#thelasttime
I remember the taste of your lips.
I searched in panic
Trying to remember the last place
I put you.
Turning my pockets inside out
Conscious of the last time you were here
on my lips
Consciously knowing that I need you now.
It's been twenty-five minutes already
& I am craving the way you lick my lips.
I am in awe, your body pressed between my fingers.
My lips swallowed by your tongue.
I stand in silence.
Punished yet unpunished
The taste of your lips swirling against my lips
Patting my pockets then looking up
To see you've been in front of me the whole time.
Whether several seconds or several lifetimes
I am in constant protest.
If I were to lose you, consciously knowing that I need you now
Unconsciously knowing how much is left in you.
I stand in silence punished yet unpunished
Giving my lips to you
Until one of us parts
Mar 3, 2020
Mar 3, 2020 at 4:34 PM UTC
A little boy taken to soon
As he played near the water at the edge of the lagoon
Standing with his father and having a good time
His father didn't think it would be the last time
The last time to see his sons face light up
And see the happiness of his son growing up
In a split second all had changed
His son was taken right in front of his eyes
The life of a child was taken to soon
As he and his dad played for the last time at the edge of the lagoon
Apr 2, 2017
Apr 2, 2017 at 10:56 AM UTC
When I started writing, It was because I was in pain.
I tried to be happier with my words but to no avail.
The few poems I had spat out about love or *** were forced,
Driven by guilt because I knew that I was not in a safe place.
I knew I had to save myself.
And then I broke free.
This dry spell I've been in is caused by a lack of pain,
By a better place that I didn't think existed.
The future became clearer and my present became brighter.
I could recognize the faces in my dreams
And I lost the edgy, creative side of my mind.
I learned what a lovely kiss felt like, metaphorically.
I'd been kissed. I'd been hit. I'd been in bed with man and woman.
I'd been in love. I thought I'd been in love.
I'd never been kissed by another soul. Another body, yes.
But your kiss went deep. I felt it in my veins.
I felt it in the split ends of my hair. I felt it in the stars above my head.
I'd been touched by an angel. I swear I was.
Gradually, I've been brought into the world
As a new soul without torment. The shadows remain,
But the lights in my attic rarely turn off.
I can see the pages that I'd stashed away with poems and stories
Scrawled across the parchment. I wrote because I was in pain.
I don't write because of you.
Feb 3, 2017
Feb 3, 2017 at 3:19 PM UTC
It was a few days ago
The last time you touched my hair
I ignored it and told myself
"Doesn't really matter"
My grades were failing
I was not able to cope up
Prom was nearing
And no boy nor friends came up
Those were dark days Gran
I can barely recognize who I am
You told me that everything will get better
You told me I'm stronger than Mom
I can still remember
The last sweater you knitted
The last movie we watched
The last food you heated
You were there for me
When my friends left
When Luke and I broke up
The night I cried, you sang and I slept
Those were the good in the bad Gran
But now, you have to go
And I was not there for you
I was busy with myself, I did not know
I came home with the usual routine
Called you while the house is still dark
No answer
I placed my shoes under the rack
I saw you
On the floor
Sleeping
For what seems like forever
I think that was the first time
I got worried about you
It is also the last time
I would ever be able to
You stayed in the hospital for weeks
I went to school because I need to pass
Focusing was a hard task
I should be by your side, I must
The skies were gray above the sea of black
Everyone was crying
Saying "she was the nicest"
"You were lucky to have her when she was still breathing"
I took you for granted
I never appreciated the small things you did
I was always looking for something far away
When all this time, you were all that I needed
In this house, I'm haunted by memories of you
Cooking, cleaning, knitting, watching
The feeling never abandoned me
Constantly there, reminding
That I should treat everything like it would be the last
Cherish moments while we're alive
Because once we stop breathing, we will become a memory
And we can never bring it back
I miss you Gran
×
Apr 7, 2016
Apr 7, 2016 at 4:09 AM UTC
My aged mother has warned me about things -
things every mother tell their blossoming daughters.
Do not lie, she always says,
her eyes hard, her lips thin,
her forehead wrinkled from her furrowed brow,
a look I will never forget-
a look that says “I know theses things for a reason.”
I never listened closely to her words
until I met Him.
I find out everything, she threatens.
Growing up, she never let me
stay at my friend’s who had older brothers.
It was foreign to me, to grow up that way,
so I grew to resent those rules.
So I picked up the habit of lying.
I wish I would’ve held onto her words.
It became an everyday thing,
to lie about where I was going.
Her parent’s are coming to get me,
I would say before I would walk
to the house that ruined me.
It wasn’t her house.
After all these years of my mother’s
warnings and words,
I found out what she meant.
That day, on His couch, I understood.
Although she never truly said it,
I knew she was right.
I grasped at those words,
I remember my trembling hands
itching at them -
they are fire in my throat,
I could not breathe until I freed myself,
but being free took too long,
that I thought if I would spend another minute,
another second - I would pass out.
Growing paler, the flame that kissed my mouth
shot from my lips,
and there laid the heavy words
my mother never said.
Something inside me in killing me,
it feels like an abundance of knives are stabbing me,
while something in gnawing, devouring my insides.
How cold were those unfamiliar hands,
I could not feel them on my body. I could not
feel. All those distractions were for a reason.
I wanted to feel loved.
I found love in the darkest places. The darkest
was His house. It was broad daylight.
He promised to never hurt, to never make it uncomfortable.
I was uncomfortable before I arrived.
The couch was lifeless, but His hands were not, no-
His hands were alive against my ailing skin.
I was not alive. I think
I had died. My whole body felt lamented.
His hands tore at expensive fabric,
His hands clutched at juvenile underwear.
Nothing in between these white walls
had color except the red
of my wrists after he grabbed me.
I didn’t find love there.
I did not find love anywhere.
I found a child forced to grow,
to learn her mistakes. She had to
leave the last years of childhood,
to a man who did not want her,
but her growing body.
She had to pick herself back up.
She still sees Him everyday. He
smiles. He’s not a man. He smiles.
And I will never forget him.
And I will never forget him.
And I will never forget him,
and he hasn’t forgotten me.
Sep 29, 2015
Sep 29, 2015 at 12:14 PM UTC