"cliffhangers" poems
Life is a trilogy with birth and death sandwiching
Our life stories into books and chapters are written
Every second with every action and inaction
That we take takes each chapter on a wild ride
Through defeat and triumph and love and hate
Chapters like first kiss and first love and first car
And all of our firsts are only minor chapters when
Compared to chapters like self realization
And self acceptance and self recognition
And other chapters about our internal struggles
Internal struggles like depression or anxiety
Or coping with the death of a close friend or
Family member create cliffhangers and drama
In our books and they make our stories different
From all of the other stories that we read
When we make new friends or unite with old ones
And these struggles can tear pages out of our books
That we don’t want people to read because they are
Too hurtful or too personal or they cut us too deep
That we don’t want other people to find out
The truth of what happened or what we have done
And these torn pages will be a reminder of our past
And it reminds everyone that life isn’t perfect
And that we are all flawed with some more than others
But we are all the same because we have gone through hardship
Our books have twists and turns that make us smile
And they make us cry but no matter what they make
Us think about our own lives and how we can write
The next chapter or rewrite the past or change a few words
But no matter what we change our books will never be complete
Life is a book and we all need to read each other’s book
By looking into our eyes or how we are dressed or how we act
Or through our conversations because our books are constantly
Changing with every second and with everything that we do or don’t do
With every feeling or thoughts we have or how we choose to live
Look into my eyes and you can see that my book
Is no different from yours and my chapters are the same
There is a chapter for depression and for anger and for shame
There is a chapter for all of the happiness in my life thus far
And a chapter for all of the things that I want to accomplish
No matter how our books start the ending will be
The most powerful because that will define our past
How we die and how our books are written will determine
If they will be bestsellers or on the self collecting dust
But no matter what life’s a book and we should all read each other’s
Oct 11, 2011
Oct 11, 2011 at 12:12 AM UTC
please take me into the
forest, deep
with tall redwoods and let me feel the rocks like
swords under my callous feet.
where we can watch the sunset from
up above the tilting world, sitting on our thrones
made of Marlboro filters and sticks
on a mountain cliff.
we'd be cliffhangers
and thieves and vagabonds, painting ourselves
with the blue tinted night
like the deepest parts of
the
sea
far from the wandering grasp of
reality.
watch the stars with eyes like
flickering lightbulbs,
shining yellow in empty, echoing rooms.
bring along four bottles
of wine,
one for each of us.
we'll drink until theres wine slipping past our cheeks
like some kind of blood-orange sob,
leaking out our hollowed belly-buttons
rivers running swift through the lines of our
palms.
wounded from every pore with the blood of
our intoxication;
magenta tongue stained skin.
would you let me take your hand and lead you
through the empty, knocking dark
and sing to you in the soft moments of
before morning?
would you trust me enough to
close your eyes
and let me lead you in a bruised,
tumbling
drunken journey to the top of the
highest mountain?
we could lay in the summer blanketed wind
made of dancing sky and
burning earth.
close our eyes and stop the earthquake in
our minds,
wake up with the sunshine seeping through
every corner of our aching
bodies,
roses growing out of our jigsaw jaws and puzzle piece
crumbling ribs and lungs;
see through our sober fingers and
wandering eyes
a different world than it was at
midnight.
Mar 17, 2014
Mar 17, 2014 at 10:15 AM UTC
I cannot see my heart in anyone else's hands
but yours.
The fact that you hold on so tightly
whether you intend to or not
is still there every moment of every day.
Your attempts,
if that's what they are,
to push me away,
areonlypullingmecloser.
I cannot let go of this rope I'm holding on to, this line between me and you.
If my hands set you free you'd no longer be cared for properly
and that's what I fear the most.
Dec 3, 2014
Dec 3, 2014 at 12:00 AM UTC
i just want you to know right now
i’m grateful for the time i’ll spend writing you
because for too long i’ve been sticking glorified memories into the sunlight and naming them love
like it was alright to lose because the world was just teaching me a lesson in resilience every time i fell for someone with nothing but gravity to catch me
like it was all just practice for a hurt much worse than that
like there’s a science to breaking ourselves for the sake of staying sane
we can call our wounds victories so long as we shed a tear or two and didn't drown
and we can stick a bandage to the broken parts and pretend we’ve been having too much fun with the red finger paint but
we both know we outgrew creative solutions long before this
long before we outgrew each other
but from now on we’re done talking about the past like it’s still in front of us
done pretending like we aren’t getting enough of our share of the sun
my dear, we are not the footnotes of our own narratives
so quit letting a shortness of breath steal the stories you’ve been trying to say to the world
you can go tell the thunder its voice can’t even compare to your storytelling
tell the Rockies they’ve got nothing on your cliffhangers
nature’s never had to nurture your wounded imagination
you did that on your own
from now on
we’re gonna be beautiful without an explanation
who said these words ever had to make sense of themselves
who said any of us ever had to do the same
i swear on all the languages i'll never come to understand
these pages are gonna remember us
even when we cannot hold our pens without shaking
the ink's gonna dry and we will too but on everything
i promise something is gonna stay
Feb 28, 2017
Feb 28, 2017 at 1:39 PM UTC
Dripping from the half-tied knots,
Pinched firmly with clothespins,
Like hands that hold together,
These clothes hang from thee,
Like cliffhangers,
Literally.
Jul 26, 2015
Jul 26, 2015 at 10:13 PM UTC
this narrative has had its wear and tear
down to the last page that slips effortlessly off the book
pulling back strings to fit the ending
live action marionette
indulging in countless ways to flee
how could I ever?
eyes like a hawk vigourously watching over me
planning to escape is mind altering
hearts injecting blood a million miles per second
hold my breath as the goosebumps trickle under my spine
fingers twitching with rage
it's time to break out of this cage
sweat seeps off my face
leaving a line of dirt
momentarily, battle scars
I knew this day would come
just sooner than expected
but what did I expect?
existing, just barely
imprisoned in this jest of reality
caught between the societies realm of a fantasy
or breaking the barriers and taking a leap
numerous routes that divide into alternating states
yet the predominant remains
intimidation haunts me
crowding my thoughts
I always thought hell existed deep in my mentality
these dark memories combating to come to the surface
until one day I blinked and realized
hell is neighboring me
hell is leisures from the past that overstays their welcome
hell is energy deteriorating in souls you've attached to
hell is being starved of communication
hell is the strings penetrating your every move
hell is receiving no feedback from the energy you put out
hell is taking your last breath every day just to wake up to the same old ********
hell is repeating "go f### yourself", and its never going to stop
left for dead
in dire need of an escape
this is me sending a signal
sos, ... save me
planning this scheme for too long takes a toll on my soul
confusing reality with a dream
is this authentic or a figment of my imagination
am I hallucinating?
waited ages for an escape
overwhelmed over things I have no command over
will this justify the end?
and leave no cliffhangers to deal with repercussions
that is my chaotic life
an arrogant scenario to arise from
Jun 17, 2019
Jun 17, 2019 at 7:45 PM UTC
It was an era in which we needed ......."heroes!" Those years preceding, during, and after WW II. The movie going public clamored for them.....and we got them! Those "cliffhanger" movie serials! 12 to 16 episodes, each averaging 12 to 15 minutes in length.Masked crusaders battling foreign agents....or..............the "mad scientist" who, in his laboratory, developed a contraption to melt mountains enabling him to rule the world....or just a crusader to protect the public from any villain bent to disrupt society as we knew it.
The science fiction heroes, Superman, Captain Marvel, Flash Gordon . Buck Rogers, "King" of the Rocketmen(there was only 'one) and countless others.
All doomed to die, in some fashion, at the end of each episode, whether it being surrounded by villains, or in a vehicle last seen rolling off the edge of a cliff with our hero trapped inside, unconscious and........ helpless........so we thought. And we returned, each week, to see how such a fate was averted. And, we loved them.
They enriched our pride, putting our country"first", proving that "good..........conquered evil. We felt good about ourselves and.......
We still.........................can.......'united'
(Where are you when we need you!)
r.riddle: 12-11-2016
Dec 11, 2016
Dec 11, 2016 at 2:07 AM UTC
I write stories on my sleeve
Silent novels carved into my arm
Quick
Sometimes d r a g g e d out
All melancholy with the hope for happiness.
The different variety of length is on me.
I am a library,
My words are written for the public to see,
Shelves upon shelves,
displaying biographies of my tragedies.
But my stories result in cliffhangers
when I roll down my sleeve.
May 3, 2017
May 3, 2017 at 11:50 AM UTC
you are my favorite book
with the worst of cliffhangers
- kra
Mar 5, 2015
Mar 5, 2015 at 12:50 AM UTC
*falling, falling, plummeting down this vast emptiness i've felt many times before
spiraling into tears, violent sadness & passive aggressive anger
further down the rabbit hole
i reach numbness, emptiness & an imaginary aloneness between every moment of every day
dreaming of another life once again,
craving of something beyond this world into another realm.
i never for a moment question my love for you.
but as this poison they call depression begins to spread through my veins once more,
i question your love for me.
& every moment of affection, love & kindness you give to me fades in hours from my memory
as if my mind can no longer cling to happiness as it once did
& every moment of even the most minuscule spec of negligence,
(or at least what this entity attempts to convince me is negligence)
becomes a heartbreak in itself & crushes my esteem & my spirit further down
it's getting what it wants, a mutiny of my mind & the very depths of my soul, the core of my being
but then.
in the very last moments, the very last minutes you have as you are here by my side
you see it in me, this darkness
this sadness & anger.
& i never mean to take it out on you yet somehow this thing, it convinces me to
in a way so subtle i don't even realize that it's happening until after it's happened
& you see it, but you also see me
you see the smiles & laughter, the passion, the fierceness, the fire, love & light in my soul
that once was & had never left but has been stuck behind bars
& you hold me & kiss me, tell me everything will be okay & that you promise you'll help me through this
& i smile
& my heart races
& my soul regains a moment of strength for now
& i adore you so much
because somehow you always catch me at the last moment of "all hope is lost"
& you know how much I love cliffhangers*
Jun 16, 2016
Jun 16, 2016 at 12:16 AM UTC
Bliss was sitting close on the cerulean carpeted floors between colorful bookshelves at the library. As she skimmed and scanned for artistic advice and techniques, I was intrigued by the history and works of Michelangelo. We exchanged alluring glances and subtle smiles between the silent absorption of information. I carried her books for her from the checkout counter to her car.
Life was a fairy tale, a fantasy, a novel in the romance section.
Contentment was cuddled next to her on a mattress with one hand wrapped around my torso and the other gently playing with my hair. She told me not to let her forget that her library books were due soon. She excitedly exclaimed that we'd have to go back and search for more.
Life was the occasional poem she allowed me to read and the words that spilled from her mouth in sweet songs.
Angst was asking her to come to the library with me to search for a good book because even in forced silence I enjoyed her company. I was nervous that her response of "maybe one day" was a premeditated broken promise and that her feelings had faded like the inspiration for my old stories that have been tucked away for years in the attic.
Life was a mystery novel with cliffhangers and hidden clues.
I traced patterns on her shoulder with my fingertips and studied her face as she stared silently at the ceiling for hours.
Finally, with a somber voice and blank expression, she spoke to me.
"my library books are overdue."
I'm beginning to think that her abandonment is as well.
Sep 5, 2014
Sep 5, 2014 at 9:55 AM UTC
I lie the way I play with hair
In silence, round and round
twisting this and that
following the same path
again and
again
Like the red of candy canes
unseen and seen
round and round
breath reeking of
red
I lie the way I tell stories
added up setting and characters
details and happenings
plot twists that end in
cliffhangers
I lie the way I put on clothing
layer by layer
switching colors and combos
until finally I end up
clothed
I lie the way I draw breath
in and out
in gasps and sighs
and stops
smiles, frowns
constant
Feb 26, 2014
Feb 26, 2014 at 8:49 AM UTC
Dear friend,
I have been swimming in denial for a long time, and when I finally hit the shore, reality crashed in.
I have processed that I live in a stranger’s body, a stranger’s mind.
I have not lost some parts, but too many that I cannot connect the remaining ones together.
Who am I?
I have no idea. No clue.
I was someone two weeks ago, someone I can easily describe to you. However, today, I’m nothing. How can I describe a nothing?
Empty, lonely? Maybe. But not sad, no.
I don’t know, I cannot understand me enough to describe her, to describe who she has become, or still yet to become.
Whenever I think about who I am becoming, I end up with different cliffhangers.
I’m not a complete story, not just yet. It’s not my time to learn about who I will be.
For now, I’ll continue swimming in denial, hoping when I hit the shore again, I’ll hit the right one, and then I’ll understand my reality a lot more.
Aug 28, 2018
Aug 28, 2018 at 9:34 AM UTC
Dear ex,
Goodbyes. I have never experienced them on a high level, not when my aunt passed away this year, not when friends ghosted me, not when I lost so many parts of me.
I never truly knew what Goodbyes felt like, until I said my first and last one to you.
At first, I didn’t feel anything. In fact, I have not cried about it, yet. I don’t know if I will or not. I don’t know if I’m holding myself back or not. I do know, though, that I’m not in denial.
I have accepted my decision. I have accepted that I have to learn to keep your presence as a memory, and absence as a reality. The thought of you still brings me pain, and that’s a confirmation that I’m not over you just yet. I have accepted that I have to live with the thought of always wondering if that was the right thing or not, if I have truly hurt you or you were just trying to guilt me. I’ll have to live with too many questions, too many cliffhangers. However, it’s fine by me. I won’t dwell myself in the past, I won’t dwell myself in you.
I’m slowly learning who I am without you. I’m slowly opening myself, allowing myself to not be held back. I’m slowly growing a new skin that you have not touched. I’m slowly losing the parts you gave me. I’m slowly becoming who I truly am when I am not sad. I’m slowly flourishing. I’m slowly growing. I’m slowly healing, far from you, without you.
With all the love you’ll never have,
Raghad
Aug 27, 2018
Aug 27, 2018 at 4:59 PM UTC
... Her eyes charted a triangle on his face. His gaze was the ship following the charts. Lost in the Bermudas? She froze her stare at his mouth. Very slowly, inexorably, and absentmindedly, he was sinking, leaning in… like falling into a maelstrom of trance. Time expanded from a puddle to an ocean. The Earth stopped turning. Her eyes were closing, a hundred times slower than the setting sun. Ever so slightly, almost undetectably, her face moved to meet him, for the smallest distance possible. Like half a step, inviting completion. He stopped right before touch… where proximity was impossibly close, blurring the line. The air between their lips felt like contact; a magnet… giving haptic feedback of tingling sensation. Her eyelids lifted again, as if pulled up by the anchors of eyelashes, tethered to his irises. She was stuck in a moment of anticipation. Her lips twitched open, holding her breath. Her eyes focused, wondering, asking thousands of questions per second… saying nothing… waiting to find out what happens after “to be continued…”. She hated cliffhangers. The cruelty of waiting for the sequel.
He interrupted that confusion; spoke in low voice:
“Stop. Imagine... there’s an invisible wall, incredibly thin, but also unbreachable. Will you be window shopping Me? This is better than the actual thing. Because all you want is right on that threshold. And you can choose. Right now. You can choose to extend that moment. Hold it for awhile. Keep it longer. Before it manifests and senses consume it. Stay with me on the other side of the window. Be the want, the desire before satisfaction dulls hunger. Be the thirst before the glass is full. Feel the water pour. Hear it spill. Anticipate the cold moisture with the edges of your tongue and the inside of your cheeks. Swallow the sip of saliva that your senses milked from your thoughts. Now… bottoms up”
Aug 28, 2017
Aug 28, 2017 at 5:05 AM UTC
Bring it back
My mind snapped
I can't see my reflection
The poetry I write is made of all my conceptions
I think I need a therapy session
My anger is my only weapon
I need to take a minute to breath
I need my thoughts to all leave
I need my anti depressants
I think I need anger regression
My mind is full of tricks and lies
And the demons lurk in the back of my mind
I might need to train my anger
My whole life is a movie full of cliffhangers
Casting stones in my direction
Making my life their possession
Hollywood movie star
Wanting to smash up fancy cars
My problems not dire
My issues making me a liar
Counsellor trying to give me feedback
I don't really need that
Trying to keep the watchers interested
But I cant be arsed with the drama you invest in
May 15, 2019
May 15, 2019 at 5:49 PM UTC
Daddy stumbled.
Daddy fell.
Daddy fell off a cliff.
I watched him fall,
Couldn't do anything about it.
Mummy screamed.
Her scream scares me.
Mummy only screams when its important.
I heard Daddy fall.
The leaves broke and so did the branches.
Crash,
said the leaves.
Bonk,
went Daddy's head.
He fell far.
And down Daddy crashed.
Right against the ground.
Now I'm crying.
I was crying when Mummy screamed.
I only just noticed that I was crying.
Maybe bawling.
Is Daddy dead?
I must stop Mummy from jumping down with him.
Please Daddy,
Don't be dead.
Jan 13, 2018
Jan 13, 2018 at 1:35 AM UTC
She told him
That she had a timer
That her story would be short lived
"I don't have enough pages for you to read"
He said that was fine
Some of the best stories are always short lived and end in cliffhangers
A signed contract
Two agreements
Willing participants
It's been fifty six days
He's watched the ink
Encircling her wrists
Oxidizing
Black flaking off
Skin growing more sallow
Edges looking as if they've curled in
Brittle
Brown with age
She told him
He wouldn't have enough pages to read
Less is more
He silently thought
The book closes
Nov 15, 2018
Nov 15, 2018 at 9:44 AM UTC
We all make fun of your eyes,
but that only gives me another excuse to gaze upon them.
I can't help but get lost in your eyes, so full of life and beauty.
You don't need eyes that glow like the sky or shine as emeralds caught in the sun's rays.
Your eyes are unique to you,
telling stories like a intriguing book.
I always seem to lose myself in your chapters.
Your eyes speak volumes!
One day you write the exciting tales of the sale down the drag, and the next- an epic on your love for your fans(perhaps dedicated to yours truly?).
I constantly await the new encounters; checking my laggy phone for updates on the scene,
your stories are always on my mind.
I feel like I know you.
After all, I've reread all of your stories thus far.
Can I help you write your next chapter?
Can I be your co-author?
Your glances make me want to read more,
and your absences are the worst cliffhangers- my heart drops when you leave and a dull pain ensues when there isn't a promise of tomorrow.
I dread the day "to be continued" turns into
The End.
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 9:36 AM UTC
what can I say
I am attracted to you
perhaps in the most fatal way
you have the most beautiful dangers
a nice little story
which has too literal cliffhangers
I'm searching for something new
perhaps a better story
but I cant get over you
wow
thats funny I swear I got over him
and i didnt think I liked you
until you happened to be in my dream.
This love sick girl is a danger to society
and I cant believe that for once
even in a dream you liked me
Apr 30, 2017
Apr 30, 2017 at 6:11 PM UTC
I have learnt so much from books,
I'm always attached to one.
But as I read them I realise,
they've learnt so much from the world.
They've evolved with the world,
in their language and punctuations,
used our ways to narrate,
stretched themselves from drama
to horror, business and science fiction.
They've changed their shape and form
to keep her in their lure;
short, graphic and sometimes still in volumes
they've left us asking for more.
I have learnt so much from books
I'm always attached to one
but as I read them I realise
our lessons are not done.
We are yet to pick up,
the grace of ending chapters,
the art of reading between the lines
and tolerate them cliffhangers.
We are yet to find our balance
between our chosen characters
delve deeper into the complexity
of simplistic and unsaid words.
Beyond all this I've learnt
to keep bookmarks in those pages,
those moments that made my story
different from all others,
I have learnt so much from books,
I'm always attached to one,
It is the one that I am currently writing,
And I need to get to the final chapter
I need to get to the part where I write
She lived happily ever after.
Jan 20, 2019
Jan 20, 2019 at 5:00 AM UTC
i dream of bookmarks
on days better forgotten
ink spilling over
numbness of squalor
these pages, revolving doors
truth within fiction
on sturdy armrests
hearts leaping from cliffhangers
fillers overhead
like sipping of teas
action belying motive
laughs the red herring
over second guessing
of heroes turning human
let presumptions fly
questions, swarming in
faster than the credits roll
home in a stupor
Sep 4, 2020
Sep 4, 2020 at 3:04 AM UTC
To any girl who should come to love him after me: this is my cautionary tale.
_____________________________________________________________
listening to the same song on repeat until you hate it / butterfly wings pinned to cork / empty bandaid boxes / hungover mornings / broken glass beneath feet / panic attacks / swallowing pool water / paper cuts / seeing your mother cry / cold bed sheets in the winter / slamming on the brakes / starless skies / scabby knuckles / lipstick on your teeth / bruised eyelids / unanswered text messages relapsing / pills that don't wash down the right way / hospital waiting rooms / cliffhangers / wine stained linens / splinters under fingernails / second best / cracked snow globes / writer's block / bit tongues / trigger warnings / pipe dreams / names carved into flesh / dissolved forevers / chipped sand dollars / misplaced secrets / loose compass needles / aeroplanes in want of shooting stars / hunger in want of beauty / heartbreak in want of love / staying in want of leaving / goodbye / this poem / he / will / never / read/ it
Jan 30, 2019
Jan 30, 2019 at 8:15 PM UTC
10 months. It’s taken you 10 months to build me up and then tear me down. I don’t think you realize how much you made me fall for you. Your brown eyes that remind me of when we sat on the bench at our old school after the fair, laughing and kissing. Your smooth hands that remind me of when you stroked my hair at that church after the football game. And your unforgettable giggle that reminds me of how you smiled during our kisses at the playground where we’d run off to after the movie.
All of these details made it harder for me to hate you. I don’t know why you let go of me when I was still holding on with all of my strength. I’ve been to one of the greatest cities in America. I should have been happy. But instead I sat there thinking about how you promised me that one day we’d go together. There is not a day that goes by that I don’t think of you. I wish I could hear your voice and feel your touch, if only for a few seconds. I would be the happiest girl in the world.
I hope this isn’t the end of our story because I’ve always hated cliffhangers.
I still love you. I never stopped.
Nov 28, 2016
Nov 28, 2016 at 10:09 AM UTC