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Nicole Alyssia Aug 2014
Asking me to hide my emotions
Is like asking someone
To hide a gushing wound
When the **** won't close
And the blood won't clot
Easier said than done.
Coming from someone on the outside
Who can't feel the actual pain
And would prefer
Not to see the gore
Or clean up the mess.
qi Feb 2015
load your bullets
in the firing chamber
and they'll fly
from your lips,
ricochet and lodge
past the scarce armor
of my ribcage
into this glass heart of mine
     let my insecurities bleed out
                         don't staunch the flow


pierce my skin
with the shards of my heart
end my misery,
squeeze the trigger
with practiced ease
     breathe in,
          breathe out
               breathe in,
                    breathe out


                             *(you'll find another victim
                              downrange of you)
find someone else for target practice, *******.
she had flaked away her memories
and stepped up
with a ponderous heart,
held by two gentle hands;
and saying goodbye, did she,
as she slipped off her skin,
for the moment blood stains
the kumari's tender soul,
bereaved, will she become,
for a goddess never bleeds.

her feet shall never touch
the tattered, ***** ground,
for it engulfs and devours
and burns off the kumari's flesh.
holding her pure spirit, and
  accepting a cruel death sentence,
her quivering soul
cupped but a glimmer of hope,
as the fire would flicker
and lash and whip
as her skin flakes again,
and the kumari vanishes.

but, if she remains unscathed,
blood shall be drawn,
and the gods will tremble and
her body will collapse.
the world will consume her
once again.

a kumari's blood,
drawn, now at death,
trembling and alone,
had she sobbed tears of joy,
for no longer the weight
must she bear in her heart,
of being a kumari;
but a kumari is she,
and the world has not chose her,
but she has chosen to be.

she had withered away,
heart no longer ponderous,
she stepped up.
and her wishes from within
passed on to the fearful others,
held by two gentle hands, and
with a gentle flutter of her eyes,
next to her charcoal stained skin,
had her heart stopped;
for her bejeweled crown had been stained with blood,
and the kumari realized that
she had died long ago.
i worked really ******* this
D Awanis Dec 2016
Nostalgia is a beautiful phenomenon
It's when life seemingly happier,
more adventurous, and less chaotic

People frequently romanticize and misplaced it
As a neverland, wonderland, you name it
More often than not, they think it's all they have left

As I grow older, I can see those fragment of memories
Vividly, so crystal clear that it almost feels real
But baby, nostalgia is a psychological illusion

So, come to your senses now
Recall this as a mantra
Breathe in, breathe out

He's not a history—he's a tragedy
award goes to you for
making me believe
for a second that
my sexuality is a phase.

a stage that's passing
a page about to be turned.

award goes to me
for being in tune
with my desires & feelings.

for not letting you get into my head
for appreciating that love has no

gender,colour,culture or phase.
Chrissy Ade Aug 7
On Monday we met, our eyes fixated on one another, eager to know more
On Tuesday we talked, twiddling our thumbs, fidgeting in our seats, pondering on the right things to say
On Wednesday we hugged, your arms held me close, heartbeats in sync, I felt myself floating
On Thursday we kissed, our lips gravitated towards each other, like the moon and the sea, the connection was natural
On Friday we confessed, three little words wrapped around our ears,
forever tattooed in our minds
On Saturday you disappeared, no note, no call, no text
not a trace of you left that I could still hold on to
On Sunday I cried, my heart still beats, but never the same way,
would you ever give me a reason if I ever asked "Why?"
Just a cheeky poem about first love... :P
Constructive  Criticism and feedback is welcomed and appreciated :)
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