#sheis
She is human, a flawed being
which is inclined to make alot
of mistakes, her cravings incite
her to act so often out of place,
she feels insecure at times too
and tends to look in a mirror for
errors to ensure she's presentable.
Her persona isn't a mystical fairy
embodiment your wishes make,
nor are her dimples snow flakes
drowning sincerity with embrace
which easily make man gravitate.
She is trauma filled to an extent,
seeping in sorrow few relate to,
those curves she carries around
may not even appear as tasteful
but the ***** she has pumping
blood through her veins is worth
more than what an oyster creates.
Sep 21, 2024
Sep 21, 2024 at 3:23 PM UTC
there was never anything to believe in to begin with
my faith is a delusion
visions to erase
my mind distraught and at ease
deep confusion
here I am again, sulking in this great despair
in my dream we named her Adela, and I remembered a reality before that
Imagine dreaming of a daughter unborn…
visions of her crying in your stomach… to feel that… to feel it all
Part of me remembered that I discussed that with you (my love)
A glimpse of her face
My universe changed, it’s always too good to be true…
my longing resurfaces when I browse through our photos, a broken journey
I never feared loving too much
Give myself away to see this through
Give myself away through honesty
Repercussions out of thin air
Dreaming with you always
Don’t want the memories to fade away
I want to remember what it feels to watch you enjoy a meal, sweet little moments that help me sleep
I don’t want to forget, but I can’t take it
Crippling sensations
It’s been a long day, it’ll be a long week…
Month… year… shattered dreams
My imagination runs wild when I think of the possibility of us…
Intentions gone to waste… time I’d never give back for a trillion gazillion times 4 plus infinity dollars…
I’d take an hour with you in my arms over a life where I never met you… so I wouldn’t feel this way… this… broken…
Though the pieces are scattered… I must know I’m whole
Misconceptions will destroy me…. To believe she is gone
To be a ghost in this world… my love
I think you’re gone…
What’s a lasting love
I’m going to end this one here
Imagining what it would be like to be laughing together
My world… senseless
Little memories that’ll last me a life time…
Happy knowing I can love someone this way… even if they don’t want to love me back
I must
I will…
i hope it isn't a crime to long for the only truth i want to believe
you
Jul 28, 2022
Jul 28, 2022 at 1:23 AM UTC
Spoken Julia Ferr
Consider this a letter to you
The male who wears what his mother likes
This is written for the girl
who cannot find it in herself to stand in the shower
to rid her hair of her grandfather’s cigarette.
This is addressed and stamped
to the grandmother who does not know who this girl is, that I am.
It is apparent to me that being pretentious for 18 years
was more important than hearing my voice.
This letter was jammed into a white envelope
and slapped in the face
With a five dollar bill and with a smack of her lips,
it was sealed.
This is for the kids who treat Sunday’s like Sacramento
and staring at those white, cyan clouds is God teasing us
of the Heaven we have never visited.
Consider these lyrics
Hell, consider me the singer.
As this is printed to the kids who walk the sidewalks home.
This is to the kids who do not only step over the cracks
although they could have broken their Mother’s back
for screaming and crying.
This is an intricate novel with a hard rock spine
accompanied by two paper blankets
that protect its deepest
darkest
secrets.
And I will tell you that this is signed to the kids.
To the children who bite their nails,
the ones who chew their brittle fingers.
To the kids who ride their bicycles,
they will jump off into the grass
just to feel alive.
This is for the kids
who try to explain to their parents that they are hurting.
This is to the kids who are afraid of making them cry
the ones who kiss them goodnight
and wipe a tear from their eye.
To the kids who walk
in black and white
And I am sure they remember the words to the fight
that broke up a family.
Dinner continued,
this time in a cold
damp
silence
even the radio could not possibly drown out.
So I ask you to consider this a biography.
A biography of a child
a child who painted a room dandelion yellow
in hopes of murdering the darkness.
A child who ripped down the blinds and opened all of the doors.
They so desperately wanted to allow some life
Where things never grew.
A smile is all they wished for a white daisy,
a song about something more.
Honey sweeter than sweetest from Burt’s Bees that lived in the trees
to praying on pews
Jesus please.
Consider this a 5000 word count essay
to be handed in by Tuesday and let me tell you,
the stress of yesterday
depreciates the best of me.
This is to the kids with Straight A’s
and to the kids with nothing at all
I see you.
A binder full of paper and a mind full of raw emotions
that make you want to split your ends
and hairspray your flowers just so they can enjoy January.
This is a kiss blown in the wind to be caught as a voice recording.
This is to the kids who see everything
yet they say nothing at all.
To the kids who love unconditionally
yet still manage to fall,
you will be 22 someday living with nothing or maybe an abundance of it all.
but I must tell you that this is all ahead of us
this plan that is destined for the rest of us
so please
consider this a letter to you.
Jan 10, 2020
Jan 10, 2020 at 7:17 PM UTC
And she wasn't seeking any praise affirmatively,
But what her body was on ice block ceasing; craving for insanity,
Insanity of "love" one of the unique curse ,
She had the thirst,
Of Station to the location for a pair of eyes,
Admiring inmost from blood to where the insecurities lies,
Facing towards the absolute sky,
Repeating the uttermost fantasies of her life,
Smiling and setting peace beyond a mile ,
Beautiful than thousands of successful rhymes,
What she wants I know she barely knows but she lies ,
I wish she could have a look through my eyes.
©akashmazumdar
Mar 28, 2018
Mar 28, 2018 at 12:08 PM UTC