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Acina Joy Mar 3
Out there is a wide universe,
a dangerous universe
filled with quiet monsters,
a louder dissonance.

Wise men have said
that saying your secrets out loud
will set you free,
and break the cage that
houses your confined bird.

I disagree.

There are times
where the world is more dangerous
when it knows the truth,
and though yes, saying the truth out loud
may seem safer for me to stop the darkness
from consuming who I am.

But drowning inside is better,
than setting the world on fire.
i like someone who will never like me, and i feel as if i could never measure up to the people he liked. i dont feel like i might be anything to him. but we're best friends, and i'll never tell him about how i feel. for it may ruin what we both already have.
Acina Joy Feb 25
The beast rolls around the corner,
its head rearing, taunting and playing
the piano keys like Beethoven on his last hurrah,
proudly smothering my chest with an ache,
an emptiness.

"Only between us," you say, a glance my way,
a reassurance, with a cloying smile. My heart tightens,
"No," I was about to answer, but my thoughts move,
the dictionary in my head turning "no" into a, "Yes, of course".
Turning my truth into a lie,
my heart the severing line.

Giving my frown the definition of a smile.

Beethoven still plays the piano in my mind,
playing his wonderful concertos and sonatas,
this deaf man.
And you can call me friend, your comrade,
your companion, in that less of a jumbled dictionary of yours,
filled with dog-eared pages and highlighted words.

"You matter to me," I say with every ounce of conviction.

You can hear me, but unlike Beethoven you never make a sound.

And I am the broken recorder, testing my conviction.

But as Beethoven is deaf,
in this mental dictionary of mine,
filled with contradiction,
you are the only word
whose definition is friend and foe,
both one and the same.
Too near to the line to be different.

And the strange thing perhaps,
is that it has never changed.
I don't know, I just thought that maybe I'd like to mention Beethoven in a poem
Acina Joy Feb 23
Our love will never be a thing of today or tomorrow, but it will always be there. It exists, and blooms first thing in the morning, but even if you don't find it, it is there. Only, it is asleep, and you wake up, only if it matters.  

Some days, I wake up with a hole in my chest, some days, I wake up with my chest filled with too much, that it hurts beyond words. Do I burst with joy? Burst with ire? Or burst into red dahlias and daffodils?

Because I always hold the watering can with earnest, the grooves of its handle imprinted in my hand, as I water my garden each and every morning. And you don't notice them, the flowers that I make bloom.

You gave me the red dahlias and daffodils, and I always close my eyes at night, thinking one day you will notice.

And I know you won't.

But I go on anyway, with my morning gardening; keeping the soil, cutting what has died, keeping them alive from morning through night, caring  this way always, without self-regard.

This is my way of love.
Red dahlias-betrayal and dishonesty
Daffodils-uunrequited love
Acina Joy Feb 20
It hurts inside, you see,
because you never think of me,
the way you think of someone else,
someone who I'll never be.

But don't you dare come closer,
don't come to me this time,
when you lament all about her,
How dare you think it's fine?

Because I've known you longer,
and I still think it's unfair,
how you know little about her,
but forget that I am there.

And yet, I know this isn't love, but
nevertheless, it hurts,
how you inflict pain on me
without actually saying those words.
Oofff
Acina Joy Feb 11
If you loved her, like darkness,
you have always loved her since,
and if you loved her like light,
then she had steered you from your sins.
I think this poem is for those who've loved, maybe.
Acina Joy Jan 11
Where there is thunder that reigns
down the emptiness of your flesh,
in a war hidden and filled with apathy,
to sink behind darkness , once named shame.

There it is, the torn kingdom,
that you've claimed as your body.
The temple which you've loved,
but never cared for in those aeons of silence.

Where you pretended that doing nothing
would solve everything
.

And so you weep, for the unfairness of it all,
as you claw at your already mangled flesh,
and press for the warmth of your heart.
Pretend that the rush of blood is a rolling blanket.

You swallow those shards of glass, and emulate the heavens,
and pretend your body with jagged scars
is the place for honourable heroes; pretend your triumph
in this barren, damp land of storms
is the place where thunder always reigns.

A place for heroes who never won, but died in their place.
a poem that is a bit analytical of people who are apathetic to their problems in life; who let themselves get hurt, and pretend to care for themselves by doing nothing, believing just weeping and feeling sad can solve the pain in your life; people who are apathetic, and still persist to hurt themselves (both literally and not).
Acina Joy Jan 7
Never trust roses again.

I lay down in a bed of them,
muttering a lullaby sweetened.
Pink petals meeting my lips reddened,
as I become a beloved sacrifice,
when you lied to me I would be cherished.
I thought I laid in a bed of roses,
to only lay in a floor of thorns.
So I told myself, as I bled out rubies,
that we both foolishly called love.

"
Never trust roses again."
inspired from a music video. i just wanted to let out my words in a long time.
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