"complemented" poems
A part of me smoulders within..
When the world is serene
And the eye resists a lonely tear..
The loneliness embraces my conscience,
and the lullaby of memories lures me to the lane..
Where the mothers's lap complemented a nap..
Where the Dad's jokes evoked pathos..
The friend's smirk,
The brother's ****
The bickering girls,
The lustering guys,
The barbie attire,
The teacher's satire,
And the useless tinkling laughter..
And when I drag myself to the prevailing adolescence,
All I think for,
All I lust for..
Is the sweet lullaby of memories..!
Nov 15, 2012
Nov 15, 2012 at 5:46 AM UTC
English with 26 letters, is generally thought to be the simplest language on earth. A language built up on 26 letters is amazing.
But within just handful of letters, how many words can be misspelled..
My childish attempt to rhyme and write...
ei or ie, we are confused when we write,
it's then the words jump to end their lives.
Homonyms, homophones, homographs
It's fun to know the very facts.
Bear tried to **** Jack with its bare hands,
Jack had to bear the brunt of the bear.
Speed is what we thrive to do
If we forget to Brake, will break a head or two.
100 cents makes a dollar
Jack sent his wife to buy a stroller
She smelled the scent of a broiler
And forget all about the stroller.
The people who lives in Desert
do they have dates as their Dessert?
The dinner was perfect
The wine complemented the feast
The hosts were perfect
And were complimented for their treat.
The King who reigned Prussia
Rode high holding his horse's reins,
But his horse started to panic
As it started to Rain.
Drew looked at his new site
The building looked a perfect sight
When asked for the legal owner
He cited the document which held his right.
May 21, 2016
May 21, 2016 at 2:38 PM UTC
To thank each one of you,
Today, I take the opportunity,
By taking names for your support.
For being the source,
First of all, I thank Life,
For the inspiration she was.
She guided me to Hello Poetry,
Introduced me to new friends,
Broke up ultimately however.
Then I thank Timothy Salter,
For his own and his family's,
Articulate poetry helped me.
Madam Hilda writes as amazing,
And as amazing is their daughter,
It is hard to tell if Marian wrote it.
It's helping me learn more,
Respecting it has taught me,
Had to be paid to earn more.
Not forgetting Gitacharya Vedala,
For he elaborates on every detail,
Thereby helping me experiment.
Same is for Pradip Chattopadhyay,
Hinting of Rabindranath Tagore,
He's the poet clad in sombrero.
Their pure physics at soul poetry,
Helped me learn experimenting,
With sheer hollow truthfulness
I then engage in remembering,
Elsa Angelica for inspiring me,
Her own poetry is developing.
She inspired me to improve,
My strengths & weaknesses,
She taught me being lucid.
Then of course I thank Sukeerti,
She taught me being beautiful,
Without being too explaining.
She encouraged my writing,
Always was their as a friend,
Giving me her positive inputs.
Madam Elizabeth 'Lizzie' Squires,
Aptly mature her poetry is always,
Very much to learn always exists.
Her persona is respectable,
Definitely motherly her aura,
Making her a poet so reputable.
Several other poets fascinate me,
Equally instead of less or more,
They all teach me the lessons.
Madam Sally A Bayan is there,
Her sweet mature bits of advice,
Best complemented by her poetry.
Shayana Shrikanthalingam,
Seeing all her polished poetry,
Not such a difficult name for me.
Ever inseparable they are,
Brandon & Earl Jane Nagley,
They are the immortal lovers.
And I recognize the beauty,
An Indian model here on H.P.,
Poetry surely as cute as herself.
She is the most elegant girl,
On Hello Poetry and in reality,
Bhumika Fulwani I refer to here.
Finally, I express my gratitude to her,
In my life she's the ultimate one,
Now I needn't anyone else.
She is my Pooja Shah,
She is exclusively mine,
She is here forever to stay.
Jan 17, 2016
Jan 17, 2016 at 5:32 AM UTC
I am pretty sure I'm in love with you. I love the way your freckles fall perfectly in place like the ones the draw on American girl dolls. I love the way you smile, crinkling up your small little noes and squinting your eyes like the books you always read have damaged not only your adjustment to light, but the way you see earth so that now everything seems unfitting. Unfitting for a king like you. I love the way your hair looks like you just woke up. I love the way you smell. I love the way you walk like a character from the Incredibles, hopping around. I love the way you look when you read one of your novels. I love your eyes. Your eyes I could stare at forever. Reminding me of our first conversation, time I complemented your eyes . Your eyes. As if some one took the bluest lake out of your newest book and shrunk them. I love the way you talk. I love the way your voice sounds when you read aloud. It reminds me of being a kid, curled up in my pink cat pajamas, listening to my father read Good Night Moon. I love the way you dress. I love the way you laugh. I love you. But to you I'm just a friend. The person you get the homework from as you rush to study exactly 5.5 seconds before a test. I'm just the girl you smile at. But I love you. I love you more than I've ever loved anyone. I love the way you acknowledge me as just a friendly face. I love the way the way I love you is just a secret.
Apr 15, 2015
Apr 15, 2015 at 12:15 AM UTC
I read him one of my poems
He complemented my mechanics
And although part of me laughed
Wondering how he heard me breathe the commas
Heard my spelling bee winner's letter placement
Still
The notion stuck
Steadfast
Push-pinned in my memory
In the neglected space where kind gestures live
I told him how I appreciated it
I should've told him
Boy no no
You don't understand
My mechanics need fixing
No not my grammar boy
I should've told him to volunteer
Sweet boy
I know hands are easier to work with than words
Touch me with both
Shhhh sweet boy
Fix me with your good nature
Let it wash over me
Wash away my grime
You needn't a good speaking voice
But a good intention
Warming arms
To thaw me
Couldn't hurt
But sweet boy
Too bad
We all grow sick of licorice
And I broke you
Like the mantelpiece momma told me not to play around
I broke you
For a less sweet boy
With a politician tongue
And words soaked in muddy motives
I broke you
Hardened you
Into a less sweet boy
With a polititia- err
Salesman tongue
And words soaked in muddy motives
I left you
Gone with the wind
You were the Rett
In the search for my Ashley
But he broke me
Like the soldiers countenance heading to combat
He left me
Wondering
Where all the sweet boys could have gone
May 21, 2014
May 21, 2014 at 11:11 AM UTC
I was in my dream last night...
The girl in my dream was a self image that my self conscious created.
She had long thick curly hair running down her back like a wild river,
and There were these thin wisps of black curls that rested on her forehead and would not budge no matter how many times she swept them aside
The ensemble she wore was rich in color
I admired the way the colors complemented each other
incredibly lively and elegant
She wore an azure tank with an emerald silk scarf
A Celeste cascaded long skirt embellished with tiny vibrant glass beads that shimmered ever so brightly
She was bare foot but i couldn't help but notice every step she took
On her ankles were anklets that dangled the prettiest of gems
She walked towards me
Her beautiful clothing dancing against her body
She sat next to me on the curb and said
"You look sad, what is the matter?
i can see the circles under your eyes
the insufficiency of laughter
Your heart and your mind are intertwined
You convince your mind to keep you in a dark place
then your heart crumbles leaving your care-fee spirit behind.
These are simply realities you must face
you know, things fall apart
so better things can come together
it might break your heart
but believe that hurtful moments don't last forever
Sometimes in-explainable things happen
sometimes the going gets tough
but you cant allow it to break your spirit for too long
The sun will rise again, sure enough."
Then, just as she gracefully came,
she gracefully left
I Awoke.
She left me with my sadness
for me to decide.
Jan 13, 2014
Jan 13, 2014 at 9:09 PM UTC
Bamboo shoots, cooked in oil,
we munched were delicious. The tender love,
we shared, in our sojourn, in the lodge
deep inside the forest, had complemented it.
She was a playful tigress, transformed
by the atmosphere, with a manifested ****** interest,
different from her usual demure self.
One thing led to another, we fed each other,
heady vintage wine, from our mouths,
till we found out, in such circumstances,
love would make us do things,
we never imagined we could.
The sketch she made depicting us,
as two wild elephants, in musth*
rummaging the bamboo grove,
eating shoots to our fill,
reminded *Shiva and Parvathi, his consort,
taking the form of elephants
indulging in every possible play amorous,
culminating in the birth of Ganesha,
the cute God, elephant faced,
the remover of obstacles.
Love drunk the song we both sung,
was one of innocence.
The booming wind in bamboo leaves,
suddenly changed tune, sounding like ankle bells.
Dense, dark, green womb of forest
and the flow of wind above, like a blood stream,
kindled the prenatal memories, from deep down,
and as the background score,
cacophony of unknown birds of many feathers.
We swam in the lukewarm water,
of a day so different, with joyous abandon.
A voice mysterious, spoke in my blood stream:
"Be like birds, wind on bamboo grove, elephants seeking what they want,
the love you share would bring, fantastic results,
the world, would look far more simple,
life and death cease to be riddles, just natural,
shadows vanish, no fear remains in deep caves,
everything gently flows, like a clear river to the ocean"
Apr 26, 2013
Apr 26, 2013 at 1:08 AM UTC
vase.
your fingers;
so delicate
and fragile;
cool to the touch
as i allow
my fingertips
to trail down
the surface
of your smooth skin;
almost like porcelain
to the touch,
you calmed me,
just being in the same vicinity as you
made me suddenly feel
overcome with a sense
of serenity,
of peace
and because of this,
i couldn't get enough of you;
i had never in my life
seen anything i regarded
as remotely close to
as beautiful as you were,
causing me to place you
on the highest of pedestals,
an insurmountable target
with which i used
to compare
every other person;
and none of them did;
the way
you complemented a room
made me have to compliment you
for i have not once
come across something
so pure,
an untainted piece of art
that i fear
will leave my life
sooner than i'd like,
for,
by a stroke
of awful luck,
you'd been dropped
many a time
by undeserving people
that didn't recognize
the priceless masterpiece
they once had
to call their own,
leaving you
to pick up the shattered pieces of yourself
and put them all back together
and while there are scars,
permanent indents and grooves
endlessly reminiscing previous pain,
i am not deterred in my quest
to show the whole world
what a magnificent specimen you are.
and because of this,
i vow to cradle you,
to protect you,
and to love you;
and i'll hope, every week,
that you like the flowers
i got for you to hold
(they glimmer well
with the hint of your eyes)
when the light
from the early morning sun
illuminates every corner
of those daisies,
and more importantly,
the beautiful vaselike angel
caressing them
as if she's the only thing
keeping them from
the rest of the world;
the parts of reality
that don't notice,
that don't realize
the significance
and the simple beauty
inside of both of them;
which is why, darling
i understand
with your broken past
you fear falling apart
but i promise
to keep you safe
after all,
you're my work of heart.
Dec 8, 2013
Dec 8, 2013 at 4:08 PM UTC
I like purple. It’s as simple
as that. Well, maybe not that simple.
I’ve in love with purple. We are unified
through time and space
forever until I die. Purple, being immortal,
would mourn my death and find
one of its many followers to connect with.
But for me, there will always be purple. If I had a choice
in any expression of character design that had
my own personal preference of color, purple
would be there somewhere. I would dye my
hair purple if I could, but my mother
told me never to come home
as long as my hair is dyed.
I love her and believe her, so I
don’t dye my hair. I have a
purple dress or two that I dress up in to express
my beauty. I know
it sounds terrible thinking
about it, I have to dress up to express
beauty to others. However, the fact that
I’m complemented means something to me. The way
I do my makeup and carry myself
and choose to dress, it has an effect
on those that lays eyes upon me. I beam with pride,
showing all my expressions of purple. A homemade purple bow
here,
a lavender wig there, a dress with the right touches of purple-
maroon
and a beaming mahogany woman, brimming with specialness. I am a purple girl,
not the only one, but the most reflexive I can be.
If I could color my soul, it would be purple sometimes.
Not every time, but a lot of the times. Any kind of purple
would do. The light purples
like lilac and light lavender are sweet and fluffy.
They remind me of happy seventy-five degree weather
days with a comforting breeze, and no pollen
since I’m allergic and pollen is pretty much one of
those things I’d encounter in hell. Darker purples,
like plum and grape, give a more mature
vibe of elegance and sophistication. It reminds me
of a dark night, a woman in high heels and
a dress with a slit so high that
it makes men lose their religions and minds
for a taste of her tantalizing forbidden fruit,
with a flawless expression of her body that gives
those men wet dreams and fantasies. In my heart,
there is a purple stream that flows from the heart that starts to
circle around my body and continues to float into the
ground until it touches the core of the planet
and up in the air into space and beyond infinity.
It always seems to be there, that purple
stream of magic and imagination. I dance a purple dance,
leaving traces of purple steps in my wake.
So I come back to the beginning. “I like purple.”
With those words, I haven’t done my expression justice.
It’s true, but it is an understatement.
Apr 13, 2020
Apr 13, 2020 at 9:00 AM UTC
I have never been kissed
I should be embarrassed
To be 15 years old and considered beautiful but
I have never been kissed
I have never been squeezed
I should be embarrassed
To be 15 years old and considered beautiful but
I have never been squeezed
I have never had a poem written for me
I should embarrassed
To be 15 years old and considered beautiful but
I have never had a poem written for me
I have never had a guy ask me out
I should be embarrassed
To be 15 years old and considered beautiful but
I have never had a guy ask me out
I have never been asked to hook up
I should be embarrassed
To be 15 years old and considered beautiful but
I have never been asked to hook up
I have never been told by a boy he loves me romantically
I should be embarrassed
To be 15 years old and considered beautiful but
I have never been told by a boy he loves me romantically
I have never experienced the above things
I should be embarrassed
To be 15 years old and told by everyone that I'm beautiful
To be whistled at in a city, walking down the street
To be constantly complemented everywhere I go
To have such a 'perfect' body yet nobody to hold it close
But I am not embarrassed
Not really
You see,
I have experienced the above things
With you
you
You and I have done all of these together
In my mind
We are dating and perfectly happy
In my mind
The two of us have kissed
In my mind
You have held me close, not like a best friend but a lover
In my mind
So I guess this is a thank you
For giving me all of these experiences
For unknowingly leading me to hope for us
For truly being the greatest friend I could ever ask for
For showing me what love is
k.m.c
Jan 14, 2016
Jan 14, 2016 at 4:59 PM UTC
1-
T’was dark when the time came for breakfast
I looked down at my untied shoes
With a spirit only able to be described as broken
I left my abode to stand under a lonely lamppost
And let my body quiver and quake with rage
As I thought about the night’s voyage
2-
Raindrops coated my new suede shoes
As I felt myself lulled by the buzz of the lamppost
Her face filled my mind and I savored the rage
Knowing she now was far away on her voyage
If only I had asked her to breakfast
If only I had complemented her shoes
3-
Looking back towards the house, and my now cold breakfast
I thought about her asking me to join the voyage
But my heart was already broken
And her query only further filled me with rage
She knew I had left my only shoes
Sitting in the rain under the lamppost
4-
The dampness chilled my bones as I stood under the lamppost
Exhausted from so much time lost in rage
My belly ached from having no breakfast
And my body began to feel broken
As if I could not even walk due to the tightness of my shoes
But there was nothing left but to begin my homeward voyage
5-
I glanced at my watch in the light of the lamppost
It would be too late for a McDonalds breakfast
Even if I could find my shoes
It was a seven block voyage
And when I slipped, stubbed my toe, and realized it was broken
I felt, once again, myself fill with dangerous rage
6-
From a distance I heard high-heeled shoes
She approached from a different kind of voyage
In her hand she held a bag of breakfast
From the McDonalds with a sign that was broken
Instantly it left my body, all that rage
And we held each other, under the glow of the lamppost
Nov 5, 2015
Nov 5, 2015 at 10:33 AM UTC
*I want to trend
Not in modern but in the good ancient my friend
I want a candle; candles up an earthen chandelier
I'm tired of the tick tack of the modern switch
I want the moon and stars like life was earlier
I'm done with bulbs which when old start to twitch
I want a type writer to capture what I write in my book
I'm tired of computers where all I do's Facebook
I want to revert to the quiet life of my ancestors
I want the warmth of watching the stars
I want to eat beef steamed in Earthenware
Beef with the touch of smoke and of love and care
I'm tired of the modern meat whose source is never clear
I want a meal served hot on her knees complemented by millet beer
I want a home, a real home with an artful grass thatched house
A traditional home with a hound for me and a cat in case of any Mouse
I'm fed up of the modern roofs which roast as if we're pork
I want an affair that's free of silly social media talk
I want a place she and I can have peaceful evening walks
And her eyes not having to watch out for cars
I want someone simple enough to pride in her scars
Open and proud of her weaknesses,one laughter sincerely chokes
I want someone whose thighs will be warm hidden
Someone who won't dare do the forbidden
Not one who'll go at dusk and return at dawn
I want not a queen for that will make me her pawn
Someone who'll give me a massage,not send me to the parlors
One who's content and natural, not painted in colors
Who’ll together with me do laundry, not a laundry machine
I want someone who'll be contented with the little beard on my chin
I want a life like that of my grand father
Small family, moderate success, a wife who isn't a bother
I want a simple life that will give even my enemies peace
I want Africa; I want a bit of my heritage, just a piece
I want that life frozen in sphinx and sculpture
I want to busk in the glory of African culture*
May 7, 2015
May 7, 2015 at 10:07 AM UTC
In deep layers of silence
I used to hear music,
without words or instruments
it did flow,
the birds used tell me-
secrets of listening to nature.
Parakeets spoke in resonances of green
crows and egrets
complemented again and again,
the music, I thought, was a divine hallucination,
but now
it all turns upside down,
You, complain
you keep on hearing someone crying,
from within.
I see eyes welling up,
which are those memories
that blow up, surge out?
Shh..keep quiet for a moment,
a commotion is getting nearer and nearer,
the ice caps are melting,
but who cares,
the crowd has no mind,
they are braying for blood,
Whose blood?
their own, but can the blind distinguish?
*"come, this is my blood, drink it,
cut this bread in to pieces,
eat it, be satisfied.."*
Sep 15, 2012
Sep 15, 2012 at 7:24 AM UTC
no, i am not a first grader
incapable of knowing when to capitalize
and i type in lowercase to be nonchalant
i don't capitalize 'i' because
i am not important
my self worth is lower than the Mariana Trench
it's hard for me to even address
myself without feeling annoying
i am not more important than the word prestigious
i'm not more pretty than the word beautiful
i am not as nice as the word affectionate
i'm not as secure as the word trustworthy
it's so hard to reprogram your brain to accept
that you can be of some worth, that you can be
desirable at all after years of too much thinking
and being alone and trapped in my mind
everyday i must try my best to remind myself
that the subject of a sentence is being
complemented by the beautiful words
like the way a close friends complement you
i have to remember that there are people there for me
even if my head tries to tell me otherwise
it's a struggle every time, but
'I'
just have to try
May 7, 2021
May 7, 2021 at 5:25 PM UTC
I remember vividly,
The days of my tender immaturity,
That complemented an air of naivety I had.
But now I have learnt,
How to maintain a reticent manner,
An agreeable countenance,
And an unceasing anesthesia.
I have tamed my heart not to beat fast at the sight of you,
But it still needs practice.
It needs practice because it has never known how to face its fears calmly.
So, it remains hidden right here in my chest,
Eavesdropping on you.
I have taught the sinews of my wrinkled lips to smile freely.
I have taught them to smile freely because sorrow chokes me.
Sorrow chokes me because I cannot resist the thoughts of your indifference,
Running wildly down the nerves into each sombre inch of my skin,
And every inch of my skin mutilating itself,
Tattooing your name,
Slowly.
Silently.
'Painfully'.
Mar 21, 2019
Mar 21, 2019 at 2:11 PM UTC
Your eyes
Are the most gorgeous shade
Of home,
Complemented perfectly
By
A smile the colour of love.
Oct 1, 2017
Oct 1, 2017 at 1:40 PM UTC
1. I lied to my mother about talking to you because last time I told her we talked, she cried.
2. My biggest fear is that no matter what I do, I won't ever get over you.
3. Everywhere I go, I find you. I suppose it's because I carry you in my heart.
4. I didn't believe in soul mates until I met you. You didn't complete me, you complemented me.
5. Sometimes I can't sleep because I'm thinking of you. Other nights I don't want to sleep because I know I'll dream of you.
6. You make my hands shake and my stomach hurt. I don't think love is suppose to feel this way.
7. I miss you even when you're not away. I hate it but it's always been that way.
8. Sometimes I think we were meant to be. Everything was right except our timing.
9. It's been two years too late but I still look for your face in a crowded room.
10. You felt like home but if there's anything I've learned recently, it's that home is so very temporary.
11. I never knew craving touch was a thing until I saw your hands.
12. You are the whirlwind of thoughts I could never put into words.
13. I write about you like you put the stars in the sky.
14. I don't want to forget you but somedays I regret you.
15. I don't always like you but I always love you.
Jan 11, 2016
Jan 11, 2016 at 1:25 AM UTC
Simple questions deserve simple answers.
For that is the way life runs,
The simpleness of a subject is complemented by something much more simpler.
So why is it,
When this question surfaces in the minds of every writer,
There is nothing simple to it.
The reason for writing is as simple as it can be.
It is like painting on a canvas board,
For every stroke of the paintbrush is a stroke of words
Painting vivid images in the minds of every boy and girl.
We as writers are giving life to the lifeless lines of paper.
For even when it's blank,
There is still an image painted through words.
The greatest invention mankind could ever think of is words.
For without them,
Nothing could ever exist.
Without the simpleness of screaming out how blue the sky is
Or how soft those clouds look,
Or even how beautiful a starry night sky can be,
How can we
Ever appreciate the beauty writers create on canvas boards.
For every written word on a blank sheet of paper,
Is a stroke of paint,
Creating magnificence inside a dull mind
My good sir,
When asking a writer their reason for writing should be as simple as this
But
If its too complex for your mind to comprehend,
Then, let me simplify it further.
When you ask an artist their reason for creating art,
You are merely asking their reason for existing
Asking why they are deluding themselves on such strange fantasies
But you have yet to realize the true nature of us artists
We find many ways to escape harsh realities
Creating picture perfect paradises
Or even amplifying how gruesome society can be.
The reason for writing should be as simple as this.
For the simpleness of a subject should be complemented with something much more simpler.
But if it's too complex for you,
The reason why writers write is as simple as this,
Writers are artists and therefore write to create art,
Like taking a single paintbrush and painting on a canvas board
We as writers take a single pencil and write on blank sheets of paper.
Sep 27, 2012
Sep 27, 2012 at 2:12 AM UTC
There so called "flotsam"
I'm standing on millions now
Walking down the alley where I use to lay on the sidewalks
Saw the men who called me "flotsam"
But they didn't recognize me instead they complemented me on this Hermes apparel
I let them talked
Asked them where they work
They work for my company
I decided to leave
But before I left
I turned back around
I told them I'm the man that's so called "flotsam"
By the way you're fired
Oct 28, 2014
Oct 28, 2014 at 9:50 PM UTC
James Corden’s close relationship with Burberry designer Christopher Bailey was celebrated at the 2016 Tony Awards.
On Sunday night (12Jun16) the toast of Broadway were celebrated at the annual awards show. British star James was the evening’s host, winning the crowd over with his warm sense of humour and down to earth delivery.
As well as a successful acting and presenting career, James can now also add style icon to his burgeoning resume.
“We wanted to keep the wardrobe tight and focused with a definite beginning and an end,” stylist Michael Fisher told vogue.com.
“We started with Burberry for the red carpet. James and Christopher Bailey have a long-standing relationship. I wanted a strong look that complemented the roses. The deep burgundy tux had matte black micro sequins on the lapel: very sophisticated and classic, with a technical update.”
Like any good awards show host, 37-year-old James had numerous outfit changes. Two suits from Tom Ford featured; a black three-piece design which served as a tribute to Broadway and then a teal dot dinner jacket, which James chose to wear at the after party.
A show-stopping Dolce & Gabbana look also featured, with the fashion house supplying a pair of “handmade, dark green croc shoes” to complement the green velvet and crystal jacket James wore to close the show.
Another stand out moment came thanks to a red Gucci suit adorned with a bird and butterfly motif.
“The Gucci suit was my favourite,” Michael smiled. “You can’t ignore the influence (Gucci designer) Alessandro Michele has on fashion right now. It reminded me of (musical) The Boy From Oz and in that way was very appropriate for the Tonys.”Read more at: www.marieaustralia.com/evening-dresses | http://www.marieaustralia.com/cocktail-dresses
Jun 15, 2016
Jun 15, 2016 at 1:40 AM UTC
Into the goblet of life did I poor myself, convivially jaunting; jumping for the juniper as if jolted into life for the first time by the cosmic current that sublimely filtered reality from the dream that had become my truth.
I, beheld to the newly found perceptions, careening through the trees, trampling upon crisp leaves, on my way to scenic experiences, was ever looking forward to the hopeful thrill and living in anticipation of the next climactic excitement.
I would be unable to be complemented by the moment, in which I did not truly live.
The adventure became a tragedy,
As is always with the changing of innocence into untoward regret.
Tears were novelties that were bartered for kindness, traded for the rhyme, but never the shine.
Illumination is priceless.
Jan 31, 2016
Jan 31, 2016 at 6:57 PM UTC
Yesterday, she touched my lips with her fingers.
I wasn't so dizzy but I laid my head on her thighs.
I kissed her on her cheeks, I hugged her so tight.
We talked about our petty little secrets.
We stood on the rooftop taking all the night lights in.
She leaned her head on my shoulders.
Her face complemented the night sky.
I stared at her and I swear she's the most beautiful creature I've ever been so close to.
And I knew in those moments we were just playing some pretending games.
I thought I was contented. I thought.
Now, I know we should stop playing this game.
I'm losing all my cards.
I'm afraid that maybe after we're done playing inside our own storm, I'll be left alone engulfed in the sea of darkness. Scathed by the memories of her. And no matter how hard I try to keep swimming to the shore, I won't be able to find my way out.
Jul 9, 2016
Jul 9, 2016 at 9:11 PM UTC
A snapshot from the island nation of Maldives inspired this poem. The picture was clicked and uploaded to Facebook by a really gorgeous school friend of mine who just got married.
As if the beach was incomplete till today,
And the jetti was so lonely till this day,
Now it feels complemented by your unparalleled beauty.
This day is not going to end as the Sun has refused to sink down,
It has made up its mind to shine awn & awn,
All is blamed to your beauty which added up to the scenic beauty.
Dec 23, 2015
Dec 23, 2015 at 4:13 AM UTC
the coldness
of the metal
against her skin,
the warmth
of the crimson
staining her wrists,
they complemented each other
so perfectly,
in a way that she never
complemented
her love.
Mar 29, 2017
Mar 29, 2017 at 11:52 AM UTC
I was three years old standing barefoot on the screened in porch in the summer heat
you had a beer in your hand with condensation wetting your skin
I asked and you answered
My first sip of alcohol fascinated my three year old self
Bubbles
I was six and wearing a white dress walking next to a boy in a suit down a church aisle
Eyes fixated on the moment I would grow in my faith
First communion came with excitement to me
I tasted church wine for the first time
Genisis
I was twelve and at Christmas dinner with extended family
table set makeshift bar locked eyes with mine
You poured me a glass of red
a special occasion you said
Acceptance
I was fourteen then fifteen then sixteen
Every week a glass of wine with dinner
A beer in the summer
it complemented the steak
You taught me to drink at home to know my limits
To protect me from going crazy when I left home
Normality
I was eighteen and a two-time college dropout
The wine on the counter and a constant supply of liquor comforting
A stressful day ended with a numbing to my feelings
A glass away from silence in my head
and an easy night of sleep from being mixed with my medications
Routine
I was twenty when I realized a drink would turn into a few
and a few would turn into asleep on the floor
or vomiting and sitting in the shower for hours
I was twenty when I realized it took more to get me tipsy than it used to
that I needed to drink and when I did I wouldn't stop
because what was the point unless you were drunk
I was twenty when I started to jokingly call myself an alcholic
I was twenty when my friends dropped the joking part
I was twenty and tipsy and unable to legally drink and I had already become what everyone else in my family denied being
I blame you
the three year old with a fascination of forbidden things
the six year old who had an intrigue in the taste of communion wine
the twelve year old who accepted the drink from her grandfather's ***** breath every holiday dinner
the teenager who let herself drink at home in the presence of her parents who thought it would help prevent the inevitable
the eighteen year old who learned the hard way life was a much crueler teacher than school and accepted the easy access to numbness
I blame you for the twenty year old I have become
Sep 4, 2018
Sep 4, 2018 at 12:17 AM UTC