"deneka" poems
I manage my time better than I manage my emotions.
Proceed with caution, there might be an explosion,
Like I'm made of vapors of Flammable and Combustible Liquids.
They say the longest rope has an end.
But do not tempt me with rope,
Because if it gets too hard,
I. Might. Just. Use. It.
© Deneka Thomas . All rights reserved
Jun 5, 2014
Jun 5, 2014 at 2:28 AM UTC
I want to see you,
But they say love is blind
So I'll have to rely on my other senses.
Heightened because of your absence.
I want to read you
But my only option is braille
So I'll, use my finger tips to trace every detail,
Of your embossed paper mind where your essence is printed.
I want to hold you,
Clutch, onto your heart like a white cane ,
Show you that nothing will ever be the same,
Once you're leading me.
I want to you to know that I need you,
Why can you see that without you,
I'll be lost and blind,
Still searching for a love I'll never find.
© Deneka Thomas . All rights reserved
Jun 7, 2014
Jun 7, 2014 at 12:26 AM UTC
I'm not supposed to like you.
I'm not supposed to fall for you.
It is forbidden like picking the fruit
From the tree of good and evil from the garden of Eden.
Yet here I stand,
The modern representation of eve.
The moral of the story is that,
Despite knowing the consequences,
I'll pick the apple any way.
We all do.
© Deneka Thomas . All rights reserved
Jun 5, 2014
Jun 5, 2014 at 10:30 PM UTC
What If I said that you're my universe?
That even though you don't know me,
The thought of you ignites solar flares in my mind.
What If I told you you're my universe?
That even though you've never met me,
Every dream I have of you, volcanoes erupt in my soul,
What if I showed you my universe?
Where every particle of my being revolves around you.
Where the though of losing you proves cataclysmic
Though I, never had you to begin with.
What if I asked you to build a new constellation with me?
Let your name be stained across starry skies,
So I can, sleep through the day
And stay up late each night just to look at you.
My universe,
Mercy me please.
I am begging on my knees.
© Deneka Thomas . All rights reserved
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 1:30 AM UTC
Love, is knowing every one of your facebook posts as if they were my own,
Or is that called stalking?
Love, is all the places we've gone my mind,
Or is that called dementia?
Every picture, is fuel for the emotional time bomb,
Ticking in my chest, threatening catastrophic effusion.
And how can you save me?
If you don't know that you're killing me?
I visit your profile, I flirt with the risk.
The temptation is too hard to resist.
© Deneka Thomas . All rights reserved
Jun 5, 2014
Jun 5, 2014 at 11:06 AM UTC
Where I come from only a ferry stands between me and paradise.
And paradise is separated by oceans of water too fast to swim across.
Water too deep to thread and the air, fresher and I am accustomed to.
There are more corbeaus than humming birds where I come from.
The stench of decay rises from houses made from bones.
Ashes mix to paint clouds and,
Mourning ushers mornings making melancholy known to sunlight .
Sunlight however is mostly appreciated by excavators,
Happy to exhume new corpses.
Rain falls from firearms instead of the sky and tears pour from open wounds instead of tear ducts.
And night is every horror movie given existence.
And night is every nightmare given existence.
And Paradise is somewhere behind the line where the sky kisses sea.
And sunsets are swallowed whole.
Deneka Thomas 2015
Apr 2, 2015
Apr 2, 2015 at 2:26 PM UTC
Your touch, supernovas to my skin,
Your palms, assassins trained to ****
Finger tips, leaving tattoos in their wake
Loving you, a risk I am willing to take...
Mercy me.
© Deneka Thomas . All rights reserved
Jun 5, 2014
Jun 5, 2014 at 3:31 AM UTC