Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
turning someone else's pain
into our poetry
is a crime we're all guilty of
putting ourselves in their shoes
just to be able to recreate their distress
on paper
momentarily,
just to feel something
to be able to write
to connect with the words we type

we're empty inside
we've been ****** dry
exhausted our pain
completely drained
with all our worries having drenched the paper
too many times before- flooded.

we turn to someone else
internalizing their woes
stealing their sorrows
so that we have something worth writing about

we need to write
it is vital for our survival
so we turn to victims of hurt
of abuse, of loss, of misery
we turn to you

we are
bloodthirsty; savages

pain is our medicine
it's what keeps us alive
i suppose it's a good thing
that there's enough to go around
-they'd rather feel pain than nothing at all
i am made up of mistakes & lies;
can't you see it in my eyes?
i'm in california dreaming about who we used to be
you climbed the tower
to protect yourself from the tide
but now that you're at the top,
*why do the deep blue waters look so comforting?
how do you soften the thought of carrying coffins
from my high pedestal i fell
a beggar upon the streets

i am nothing; and nothing becomes me
if you are my yesterday
then i wish for no tomorrow
when you're 17
you're trapped in the fallacy
that things can only get better
that this is the worst that it's ever going to be
that the best is yet to come

you think that this is the worst it can get
a broken heart and a worn out mind
a couple rough nights and cloudy mornings
you think that the sunrise is right around the corner
that you're working towards
a better future

you come out alive with cuts and bruises
a few broken bones
and you wait by the corner of the street
for a new world to take you away
and then you realize
this pain,
this pain is here to stay

and then one day you wake up
you're 37 years old
you thought it'd never get worse
but now,
even the dream of a better future
is gone with the wind
& that broken heart
it never got fixed
still 17 at heart
waiting for a better day;
fading away,
*fading away.
let's get out of this town, drive out from the city away from the crowd
true love* it may be
if i can see no future for you but with *
me
the thought of you keeps me up at night
she sat on the beige satin couch
looking down at her feet
which were designed with intricate patterns made of mehndi
her nails painted a light pink
a color much like the subtle blush on her cheeks
she was fair, but not pale,
she had a shine to her, a glow
her face was hidden for the most
with a white lace dupatta
like the midnight moon hidden behind translucent clouds
most of her hair was tucked neatly away
except the loose strand which rested on her forehead
a curl, the color of sweetened caramel
soft, delicate; and ever so sweet
she brushed it back with her small hands
but it bounced right back, falling on her face
she looked up, slightly titling her head towards the light
the way sunlight hit her eyes made you want to never look away
oh, her eyes
lined with kajal, they stood out
the kind of eyes you could find yourself getting lost in
hazel and green- with specks of yellow and blue
there was a universe within those eyes
like the rainforest after a summer sprinkle
lush, pure, mesmerizing
but they were quickly hidden once more
as she delicately pulled the dupatta closer to her face
and smoothed down the crease in her silk kameez
her movements were entrancing
you could not look away
the more you looked, the more you craved to catch one more glance
gentle, soft, kind
never in a rush
you couldn't help but imagine what it felt like to feel her touch
the only words we heard her speak
was right when the sun began to set
and the orange-red rays reflected in the pearls around her neck, the only jewelry she wore, yet enough to adorn her
her puckered mouth opened softly
and she was bearly audible as she spoke
her voice like honey: sweet & melodious
if she never stopped speaking, you'd never stop listening
she spoke with a tender sort of confidence & surety
*"qabool hai, qabool hai, qabool hai"
nikkah is the official marriage ceremony for muslims. here's what i've always imagined a bride in an eastern nikkah to seem like. the whole image is rather enchanting, i must say.
-
mehndi: henna
dupatta: shawl often worn by women in the east
kajal: kohl
kameez: shirt
qabool hai: i do
sometimes it seems that
world peace will come faster
than *peace of mind
i want to bury you deep beneath;
you're too beautiful,
too beautiful for me.
Next page