"misconceiving" poems
It wasn’t just the way she looked that made her beautiful -Although that was unmistaken to me but not necessarily to her because she never gets to see herself the way I did.
She didn’t see the way she laughed, smiled and she didn’t see the light in her eyes the way that I did; she couldn’t because she only saw herself in the mirror, and mirrors are almost always misconceiving
But she was beautiful in the way she acted and the way she talked about the things she loved, she was beautiful in the way she cared for other people and often ended up forgetting her needs almost completely.
She wasn’t just beautiful, she was the like the moon;
like drop of colour on black and white pages – she was loud and quite all at once and the little things that annoyed her, I loved even more because they were a apart of her and she was absolutely lovely and she deserves all the love in the world and not half the things she dealt with,
Because she was born the way she was and it wasn’t her choice but she chose to accept that the best she could and I admire her so greatly for that because every time I look at her
I can only imagine the battles she’s facing inside her head and I hope one day she will be able to put up the peace signs and finally look into the light of how loved and how lovely she is because
she truly is amazing.
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 11:38 AM UTC
It is again, plunk into pit of being
See it as is, truer than what is believing
Misconceiving notion was, still quizzed
Taken back to cage humility
Sterile, these tears, flush waves emotion
Devotion to you dear, causing commotion
Hardly do I go there, yet comes the missing
Insisting on revisiting the elicit
Still pouring over, drains illusion
Intrusion cruel, truth bearing contusion
Purge hid secrets kept by psyche's rule
Plant seeds in dry field's thought
Caught waiting for monsoon to wash over
Soak essence enduring, be nature, know her
Rain overcomes me, shell relinquished
Distinguished, I sprout again
And then, I remember once more
I am extinct
Mar 24, 2016
Mar 24, 2016 at 11:39 AM UTC
It's time for a break.
I bring my cup of coffee
Outside.
Drizzles of rain land in
The black fluid, stirring
The steam that smells of
Warmer sensations than
Those of being drenched and
Rained upon outside a
Construction site. Sip and
Swallow. Repeat. I let the
Screensaver of my mind set
In; gazing at the space between
Things, thinking nothing.
Sip and swallow. The cup
Warms my hand. The coffee my
Throat. Then, a single thought
Warms my chest.
The way her bathroom smells
Of the products she uses.
The way she likes her showers
Hot -so I learn to enjoy them too.
I was always turning the heat
Down, until it got unbearable.
Then stayed a little longer.
Shocking myself awake.
Misconceiving pain as a tool.
I like it comfortable now.
Soft alarms in the morning.
Clothes with room rather than
Slim cuts and tight chests.
A woman that never once walked
A catwalk, but who likes to
Stroke my back softly until I
Fade away between winter covers
That smell of her skin and sleep.
Sip and swallow. I empty the cup
And listen to the rain -heavier
Now- hit my hard hat
Like a thousand fairy drummers.
The break is over. Workday isn't.
I have dry clothes in my office.
I'm having a
Very good
Day.
Oct 22, 2014
Oct 22, 2014 at 4:14 AM UTC