Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Amarys Dejai May 5
This is not a soft resting of the head, but a surrender.
There is no seafoam to float on, but instead, bones
made from the metal of the anchors of boats, heavy
with the desire of returning to the earth. It is true, light
does exist so long as the sun still burns. But here, in the
depths of a cold that has never been touched by sunlight,
there is only blindness.

The sirens sing melodies reminiscent of the lullabies that
fall from the mouths of mother and into the ears of infants.
To be held, to feel at peace, these innate desires.
To be unborn again.

Fingers grip, the theory of magnetism and the body of an anchor.
Here, there is blindness, a pressuring cold.
Here, the sirens return me to the womb.
After months of my mental health rendering me exhausted, here is my first piece quite some time.
Amarys Dejai Sep 2019
What I mean to say is that I heard the angels weep when I first saw you smile. I imagined that there was an invisible string wrapped around my heart and tied to the corners of your mouth.
        When you smirked, my heart skipped a beat.
Before that, your lips were parted, your mouth was open ever so slightly, and I have never ached so badly to kiss someone.
        I thought about how they would feel under the touch of my
Your eyes--the color of the soil of the earth.
        I've dreamt of being buried in both.

So it goes--God created everything, and everything he created was good.
        And you are the firmament; you are the most heavenly,
        wondrous thing.
Something about him made me want to believe.
Amarys Dejai Aug 2019
But you will soon leave back to the place you have been longing for.
And when you get there, another woman will find her way into your veins. She will pull my hairs out from your carpet, wash my fingerprints from your walls, and throw out my skeleton that you kept in the closet. She will try to lay me to rest, but I will always be restless. I will be doomed to haunt a heart that never belonged to me and to linger in the moment when our eyes first met.
I cannot go back to the place I have been longing for.
Last night, I dreamt about him. In my dream, he told me that he loved me, we kissed, we touched. I woke alone, heartbroken, but also a bit relieved. He’s moving away, and it’s time for us to bury out love. A part of me still believes that we just met at the wrong time.
Amarys Dejai Feb 2019
Daydreams that exist only inside of my head have been laid to rest in the corners of my mind.
Lately, I’ve been looking at the raindrops sliding down my car window and wondering what that feels like to be water. I watched the approaching headlights light up the raindrops like twinkle lights, and my body began to ache for my childhood innocence, for the ability to believe in Santa Claus and his reindeer, in the tooth fairy, in the Easter bunny, and in the idea that I was always going to feel that happy.
Lately, I’ve been watching everyone around me live, and I’ve been wondering what that feels like. My heart feels like a retired opera singer performing to the empty auditorium of my chest that she once conquered. I see my purpose as a single, insignificant star in the sky that I can never seem to find. My bed sheets have become a second layer of skin, and turning the **** of my bedroom door has become one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do.
Lately, I’ve been reading back on my old journals, comparing entries that are a year apart side by side. “This time last year,” I say to myself.
This time last year, I told myself that things will change. The only thing that changed is that I have made a jail cell out of a dorm instead of my home. I am a year older, but I still feel as anxious, exhausted, and defeated as I used to.
Lately, I’ve been daydreaming that I love myself, about being happy, about not feeling out of place, about being where I want to be.
“This time next year,” I tell myself, “This time next year.”
This is the one mistake that I can never seem to learn from.
Amarys Dejai Jan 2019
Whether basking in the sun or bathing in the moon, I will always and forever be thinking of you.
Amarys Dejai Dec 2018
I was never fond of alcohol. I guess you could say that I was afraid of it, or rather, that I was afraid of its side effects. I love you, but I am afraid of your whiskey breath. It turns your words into stones, your brutal honesty catapulting off of your tongue.

You are dancing across a frozen lake, and I am calling your name from the land, but your voice has always been so much louder than mine. I am walking on thin ice, tip-toeing my way towards you.

My outstretched hand is taken as an intent of violent reprimand, and your voice is getting louder. If you fall through the ice, then I will try my hardest to pull you out.

But we both know that I lack the strength, and I know that you lack the will.

You will tell me to run back to the edge,
but who am I if I do not care for you?
Amarys Dejai Oct 2018
I'll never understand how the things that made us fall in love became the things that made us fall apart.
I found this in one of my old journals. 2016.
Next page