"hela" poems
This is not about you.
This is not about
the transmutation
of your jail celled mind
wrapped in self-help
and cellophane.
This is not about
your new found
discovery
discovering me
and my afflictions
according to the
white man’s diction
a dictation
of my past
extracted
and examined
under the microscopic
power of time.
This is not about
your self-defined
enlightenment
when you made
a deal to unearth
the truth of HeLa
coated in dust
covered particles
of HeLa
on your nightstand
and I laid
in a grave
unmarked.
This is not about
my big lips
and thick hips
under ***** covers
running a sweat
fever on my thighs
shaking feet in stirrups
and the pain was rich
after a tight pinch
and I didn’t know
what part of me
had been snipped
to grow cold
and never die.
No, this is not about you.
This is about me.
A historic legacy
left to thrive across the time
less chains of nucleic
tidal waves
Covalent bonds
could never rival
the strides of this soul
miles beyond
the distant
COLORED ENTRANCE
something brewing
inside dividing
inexplicable replication,
readying for harvest
behind a dried tobacco field
Jan 3, 2012
Jan 3, 2012 at 3:21 AM UTC
some days, his eyes are full with angst
his arms down his sides, with his fists as closed as his ears
and all I want to say is *I know how it is
to be so angry you don't know where to go
because the whole world lights you up like a dry stick of explosives,
how it is to have your feelings being so big they start to feel
like extensions of your limbs,
waving uncontrollably
and all you can do to avoid their friction from setting you on fire
is either to cut them off or keep your arms down your sides*
but I step aside, because he can no longer take in my words
his six year old eyes are filled with the nothingness of
an anger so big and unlabeled
but someday, I will tell him and he will understand
I will tell him that even though my blood is not in his veins,
I will cleanse it from soot and silt,
I will be his human shield from this world
I will tear kingdoms apart and slay every last creeper
just to help him level up
and I will uncontrollably, explosively and unconditionally
love him
//
vissa dagar är hans ögon fyllda med ångest
hans armar längs sidorna, med nävar lika hårt stängda som hans öron
och allt jag vill säga är att *jag vet hur det är
att vara så arg att du inte vet vars du ska ta vägen,
för hela världen får en att tända som en torr bunt sprängämnen,
hur det är att ha känslor så stora att de börjar kännas
som förlängningar av dina egna armar och ben,
okontrollerbart viftande
och allt du kan göra för att förhindra att deras friktion tänder eld på dig
är att antingen hugga av dem eller hålla armarna längs sidorna*
men jag går undan, för han kan inte ta in mina ord längre
hans sexåriga ögon fyllda med ingentinget
av en ilska så stor och oettikerad ilska
men någon dag ska jag berätta för honom och han ska förstå
jag ska berätta för honom att även fast mitt blod inte flyter genom hans artärer,
ska jag rensa det från smuts och sot,
jag ska vara hans mänskliga sköld från den här världen
jag ska slita kungariken itu och döda varenda creeper
bara för att hjälpa honom att levla upp
och jag ska okontrollerbart, explosivt och villkorslöst
älska honom
May 30, 2013
May 30, 2013 at 4:46 AM UTC
*Siento tu ternura allegarse a mi tierra,
acechar la mirada de mis ojos, huir,
la veo interrumpirse, para seguirme hasta la hora
de mi silencio absorto y de mi afán de ti.
Hela aquí tu ternura de ojos dulces que esperan.
Hela aquí, boca tuya, palabra nunca dicha.
Siento que se me suben los musgos de tu pena
y me crecen a tientas en el alma infinita.
Era esto el abandono, y lo sabías,
era la guerra oscura del corazón y todos,
era la queja rota de angustias conmovidas,
y la ebriedad, y el deseo, y el dejarse ir,
y era eso mi vida,
era eso que el agua de tus ojos llevaba,
era eso que en el hueco de tus manos cabía.
Ah, mariposa mía y arrullo de paloma,
ah vaso, ah estero, ah compañera mía!
Te llegó mi reclamo, dímelo, te llegaba,
en las abiertas noches de estrellas frías
ahora, en el otoño, en el baile amarillo
de los vientos hambrientos y las hojas caídas?
Dímelo, te llegaba,
aullando o cómo, o sollozando,
en la hora de la sangre fermentada
cuando la tierra crece y se cimbra latiendo
bajo el sol que la raya con sus colas de ámbar?
Dímelo, me sentiste
trepar hasta tu forma por todos los silencios,
y todas las palabras?
Yo me sentí crecer. Nunca supe hacia dónde.
Es más allá de ti. Lo comprendes, hermana?
Es que se aleja el fruto cuando llegan mis manos
y ruedan las estrellas antes de mi mirada.
Siento que soy la aguja de una infinita flecha,
y va a clavarse lejos, no va a clavarse nunca,
tren de dolores húmedos en fuga hacia lo eterno,
goteando en cada tierra sollozos y preguntas.
Pero hela aquí, tu forma familiar, lo que es mío,
lo tuyo, lo que es mío, lo que es tuyo y me inunda,
hela aquí que me llena los miembros de abandono,
hela aquí, tu ternura,
amarrándose a las mismas raíces,
madurando en la misma caravana de frutas,
y saliendo de tu alma rota bajo mis dedos
como el licor del vino del centro de la uva.*
― Pablo Neruda
May 22, 2014
May 22, 2014 at 9:20 PM UTC
20 minuter av frihet känns det
den härliga, kyliga brisen är renande.
Små fåglar delar glädjen av en ny dag.
Solen småtittar genom träden som släpper
små löv som liknar snö.
Trädens vaggnade och vinden påminner mig
om havet. Det känns fridsamt,
Jag vill stanna kvar.
10 minuter kvar av frisk vind som blåser
genom mig, känns helande. Alla tankar
försvinner.
Jag vill stanna kvar.
5 minuter kvar av otrolig harmoni av
öppet sinne for skönhet och inget annat.
Av känslor som flödar genom mig, av att
vara en del av det hela, av att vara
älskad och uppleva detta med all sinnen öppna.
Tiden är ute men jag vill stanna kvar. Nostalgi
May 16, 2011
May 16, 2011 at 1:36 PM UTC
Those who see her shall never again feel the warmth of Sun
Bloodless she sits upon her obsidian throne in the palace Éljúðnir.
Alone most always in her palace she sits
It's walls are built of writhing, poisonous, black serpents
They bite at those who must visit her causing no end of pain. No respite for the
Murderers, thieves, and Oath-breakers as they build the great ship That shall one day carry her father the thief of Sif's golden hair; the evil Loki.
She feeds her captives from a silver plate called Hunger
Using her fork named Famine.
Her daughter's name is Stupidity and her handmaiden is named Senility
The threshold of her palace called Trickery!
As a corpse she silently sits upon the throne
Her left eye glowing green and her right eye deep crimson
Apr 9, 2013
Apr 9, 2013 at 4:40 AM UTC
In the enrolling darkness
I awake to life once more
Healing after you last left
Regrowing my heart you ripped out
I see you as you are now
The happiness and life in your eyes
The joy my suffering has brought
The remains of my heart filling your empty one
No more, life is now mine to command
To appear before you, the person you made me
While celebrating my pain with your demons
You stand shocked, the thought of me horrid
I stare into your eyes
Once a portal to paradise
Neither say a word, mutter a sound
A moment conflicted with history
I unsheathe my sword
A sword meant for the death of the devil
I drive it through your rib cage,
Puncturing your lonely heart
You stare once more at me
Blood filling your lungs
I reluct to shed a tear
Not for what was, but for what wasn't
I pull my sword out
Your blood now decorating it with honor
I step over your corpse
Warmer now then it ever was
A few places forward
Lies your new lover, a newer specimen
Around him your demons praising
I walk to him, waking him purposefully
He sees me, his last sight
A ghost from a distant past
I leave him to Hela, a ritual for her
The blood angel marks his fate
The demons I slaughter
Their words not but poison
Lies that fuelled an old life
Their corpse the foundation of a new life
Mar 9, 2021
Mar 9, 2021 at 12:10 PM UTC
Helheim isn't a place
its fires only burn inside one's head
a dark and roaring space
a tomb for the dead
Dead cogitations
pitiful victims
of a mind's limitations
and shallow benedictums
There I dwell
dark imagination
an endless pit, a bottomless well
darker still the manifestation
Thoughts shrouded in mist
Hela is waiting
by the great shadow I am kissed
and all is fading
I get lost, I don't protest
deep inside this maze
by this darkness I will be blessed
and find comfort in this haze
Sep 26, 2018
Sep 26, 2018 at 6:23 AM UTC
"You're so cute", she giggles.
"Yes I am", I stand up and flex my muscles.
"Liking my boyfriend and **** she blushes and looks to the clouds.
"I mean if he makes you happy then bruh heck yea", I flex my muscles again.
"I'm afraid he does...", she let's the words linger and sighs.
I Furrow my eyebrows and look at her, "You're afraid?"
"Ee mma (yes ma'am ) ", she looks at me then returns her sight to the clouds.
I look to the clouds as well, hoping to see or read further into what she's saying.
I see the grey clouds, bland looking, filled with so much mystery, so many questions, will it rain, will it not rain.
I look back at her, "That he makes you happy?, kana I might be reading a tad too much into this"
She laughs,"I am, what are you picking up?"
I chuckle nervously,"That maybe you actually mean that this vast amount of happiness is scary and you don't know what to do with it".
Her ****** expression changes and her eyes glow with wariness, "Yes, exactly".
"I think you should enjoy it or something? I mean remember how we had a conversation and we don't truly believe in it. I think like just embrace it, I don't know how though", I scratch my head shrugging.
She looks at me and gives me a sad smile, "I'm enjoying it.. but kana 'monate o hela ka bosula' (Good things always end badly)", she sighs.
"That is so true. I mean I don't think we can ever be ready for that so I can't tell you to prepare yourself or always expect the unexpected because regardless of how it is it will always be unexpected. But according to Buddhist or monks they believe that if you imagine the bad to happen then it'll hurt less, I mean sure it may hurt like a ***** but it won't hurt like a mother ****** as it was", I look at her and smile
She looks to be in deep though, "Hmn. Monks or Buddhist are smart", she smiles back at me.
"Yea", I grin and look back at the clouds
Sep 21, 2015
Sep 21, 2015 at 3:08 AM UTC
Bisakah kau lihat warna-warni hujan
Seperti kau melihat warna dalam suara
Bisikkan padaku warna langit
Karena langitku selalu hijau abu-abu
Bisakah kau melihat wajahku
Seperti aku bisa merasakan hela nafasmu
Bisikkan padaku warna dunia
Saat bibirmu menemukan tempatnya
Karena kau menyuruhku memejamkan mata
Bisakah kau melihat warna debu
Dari setiap omong kosong yang kau bakar
Bisikkan padaku warna hatimu
Karena milikku sewarna bara arang
Bisakah kau melihat warna malam
Tirai megah pentas hidupku
Kali ini biar kubisikkan padamu
Warna yang lebih gelap dari hitam
Dec 17, 2017
Dec 17, 2017 at 4:48 AM UTC
Aku terdiam
Di balik suara yang terus menggema
Mengeja tanya
Yang tak lahir dari mata mereka.
Kupungut satu per satu kebingungan
Yang tak pernah diminta
Sambil menyelipkan rasa kesal
Di antara hela napas.
Tak ada telinga
Hanya dinding yang berdiri tegak
Menampung gema tanpa makna.
Dan ternyata
Lelah juga
Menjadi penjaga sunyi
Yang mereka sebut guru.
May 14, 2025
May 14, 2025 at 9:17 AM UTC