"pertruding" poems - Hello Poetry

I grew pregnant with my past, unable to separate from the reality that began as a seed inside me. Submerged in water, I tried to released you- my past, my dear child... but this bath of death, flooded with the thick red of fluid despair, held us closer together. i want you, twirling in my womb under the moon at twilight as i dance my way into whimsical decisions. I feel you tap, tap, tap, pry, claw, scratch at the lining of my uterine wall. i want you, i do not. Sentiment is blinding. My dear child... you are not good for me, though I hold you with eternal warmth. I am your mother, you are my past. I open my eyes, I’m back in the steam of my hazy bath like an aquatic portal in the corner of comfort and suicide. The red is gone... yet it was never there. All that remains is my fetal past pulsing perfectly. My stomach breaks the grey pond within porcelain, pertruding through the patches of rose colored suds. Closing my eyes never looked so dark, the blackest black like my favorite dreams. My head falls back and the red liquid returns, hugging the crevices of my face, filling my hollow orifices, pulling my life far enough to look over me and smile with pursed lips and one crystal tear... i am submerged, yet all I hear are whispers in this bed made of water singing me lullabies as I drift into a synthetic evening. I am tucked in, dreaming of the lightest light in the darkest black. The contrast helps me understand life’s cogs and screws. i place my pruned fingers on my pregnant stomach, my fragile past.. You will not leave me, so I must leave you. My life’s gentle claws let me go and bursts through the sun and clouds, as gravity holds me close to his chest and kisses my cheek bones. I see the light in the laughing stars, I lay lifeless, belly full of a dead past. Goodbye, my dear child. Goodnight. © 2016 D.M.V

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Nov 22, 2016

Nov 22, 2016 at 2:48 PM UTC

flowernectar

Dead Past Death Bath

I grew pregnant with my past, unable to separate from the reality that began as a seed inside me. Submerged in water, I tried to released you- my past, my dear child... but this bath of death, flooded with the thick red of fluid despair, held us closer together. i want you, twirling in my womb under the moon at twilight as i dance my way into whimsical decisions. I feel you tap, tap, tap, pry, claw, scratch at the lining of my uterine wall. i want you, i do not. Sentiment is blinding. My dear child... you are not good for me, though I hold you with eternal warmth. I am your mother, you are my past. I open my eyes, I’m back in the steam of my hazy bath like an aquatic portal in the corner of comfort and suicide. The red is gone... yet it was never there. All that remains is my fetal past pulsing perfectly. My stomach breaks the grey pond within porcelain, pertruding through the patches of rose colored suds. Closing my eyes never looked so dark, the blackest black like my favorite dreams. My head falls back and the red liquid returns, hugging the crevices of my face, filling my hollow orifices, pulling my life far enough to look over me and smile with pursed lips and one crystal tear... i am submerged, yet all I hear are whispers in this bed made of water singing me lullabies as I drift into a synthetic evening. I am tucked in, dreaming of the lightest light in the darkest black. The contrast helps me understand life’s cogs and screws. i place my pruned fingers on my pregnant stomach, my fragile past.. You will not leave me, so I must leave you. My life’s gentle claws let me go and bursts through the sun and clouds, as gravity holds me close to his chest and kisses my cheek bones. I see the light in the laughing stars, I lay lifeless, belly full of a dead past. Goodbye, my dear child. Goodnight. © 2016 D.M.V

58

Traction, It's keeping yourself on the alloted trail, Like a group of spikes pertruding from your hiking shoes. Hidden underneath bleak chances to run off course, There is traction. Ascension, It's the higher sense of letting go, Like a swell from the waters of slightly unsecured mentality. Stationed right above the need for grounding. There is ascension. Illumination, It's the spurt of clarity, intense maturity, Like a smith of fine silver, molding his first ring. Seeing what might be, and generating the material. There is illumination. Perfection, Its understanding the material is but a spec of truth. Like something without beginning,.. without end. Immortal, appearing mortal, But, sincerely niether There is perfection. That is what you are. I am.

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Sep 9, 2015

Sep 9, 2015 at 12:22 AM UTC

kyle-fisher

Life Mastered

Traction, It's keeping yourself on the alloted trail, Like a group of spikes pertruding from your hiking shoes. Hidden underneath bleak chances to run off course, There is traction. Ascension, It's the higher sense of letting go, Like a swell from the waters of slightly unsecured mentality. Stationed right above the need for grounding. There is ascension. Illumination, It's the spurt of clarity, intense maturity, Like a smith of fine silver, molding his first ring. Seeing what might be, and generating the material. There is illumination. Perfection, Its understanding the material is but a spec of truth. Like something without beginning,.. without end. Immortal, appearing mortal, But, sincerely niether There is perfection. That is what you are. I am.

23

His sweet music, his delicate voice. I look into his dark, angelic eyes and as we dance he holds me close, so close, that it makes me believe that he won't leave me in the morning as every time before. Today, I woke up in his arms. The sunlight shining on his once cherub face revealed a truth that I had long denied. My hands fumbled to where his temples used to be and all I felt was pertruding evil. I no longer saw him as the man that I wanted him to be, I saw him for who he truly was. I tried to get up and leave, run away from the unveiled illusion, but his tail was tightly wrapped around my body and deeply rooted in me. I knew that if I stayed, he would make me the Queen of Hades. So through the pain, the heartache and the tears, I ripped his very existence from my being, I ripped the cords that controlled my heart, I ripped the memories from my mind, and I destroyed the love that I once had for him. I set him on fire, and as he screamed in agony and cried out in pain: not even his sweet tears could quench the flames that were consuming him. I risked love and ended up playing in the Devil's Backyard. I took the spark from my eyes and placed them in his, I placed my heart in his hands believing that he would keep the pieces together, I gave him love expecting it to drive out the hate from his soul. I built my home in him. The sparkling windows and fresh coat of paint deviated attention from the broken wooden floors and the ceiling caving in. I was never blind, but now I truly see. God's fallen Angel made me believe that I was condemned, but now I am free. To dance on my own, once again.

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Sep 17, 2018

Sep 17, 2018 at 11:12 AM UTC

thegirlwiththecattattoos

The Devil's Backyard

His sweet music, his delicate voice. I look into his dark, angelic eyes and as we dance he holds me close, so close, that it makes me believe that he won't leave me in the morning as every time before. Today, I woke up in his arms. The sunlight shining on his once cherub face revealed a truth that I had long denied. My hands fumbled to where his temples used to be and all I felt was pertruding evil. I no longer saw him as the man that I wanted him to be, I saw him for who he truly was. I tried to get up and leave, run away from the unveiled illusion, but his tail was tightly wrapped around my body and deeply rooted in me. I knew that if I stayed, he would make me the Queen of Hades. So through the pain, the heartache and the tears, I ripped his very existence from my being, I ripped the cords that controlled my heart, I ripped the memories from my mind, and I destroyed the love that I once had for him. I set him on fire, and as he screamed in agony and cried out in pain: not even his sweet tears could quench the flames that were consuming him. I risked love and ended up playing in the Devil's Backyard. I took the spark from my eyes and placed them in his, I placed my heart in his hands believing that he would keep the pieces together, I gave him love expecting it to drive out the hate from his soul. I built my home in him. The sparkling windows and fresh coat of paint deviated attention from the broken wooden floors and the ceiling caving in. I was never blind, but now I truly see. God's fallen Angel made me believe that I was condemned, but now I am free. To dance on my own, once again.

49