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Acina Joy Mar 4
We're just paintings
on a plaster wall,
where chips fall
to the linoleum floor,

where we sweep aside
the love and the loss,
our prayers that we cuss
when we have nothing more.

Our exhibit is open
to the ****** and the wicked
and all the good and the naked;
those who blindly trust.

Our love chips off
but we are fine with that
for we never look back
pretending to say, "we must."

In years, maybe
when we're fading and old;
ripped off the frame,fold,
when we're hastily stashed away —

If we were humans,
who could move, love, kneel
kiss and frame, and steal,
please ask me: "would you stay?"

And, yes.
Yes, I would, anyway.
Acina Joy Jan 31
||

Soft and tender,
mild as can be,
I miss it, this burn, this ache;
long for this touch, this heart,
it anticipates;
to you and to me
.

||
Acina Joy Dec 2020
I cried again, at the thought of her
in between all the drifting stars.
I cried again, at the thought of her
in between my throbbing scars.

I asked my papa, when it'd leave
when my pain would finally stop,
but he shook his head in reprieve,
and from his mouth came a cough,

"It never leaves, only dulls,
never hardens, but never is the same;
you're my daughter, my only daughter,
you and I, we share a pain
."

Mama, I cried, at the thought of her,
especially on the day when I left;
I came back into your loving arms,
and from my mouth, I finally wept.
wonder where they are now
Acina Joy Dec 2020
||

Is it me?
Or is there something
between us
that you don't see?


||
it's tragic to know everything else beyond their name
Acina Joy Dec 2020
||

If I could break out of my enclosure
Is there a moment of reprieve
From the horrors you've shielded
Me from?
Or will the skies crumble,
And the oceans drain down
To the very basin,
And will the earth break under me,
Until it knows my name?
Will your world be destroyed
When I break this enclosure?
And if so, will it still be as beautiful,
As you said?

||
Early morning poetry and god forbid, another person to cry over
Acina Joy Nov 2020
Sometimes, I wish I've never known you;
where you've come from, where you've been.
I wish you were just a void,
with no knowledge to love,
and with no knowledge to hate.

But because of you,
I have a name to adore,
and a person to despise.
Because of you, there are places to which I want to return to,
and there are places to which I am reluctant to arrive.

Your words have always been writhing thorns,
on a beautiful wreath of roses, and I love them -
for what they are, for what they mean;
for how they make me look and feel,
but the knowledge of them hurts me.
The knowledge of them breaks me.

By the gods, I love you, but I hate you on me.

And when I look at you, I wish to kiss you from a distance.
When I look at you, I am torn - disembodied between
my love and the fractured memories.
When I look at you - you give me a name to
agonize over, when the days are empty,
and my heart seems full.

When I look at you, there are reasons why I hate to love you.

And god, do I miss you. When the words blend
into the grains of the wall,
and your face becomes the back of my eyelids,
I can't help but let my heart bleed dry.

God knows how I hate loving you.
i hate it. i dont know if what i really feel is what i say it is, but man, it feels like it, and i cant shake it. i miss them. miss them so much, that my heart could combust and join the ashes of the sun.
Acina Joy Nov 2020
When you hung the decor from the rafters,
       and built these walls with the prints of your fingers;
             proceeded to line the floors with flowers, wedged into gaps,
                  that were inconspicuous until each bud and shoot grew

Speak to me, everything you wanted to say;
          feeble may it be with the dull edge of your knife,
                softened by the mishandled touch of your previous lovers,
                        delicate from your pain, so you learned to be silent -
                                                                ­    
                                                            ­               never swift, never sure.

Your silent words fluttered in and out of sight,
    seared into my home like the etch of fire on word,          
         ingrained till the grains were no longer marks, but my haven
                       please tell, for a long time I've known, all this is true.
love is almost like a tumble by the stairs - up and down, and landing somewhere in between
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