"flyaway" poems
You wonder why she loved you
Deceit lust and betrayal
But she did,eyes blinded
Till truth unfolds with time
Love it fades in the face of reality
Bitter but real
Let her flyaway
Let her breakfree
Listen,the sound of drums
Toes taping in rejoicing
Hear the the laughter of freedom
She is no longer your prisoner
Let her walk with her head held high
She is beauty,elegance and dignity
You wonder why she loved you
Toture disrespect and hate
But she did,Ignorance
She held on though her blistered palm
Knowing not her worth
But she knows today
See she smiles at her reflection
She is beautiful not because you say
Let her flyaway
Let her breakfree
May 11, 2016
May 11, 2016 at 12:22 AM UTC
once someone asked me what my favorite flower was
i told them, "a dandelion"
they looked confused for a moment
before i told them why
i like dandelions because
not only are they cute and fluffy [hehe]
they're also weeds
found in every day places
nothing special
but i love them
and for me
i will always think of them as little wishes
running around crazy in the garden
as a child, if you blew it all away in one breath
then you got a wish
now every time
i see one of those cute
fluffy, light
everyday weeds
i smile as i bend down to pluck it gently
trying not to ruffle it too much
i draw in a breath
and watch as the segments go flying
dawdling through the air
and i make a wish
on that flyaway dandelion
Jun 17, 2013
Jun 17, 2013 at 5:08 AM UTC
his Eyes are the leafy root of a carrot,
Portals to the sustenance underground.
his Feet are bare but determined to go far.
his mouth is a canopy to a dense forest
Hiding from the world, what lays inside.
his flyaway hair, like a fallen piece of bark,
an imperfection that's part of a perfect picture.
his Thoughts are raindrops pouring off of an elephant leaf,
Small indentations flowing from a vast expanse.
his Voice is the wind, carrying me away to a better place.
his Charisma is Grandfather Mountain who holds old wisdom,
ever durable through the storm.
his Past, a collection of sand,
is molding into a seashell that will take a lifetime to form.
his Soul is a pinecone,
Guarded on the outside but holds something precious to me.
Sep 23, 2011
Sep 23, 2011 at 8:33 AM UTC
*She waited long and wide
She waited a long time
someone might see her
But no, no one came
She knew that day, that very day
That there's no prince in shiny armor
That she's no damsel in distress
She knew that day, that very day
That no one's gonna come
That she's the one, who gotta spread
her wings and flyaway
Save herself, help herself
Flyaway to the sky
Flyaway to her destiny
She's the one, who gotta spread
her wings and flyaway.*
May 28, 2015
May 28, 2015 at 2:15 PM UTC
i feel shy,
i feel my toes curl
and my muscles tighten
stomach flutters like an engine
heart speeds up before take off
i strap my mind in before it floats
it would get stuck in the clouds
love, as a gas would be light
lighter than helium it flies
with the combined effort
my heart and stomach
lift off the ground
a hot air ballon
filled with love
| |
| |
lit alight by you
we slowly flyaway
sharing our small
hot air ballon
May 22, 2013
May 22, 2013 at 7:26 AM UTC
Do you know what beauty is?
Some say it's these eyes.
The same eyes that have been rubbed with fists
that don't know their purpose,
fists that only know these tears are foreign,
and it is their job to eradicate them.
These eyes are two-sided mirrors,
only showing what the outer person believes to see,
not what's really there.
These eyes have known smiles, but not sleep;
joy, but not peace.
Are these eyes still beautiful?
Some say it's this smile.
The same smile that has been too many frowns,
curves of confusion and wishful thinking.
These teeth, straight and strong
only because of man's work, not nature's.
Teeth that were once blamed for unattractiveness,
and kept hidden by tight-lipped
excuses of a smile.
Lips that are anxiously bit rather than kissed,
red with embarrassment and the feeling
of never measuring up.
Together, these lips and teeth create a smile,
but alone they are just forcefully arranged teeth,
and lips that worry.
Is this smile still beautiful?
Some say it's these curls.
The curls that are, but don't want to be,
and only are because hormones got a hold of them.
These curls are soft, but disguised of that
by flyaway frizz that wants freedom
but will never get it.
These curls are angry at their boundaries,
and they take that anger out on me.
The truth is, I could never set them as free
as they wish to be.
Are these curls still beautiful?
Some say it's this size.
The petite waist and slender arms,
the curvy legs and prominent chest,
this childish height.
Smallness makes the big feel bigger,
stronger, more capable.
But it also makes the small feel smaller.
This is the same waist that hungers perpetually,
the same arms that shiver when no one else does,
the curves that hesitate instead of bragging,
and the height that's mocked, condescended,
and shamefully despised.
Is this size still beautiful?
The heart of the matter is that beauty
is simply misunderstood.
Beauty is the surface of unfathomable depths.
It is not beauty at all, but merely
an acceptance, or a recovery, or a new birth.
Something that was,
but wasn't until it was discovered.
And if this is the case, why aren't we searching for it?
Why are we waiting for beauty to appear
when we could be finding it?
Jun 23, 2013
Jun 23, 2013 at 5:19 PM UTC
It was dark outside,
Sun is yet to break the dark quilt of night,
I was on my bed,
Fighting with slumber and trance!
Fight hours after hours.... nothing comes out..
All of a sudden wake up with the sound in my door,
Run and open...
Newspaper was on the floor,
The hawker was passed by on his bicycle,
Sun already on the top of the mango tree,
My trance flyaway and stupor enclose by..
But reverie of politics over news paper again beat on..
If you vote you will change your state of happiness.... with words on to with wealth
Mar 23, 2015
Mar 23, 2015 at 8:34 AM UTC
~
Vast...
Nigh unknowable
Quilt stretching out over incalculable
intervals and distances…
Pulling. Churning.
Alternating between different frames
of reference
Spinning me nauseas
Look at our local surroundings
Such activity above!
Mere minutes before the untrained eye
Takes notice of
The movers,
Slowly wandering across the speckled expanse
The fire has receded into its undulating
orange-gray hideout
The satellites are so numerous now…
And the red-orange glow illumines
your cheek, your neck, and your
flyaway hair.
A distant owl
A dog’s hollow cry rings out echoing
off of the hill
Sending this gang into high alert
Aug 27, 2015
Aug 27, 2015 at 8:34 AM UTC
Scream,
Make me cry
Break me
I dare you,
Just try.
I want you to know
I don't believe a word you say
Why won't you give up,
Just stop trying
You can't make me stay
Why won't you stop lying?
All I want is to fly away.
Nov 5, 2014
Nov 5, 2014 at 4:15 PM UTC
Sometime it flyaway to the sky
Passing through enclosure of cloud!
Sometime it climbs through the ladder of hope with wind
Reach in the peak of dream for eloquence of love....
Love for self.....life.... people....land and soil..........!
Sometime it swims in the ocean of felony and transgression
Searching gone astray generosity and candour!
Consistently it is vivacious and brings new notion to ponder!
Sometime it coverts contemplation to allure
Allure to aspiration
Aspiration to act upon
Then to poignant feat with great ecstasy!
May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 2:27 AM UTC
I am the colour of skin
the bruise that i left the night before
i am monotonous and drained
as an empty wine bottle on your kitchen floor
I was you
a while before i could see
I was what you never were
what you can never be
I am the hair
that you pull before you cry
I am the colour of nightshade
and your ***** memories floating by
I am hate, i am pain
i am the look on your face
I am worn but new
I am the colour of distaste
I will be
the one you adore
i will be
forever mine my mind torn
I was the end
of the burn on your lit cigarette
i was the one and only
the one you regret
I am the girl
who will question always why
I am the girl
who will fustrate, who will throw, who will cry
I am the one
that never gives in, gives up
i am the one
that you drank from a old china teacup
I am now
something rare, something lit and flyaway
I am now
what you call your something, your someday
I am the colour of sunshine
breathtaking skies blue
I am the colour of your breath
i am the colour of you......
Jan 30, 2013
Jan 30, 2013 at 1:54 PM UTC
my heart is something I can’t hold onto
it flies away with the breeze
and if I reach out my hand to catch it
it just sits quiet on my sleeve
and it has a bad habit of breaking
though I put it together with glue
that heart doesn’t like what my head says
which leaves me just tired and confused
Feb 15, 2012
Feb 15, 2012 at 10:45 PM UTC
it was the best of times, it was the worst of times. it was a pyrrhic love, it was a herculean love. how the new life will begin i do not know,
but i know it will come from the lovers,
the loverly trees sprung forth at my
birth.
i can't comb out my eyelashes,
i cannot comb these lice out of my eyelashes
i wish i did not have lice
please give me an excuse not to change my sheets
i miss the girl in my bed
i wish i did not have lice
just say something back to me
Feb 20, 2017
Feb 20, 2017 at 7:34 PM UTC
I might miss you—
Every hole in your jeans
And flyaway hair;
I might have saved that crooked smile,
Kept it close,
Carried it with me to the bus stop
And the bakery that makes my favorite egg sandwiches.
Maybe I counted every stutter, every heavy blink of your eyes as you fell asleep.
I might have stared your demons in the eye,
Kept them away during the night
(I've never been scared of the dark).
I could have kissed the scars on your hands,
The bruises on your knees.
It's possible you meant more to me
Than the autumn leaves
And the stars that stay frozen in place outside my window.
Maybe you knew me,
My bright lipstick and lack of self control,
The pale birthmark on my neck;
You might have memorized every curve of my lips,
Pensive sighs,
As I let you see the fear behind my wide blue eyes.
Maybe you filled the cracks I'd never admit I had
(It hurts just to say it now),
Found the fragile pieces and wove them into a blanket to keep me warm.
It's possible you saw the lies I carry,
The spiders with their gnashing teeth and blood-red eyes,
And stood by me all the same.
Maybe you called me, suddenly, on your way to work,
Surprised to find yourself wanting me, though we'd just left each other.
We might have been in love,
But those three words burned in our throats,
We could only choke out ashes, not even a spark.
Now every trace of fingertips across our hearts only brings up dust,
Settled deep in chambers and arteries for heaven knows how long,
Made from the memory of my lipstick, the holes in your jeans,
And everything we might have had,
If only we'd allowed ourselves to recognize it.
Sep 11, 2015
Sep 11, 2015 at 2:43 PM UTC
For I to cherish soaked in sunbathe dream of freckles on cream and strawberries
For you to see and sigh and fill with warm fizzy pink water too sweet to contemplate
For you to see and sigh and long for long sleeved sheathed in jealousy spilling out in bright red syrup
For I to paint faces with my utterances fanciful making ugly alluring curious mysterious attractive
I can take my nose to be strength clever seducting wicked men and women to listen to my describes or look upon papyrus sheets
I can make my jaw a naive child stricken with blue veins translucent skin clinging papery like wings to brittle bones under eaves ready to snap
I can write my eyes wide innocent in first time headlights first time frosted firsts filled with empty antecedents of unclasped things and fifty fifty longings
I can make the ugly striking like a stinging snake cruel contemplating lashing smarts or make it sad sorrowful quiet longing new to life love mature but still a child
I can add grace poise to my stretched out neck make it stand tall of pride training because it's ladylike to do so and so I must and say my prayers every night too as I powder over my faintly drawn freckles
Boyish humour uncaring to my generous brows a baseball mitt bubblegum cards and a fetish for goths forever unrecognised as spit flies and at home haircuts compose a flyaway life
Embellish the hollows collarbones and detract the too-broad shoulders make the frailty proud and small shrink it down to fit in a girl big brothers to gentle and lovers to rough pinned wrists that near snap
With my words I reap the benefits of my own mindly kindling I wander through half made times in history and finished times two seconds right now
I can create myself and so I do my thirst to be is insatiably insatisfied like my attraction to bad grammar and lilts when you talk so I do I become each and every one
I create myself and it's addicting
Aug 3, 2012
Aug 3, 2012 at 5:41 PM UTC
She was the resident insomniac
(The lack never showed on her beautiful mind)
Her green eyes pierce the dark at 3 in the morning
(The only thing sharper than her gaze was her wit)
She was the wisps of flyaway hair
The shadows magnifying her cheeks
She was a collection of features
Eyes, lips, hands
Melded seamlessly, stitches invisible under the moonlight
She waited up night after night
(Her stubbornness was infuriatingly admirable)
But the open window yielded not a soul
And still she lay there, fingers twitching erratically
She was never one for happy endings anyways
Nov 9, 2015
Nov 9, 2015 at 4:43 PM UTC
Veins of leafy plants creeping and
Peeping from the cracks in the wall of stone
As the koyal sat regally and chirped
On its wooden branch of a throne
Out in the veranda sitting
Cross legged as you tugged
My messy long tresses with coconut oil
And made that wretched braid I loathed
The smell of ripe mangoes lingered
In the summer air and starry night
As I lay on my back on the folding bed-which was as ancient as my grandma-
And tried to decipher those stars in all my childlike might
Running barefoot in the haveli corridors
Built in that old colonial style
Chasing you as you outran me in your sarree
Almost as if I was chasing my dreams
I remember the playful teasing
As you became a child with me
I also picture grandma's white haired bun
And the flyaway hair coming loose as she chased after me
I remember those lazy peaceful afternoons
When dreams exceeded reality
It was a droning hum of a life
I miss it all so dearly
So whenever I want to go back to you, mum
To visit those summer glows
I just close my eyes and think of that haveli
And once again I smell the mangoes
Feb 10, 2016
Feb 10, 2016 at 1:55 PM UTC
“Love is short, forgetting is so long.” –Pablo Neruda
close your eyes, keep them closed.
take an ice pick
and blind yourself to any reminders
of his flyaway hair or wrinkled jeans.
pour antifreeze on the memory
of the way he used to stroke your arm
before the kiss, and the cauliflower soup
he brought over when your dog was hit by a car,
and your eyes were swollen shut from crying, and
you wouldn’t get out of bed.
Keep a bottle of ***** nearby
to numb the area as you carve yourself
into a shape he hasn’t seen, skin
he hasn’t touched.
don’t breathe
until you’ve lost enough brain cells
to feel something again.
when you no longer see him in the face
of the cashier at the supermarket, when
you no longer recognize your reflection
in the tinted windows of an all-too-familiar white
sedan, you’ll know that you’ve finally done something
right.
Sep 12, 2016
Sep 12, 2016 at 6:19 PM UTC
**** you i'm me
man **** you your wrong
what i say
just a word in a rhyme
a rhyme to bind
just a rhyme with time.
my guitar
extension of yourself
extension of the mind
Look at the lonely people walking around
they sad as ****
how you mind?
material looking down
everything they do
everything unbound
This little guy
from a city unknown
its somewhere newfound.
look at all the children playing their game
playing their song
its just a regular day
remember the haze
the sand scattered all over the ground
a sandy haven lost in their souls
lost in their selves.
Gunned down with nothing to hide
gunned down life full of bells.
they were young
doesn't mean they were dumb
look at adele
it took one mother ******
just to ruin the game
Its a game of hide n seek
look at his shame
all they didn't know was they were going to die
die in one random day
look at the sky
what if they teachers
what if they had a gun?
What if that principle
he had the difference?
what do you think could have been done?
would this all have happened
maybe not
but thats not what i'm saying to you
we lost a lot of children
to a place far into space
they say **** this lonely guy
all we wanted was some sort of fame
some sort of memory just to flyaway
but **** the the world didn't like him
so he decided to go
and **** a few kids
just so he could escape
Jan 22, 2013
Jan 22, 2013 at 6:00 PM UTC
it's been so long since
we sat on top of that hill
that warm California night
and looked down
on all those little lights of the city.
we lay on the grass, your
head next to mine,
my dark hair spread out behind me
and our soft breathing in
unison with the beat of our hearts.
you kissed my cheek,
and in the silence after you pulled away
i threaded my fingers through yours
and i knew then, i knew,
i could never love anyone else.
i saw the tender sadness in your eyes,
as you tucked a flyaway piece
of my hair behind my ear,
and i squeezed my eyes shut,
bracing myself for what i knew would come.
when i opened them again
i was gazing up at the stars,
and when i turned to look at you
you were gone.
they say there's a reason for
every beautiful heartache,
and that night i wished upon the stars
that you'd never have to leave.
but you made your choice;
and now you live among the stars.
Jun 19, 2017
Jun 19, 2017 at 5:51 AM UTC
Shutters down,
No windowlight,
Not a single sound.
A scratching quill,
A windowsill;
A couple of flyaway pages.
Scribbling down
My Incoherent muse',
Desperate attempts
At a poem or two.
Trying to find
A you and I
In this world
I've created.
Mar 26, 2016
Mar 26, 2016 at 5:12 PM UTC
I still see your face in my dreams.
Is this what loss actually feels like? The way my whole body aches as these days work their way forward, as my brain refuses to think of you until the dark hours of the night when I can't think of literally anything else.
I love you
it's over
I need you
I can't do this anymore
Back and forth back and forth
I am so empty without your hands holding my flyaway pieces together
I don't know why I wasn't good enough.
Oct 18, 2015
Oct 18, 2015 at 11:27 PM UTC
In outline
brushed strokes so fine
and flyaway hair
is where I want to be
with you,
blinded in blue and through the mastery of imagery
I'd be able to see
more than the artist ever could.
Would you draw inside of me inside of you,two who are blinded in blue?
you can make the man
plan the lines
draw the blinds
and with soft pencils bleed me
into the blinding of you.
Jul 3, 2013
Jul 3, 2013 at 9:25 AM UTC
A cashier in aisle 23, Lane 4,
Hair pulled back into an ***** bun, flyaway strands of hair framing her face,
Eyes adorned by shaky eyeliner, (It must've taken her years)
The hands that grab the groceries are trembling
with the use of age and alcohol,
Still wishing at 30 for that Prince Charming who ran away with another princess,
Still wishing she could be somewhere else in life.
And you thank god that you are not like that cashier, a slight feeling of guilt twisting your chest
as you walk away to the car.
You don't know what the hell Lady Gaga's lips look like, (or care)
but if someone said that your lips looked like her,
it would be the first priority to see what they looked like
Seeing if your lips would fit the 'standard' of society,
40% acquired self obsession and 100% U s e l e s s E f f o r t
A father who thinks that winning is the minimum requirement
A mother whose vision of a perfect child is to be of metric height and square body weight, all charted down to the exact millimeter
A testimony you were born required to say
A task you were burdened with on the day you were born.
And you fulfill it.
You run, chasing past those days of tears and desperation-
ignoring that self who still cries out for mercy and pity
You stumble past, clasping hands over your ears and shouting until your voice cannot be heard,
drowning all useless prose and beauty
Falling, falling, over and over.
The clear and twisted road has thrown you off many times
Into the grass, where even the slightest prickle of dew
(Such a translucent silver)
feels like the cold desolation in a thousand years of vivid monochrome.
Now, walking back to your car
Thinking of what a brilliant, triumphant life you have lead,
You thank god that you are not like that cashier,
Rotted away at the age of 20
Fabric of skin dulled with desperation and time
Wishing moronically for something premeditated only in her own mind
(How many bottles of wine and cigarettes did it take to chase away the pain?)
"Tranquility is a drug", someone had once said, inspecting immaculate nails by the illuminated window.
Lament and Languish were words you never learned, after all.
Jul 12, 2014
Jul 12, 2014 at 6:43 PM UTC
Pick up and take off
Hey little bird flyaway home
Home where you belong
Hey Little bird flyaway free
Pick a place and take it
Hey Little bird flyaway stray
Stray stowaway to somewhere new
Hey Little bird flyaway free
Pick away and take away
Hey Little bird flyaway
Away from yourself
Hey Little bird flyaway
Feb 17, 2021
Feb 17, 2021 at 9:22 PM UTC