth i was a child with a dangerous toy
and only pampered tutors could stay the course**
Feb 6, 2016
Feb 6, 2016 at 10:21 AM UTC
have I been here before,
the variations of anywhere
framing the limits of waking within a wretched humility?
am I become one of the blown boys, those dear, dear boys
and their desolate, punctual, martyrdom,
or a resolute extra in a post-mortem smack fug
at ease to fester with my wounded, skyward muttering,
where even fake flowers offer injury?
I
easily shaken by bleary imaginings as obdurate
as a politicians dancing lips which, if they are moving,
must be lying,
rather crave the ocean's incoherent, uncorked, yawn
its contorted salutation an easy answer to the hardest ask
Jul 30, 2015
Jul 30, 2015 at 1:14 PM UTC