"somber" poems
Words swathe me in calm,
Sentences, paragraphs that soothe.
Viridian verbs burst through the grey,
Taunting me into action-
Seducing me into a delicious dance-
Gypsy girl, swing your sentences my way!
Turquoise adjectives wrap around my wounds,
Embracing my flaws and perfections.
Rough olive skin; somber caesious eyes-
Gypsy girl, with amaranthine scars.
I drape myself over sienna nouns,
Steadfast, supporting me proper, improper, always.
Paper, songs, tree, sky, love, Jami Lee-
Gypsy girl, use your words correctly!
Each turn of a page lures me deeper-
Each spoken rhyme embraces me close-
Jami Lee, sweet little girl, get your head out of the clouds,
And your nose out of a book!
Oct 13, 2012
Oct 13, 2012 at 9:23 AM UTC
*Prologue (goddess)
When the war of the beasts
Brings about the world's end
The goddess descends from the sky
Wings of light and dark spread afar
She guides us to bliss
Her gift everlasting
Act 1 (the wanderer)
Infinite in mystery
Is the gift of the goddess
We seek it thus
And take it to the sky
Ripples form on the water's surface
The wandering soul
Knows no rest
Act 2 (the hero)
There is no hate only joy
For you are beloved
By the goddess
Hero of the dawn
Healer of worlds
Dreams of morrow
Hath the shattered soul
Pride is lost
Wings stripped away
The end is nigh
Act 3 (the abhorred)
My friend, do you fly away now
To the world that abhors you and I
All that awaits you
Is a somber morrow
No matter where the winds may blow
My friend your desire is the bringer of life
The gift of the goddess
Even if the morrow is barren of promises
Nothing shall forestall my return
Act 4 (the avenger)
My friend, the fates are cruel
There are no dreams
No honour remains
The arrow has left
The bow of the goddess
My soul corrupted by vengeance
Hath endured torment
To find the end of the journey
In my own salvation
And your eternal slumber
Legends shall speak
Of sacrifice at world's end
The winds sail over the waters surface
Quietly but surely
Act 5 (the sacrifiser)
Even if the morrow
Is barren of promises
Nothing shall forestall my return
To become the dew
That clenches the land
To spare the sands
The seas and the sky
I offer thee this silent sacrifice*
Dec 22, 2015
Dec 22, 2015 at 11:27 AM UTC
There are cemeteries that are lonely,
graves full of bones that do not make a sound,
the heart moving through a tunnel,
in it darkness, darkness, darkness,
like a shipwreck we die going into ourselves,
as though we were drowning inside our hearts,
as though we lived falling out of the skin into the soul.
And there are corpses,
feet made of cold and sticky clay,
death is inside the bones,
like a barking where there are no dogs,
coming out from bells somewhere, from graves somewhere,
growing in the damp air like tears of rain.
Sometimes I see alone
coffins under sail,
embarking with the pale dead, with women that have dead hair,
with bakers who are as white as angels,
and pensive young girls married to notary publics,
caskets sailing up the vertical river of the dead,
the river of dark purple,
moving upstream with sails filled out by the sound of death,
filled by the sound of death which is silence.
Death arrives among all that sound
like a shoe with no foot in it, like a suit with no man in it,
comes and knocks, using a ring with no stone in it, with no
finger in it,
comes and shouts with no mouth, with no tongue, with no
throat.
Nevertheless its steps can be heard
and its clothing makes a hushed sound, like a tree.
I'm not sure, I understand only a little, I can hardly see,
but it seems to me that its singing has the color of damp violets,
of violets that are at home in the earth,
because the face of death is green,
and the look death gives is green,
with the penetrating dampness of a violet leaf
and the somber color of embittered winter.
But death also goes through the world dressed as a broom,
lapping the floor, looking for dead bodies,
death is inside the broom,
the broom is the tongue of death looking for corpses,
it is the needle of death looking for thread.
Death is inside the folding cots:
it spends its life sleeping on the slow mattresses,
in the black blankets, and suddenly breathes out:
it blows out a mournful sound that swells the sheets,
and the beds go sailing toward a port
where death is waiting, dressed like an admiral.
18.5k
A single dandelion seed could turn a desert into a beautiful garden, all it needs is someone to love it and look after it ~
Because the love of light is for all to bear, it is embracing, warm and gentle, life grows out of it to rejoice it's wonderful unique touch.
Seeing the desert one should note, that light can be cruel and harsh, scorching in heat while only trying to do what's right,
Leaving behind an almost lifeless part, it becomes the kiss of death,
In the end you get lost, blinded the luminousity which was once a gift
And by the night when it covers, you lost all fear of darkness,
It already became part of what you were anyway, you didn't belong,
Without turning your back you simply let the darkness consume you,
Yet don't you see, that the nights somber appearance holds the glory of crystal starlight; a river of countless of them form the milky way,
Perhaps you are but a blossoming flower, only blooming to the kindled brightness of tonights moon, dim, yet also filled with awe,
The love of light is for all to bear, but don't overdose yourself with it,
Otherwise, it will burn you up before it leaves you rotting.
~ Umi
May 12, 2018
May 12, 2018 at 6:07 PM UTC
PROLOGUE
The Flame, aflicker, licks and flays,
illuming evening’s negligees
With braided curls she swirls and sways,
and flits and floats in light ballets
APOLOGUE
A Flame, to conquer creeping fog,
flew dancing towards a random log
Her flight perplexed a leery frog
beside a silent somber bog
The Flame, a ripple, all alone
alit on leaves where birds had flown
The aching twigs began to moan
A rising breeze began to groan
The Flame arrayed an ancient oak
with torrid tongues and veils of smoke
A ****** bailed, the dam had broke
The leery frog soon ceased to croak
The Flame uncoiled and lashed midair,
consuming crowns with utmost care
A crazed coyote fled her lair,
left in the lurch bewildered bear
The Flame, unfurled, went wild and grew,
enkindled cats and caribou
Remaining... not a residue,
as reeking vapors bade adieu
The Flame revealed her strength unshackled
Flora, fauna crisped and crackled
Fire Witches clucked and cackled
One more forest stripped, then hackled
EPILOGUE
The arsonists were well aware
the Flame would travel everywhere
The weirs are gone, the land is bare,
and soon you’ll find a city there
Nov 27, 2013
Nov 27, 2013 at 5:15 AM UTC
On a gusty autumn night
Another husband was swept,
Somber under the porch light,
Abigail watched and wept.
No men were happy,
As they dealt with poor Abby –
Day in and day out,
So miserable and naggy.
Nine is such a tender age
For a father to leave his daughter,
In horror, Abby waved,
Her mind underwater.
Crimes of parents, what a shame
Those with good ones count your blessings,
Lest we forget little Abby’s pain
And teach our children similar lessons.
Sep 21, 2018
Sep 21, 2018 at 12:34 AM UTC
Though the first carried more miles, the second day of the hike was totally and unapologetically uphill.
When you ascend, hiking becomes the zen of endurance.
First, you are stripped of all the pleasures of hiking. Your excitement is boiled into lactic acid. Your love for the trail is baked, hardened and dehydrated into thoughts of laying down in the sun until the heat shrivels you into an unconscious raisin.
Try as you may to put on your “isn’t hiking just a slice of heaven?” face, strangers passing you on the downhill stride can only see your “PLEASE GOD, HELP ME OR ******* **** ME” face.
As much as hiking really is a small slice of heaven, there is no denying the living-death of taking 10 straight miles to the knees under the chaffing hell of a 50 pound sack in the relentless sun.
But when you’re back in an office, sitting on your cushy little ergonomic chair, you long for the sweat and the torture that forces your mind to the ankle deathtraps of mountain terrain. To the deep valley behind and below you, and the crystal basin at the foot of the granite Giants.
The worst thing you can do is ignore the pain—that makes it relentless. Instead you focus on the pain until you become it. The only thing left is the moment between each step, when you remember why you are here and what it is worth. Every time your foot touches dirt, it leaves twice the footprint. One on the mountain and another in your memory where you will safeguard the misery of your ascent and hold on for dear life. One day, when your knees are too weak and your body can no longer table your pack, all the pleasures and joys of the trail that you once thought dissipated in the steam of uphill toil will come rushing back with the magnified strength of every year between you and the present you once knew and respected enough to actually live.
And if you didn’t, if you let it only be pain to get through and not to focus or dwell on, then that is what it is and will always be. A dull memory of pain, dark and somber and incomplete.
Sep 23, 2015
Sep 23, 2015 at 2:41 PM UTC
It happened in the dark of the night,
Scrolling through a story line my attention was caught by a picture,
She carried a wondrous smile, bright and very warm and inviting,
In response I began to smile as well, beaming in the somber night,
Though my smile was not a mirror, it was distorted, yet brighter,
I soon understood that my body wanted me to carry on, shine on,
Not stopping despite having no reason to grin I began to chuckle,
The moonlit night had turned crimson, yet it was more luminous,
Was it because of my means, my very purpose of being a bound,
Bound to time and fate that I couldn't recall to stop smirking ?
Or was it the blooming of a flower in this phantomed moonlight ?
I must've stopped asking questions, of transient content,
Because, they would ruin the beauty of this contagious expression,
Ending up losing the track of time or any means whatsoever,
I fell asleep by the melody of the wind, as itecho's through the valley,
Even if tomorrow were never to arrive, I wouldn't care less,
For now, just let me rest my eyes.
~ Umi
May 5, 2018
May 5, 2018 at 6:17 PM UTC
It was a somber promenade
Through adolescence
A struggle every mile or so
To fit in and get better friends
Then there were your demons
You found them at every corner you turned
Chasing you trough your childhood
Relentless and mocking
Adolescence could have been many things
Such as fun, exciting, lively
Except for you
You walked through it
Carrying your sorrows the whole way
Jul 5, 2013
Jul 5, 2013 at 8:21 AM UTC
awakened by the
offsprings cry,
baby powdered
morning dew
showers the room,
coffee stained smiles
shine about
cheerio blanketed
kitchens,
so worrisome
for office tardiness,
the carseat won't lock
into place,
tire marks on
fresh paved driveways,
to daycare tears dry not
she's on time,
fatigued she plants
her seed to the office seat
to grow even less
awaiting to see the smile
of her child and say
her prayers before
falling asleep
-
awaked by the
offsprings cry,
gun powered
morning dew
showeres the village,
rotted teeth smile
amongst the
body-blanketed township,
so worrisome of finding
a slain mother
sister
brother
just like father,
the gun won't lock
into place,
they never will,
tattered couches
paved with the
***** of
slaughtered buildings,
mother's dead
tears dry not,
fatigued,
hands of
grungy drainpipes
plant beside,
holding stagnant
a somber sibling,
tremors ripple
crimson tides,
planted to
grow even less
awaiting to see
the smile of
his mother
his father
his sister
and say his prayers
with brother
before laying down
Aug 26, 2015
Aug 26, 2015 at 8:29 PM UTC
Do you remember how you stood there ?
When the sun had set and the afterglow started to fade, you stood proud, slightly upon the dusk, brilliantly, majestically yet so tiny,
You looked so lonely and helpless, as light faded into darkness,
Covering the world; a sweet blanket filled with many twinkling stars,
How impossible it seems to turn back, have you realized how you changed so drastically, my little sparkling friend over such little time?
Irrational the things hidden away by the night, no moon comes to rise
If you would realise, how this world really is, or the place you are being led, softly, gently, elegantly to stand would be like, what then ?
Have you changed because, you calmly, without having any knowledge fear the night and it's lingering, loitering darkness ?
The night is stained with illusions, keep your gaze up to the sky and follow another star, then surely you would be able to reach your goal,
When you engage in pure furies, the whereabouts of the heart remain undetermined, you just lose yourself within its wandering fragrance,
Because the world you had taken for granted collapsed into somber,
Collapsed into a dimmer more frightening state of undefined beauty,
Everything is far too late, impossible to return now, it has been decided that it maybe should have been so, a loitering darkness to be,
You are part of this world now, standing where you are don't you think that this sky, slumbering earth is as allure as nothing else ?
If it awakens your wish will become true and you will disappear by the sight of the daybreak, the sun takes over with her golden light,
The world you have forgotten will reappear then everything starts a new and maybe one day you too will understand, my dearest,
That the night is something very beautiful.
~ Umi
May 3, 2018
May 3, 2018 at 6:00 PM UTC
( Filipino orTagalog version)
di sumasapit ang pagtulog
sa isang kaluluwang
sabik at di mapakali
isang pusong ubod tiyaga
ngayo'y balisang tumitibok
sa kabila ng malumanay
na pag patak ng ulan...
sa kaunting salitang nagbibigay kasiyahan
parang simoy ng hangin, may mga dalang palamuti
mga matatamis na pangako ng
maluwalhating bukas,
lumutang sa kapaligiran
at binago ang malamlam na
lagay ng kalooban.
ang mga darating na araw
ay muling yayabong.
isang kaluluwang hapong hapo
di-inaasaha'y, napangiti
sa unang pagkakataon
mga matatamis na tunog ng mahihinang
halakhak ay paulit-ulit na tumaginting
sa kalaliman ng gabi.
itong di maampat-ampat na pananabik
aking panalangin ay
tuluyan nang pumayapa
dito sa dilim, ako'y nakahimlay
habang ang mga pangarap ng pag-asa
ay alak na lumalasing sa aking pag-iisip.
kasabay ng pagdatal ng madaling-araw,
nabubuhay na lalo ang mga bagong isipin
na lalong nagpapasigla sa aking utak...
mulat na mulat ang aking mga mata
di na sasapit pa ang antok
di na sasapit pa ang pagtulog...
::::::::::
(ENGLISH VERSION)
SLEEP DOESN'T COME...
Sleep doesn’t come
To an eager, restless soul.
A heart so patient
now beats anxiously,
Even with the gentle rhythm
Of raindrops tapping.
With just a few satisfying words
Sprinkled with whiffs of hope,
So magical,
A promise of a glorious tomorrow
Floated in the air
And altered the somber mood.
The coming days are to flourish
Once more.
Unexpectedly,
A soul gone weary
Smiled for the first time.
The sweet sound of soft laughter
Unheard in the still of the night.
This insatiable needing
I pray, to be quelled soon..
Here in the dark, I lay awake,
As visions of hope inebriate my mind.
With dawn comes new ideas,
Stimulating my brain even more..
.......my eyes are wide open........
.......sleep wouldn’t come at all……
Sally
Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Jan 5, 2014
Jan 5, 2014 at 8:51 PM UTC
Step into the train
as cherry blossoms kiss you
a fragrant goodbye.
Nov 24, 2014
Nov 24, 2014 at 3:15 AM UTC
Tell your tale to the wind,
Be scattered across the sky, sing without ever being rewarded,
The falling of the leafs may be a sign of change, a warning of colder times crossing your path in this loitering darkness which takes over,
Allure is the thought of hope guiding, leading, escorting you through the misery of your own conscious, out to a far more pleasant world.
Wretched, you fight on as it slowly slips away, loses its strengh,
It is heartbreaking to watch them trying to get back, not flinching despite their wounds and scars they carry from the river of time,
Stained in crimson at last the flower petals of the falling season, reflect upon death repeatedly, with each one falling the soil cries out.
Take a dance with me in this distorted somber dark there is nothing to be sad about, the fate to be forgotten is the fate of every face, one day,
They wither over like the roses during autumn, fall from grace alike the petals of the sunflowers when their time to leave for the next generation has come, or alike the dandelions scattering their seeds,
But most importantly, is to not forget that whilst existing you can make a change, for yourself, for the better, for others,
Maybe you are their light their flower of a spring dream.
Even if humans continue to live wretchedly,
Living, is what I find very beautiful.
~ Umi
Aug 28, 2018
Aug 28, 2018 at 8:09 AM UTC
To my mortal enemy,
All lies and delusions you have carried so far are all but for nothing,
Deceiving you took from me what was a part of my fading heart once.
You are the only one I will never forgive, not until the night has been swallowed by the abyss and the sun is no longer rising in this hell.
What was the purpose of your selfish doing ? Was it greed or lust ?
Purified from all emotions but fury, I will let this fire rampage forever
The soul resented by life, creeps around in the somber fields,
Can you see it ? Of course your ignorant eyes haven't grasped the single truth yet, you cannot see anything, so keep wandering blindly,
Aimless and with displeasure we shall meet in the distorted dark,
I got even rid of the love in my chest, so that I may awaken as who I am now..if by chance I were to forgive you, could I be myself again ?
No! I don't want you to rest in your deepest sleep, I will show you the same nightmares until your dried tears turn into elusive blood.
George your amusement and be ruined, someday you will repay,
So be as it may, my courtesy must remain, I offer you my darkest passion, until you reveal that sweet soul of yours that dies.
Hey, are you watching ?
Yours truly,
Pure Furies
~ Umi
Jul 14, 2018
Jul 14, 2018 at 6:28 AM UTC
awakening with the gradual rise
of the subdued heather hued sun
a palpable spectral silence permeated the air
the anticipation of celebration intercepted
by an enveloping phantom black malaise
hiding in obscure shadows
the terror of the twin towers final doom
elucidated quivers of melancholic nuances
rippling through the greying vicinity
my birthday september 11th a tuesday
my night to sing at abravanel hall
with the utah symphony
unable to serenade death
our voices remained indubitably silenced
in hushed wistful reverence
ensuing 9/11s channel somber sentiments
cloaked with annihilation while
dark visions occupy smudged iphone screens
this anniversary i will dissipate despair
transmuting dark despondency
splashing all with lucent petals of delight
i’ll live this day with passionate intensity
and those subsequent with equal ardor
ferociously painting back the light
i will raise my voice with effervescence
and sing in wild abandon
for my precious brothers that were lost
demonstrating devotion through a refusal
to be silenced by fear bestowing honor
with a conspicuous message that love wins
©2016janetaylor
Sep 11, 2016
Sep 11, 2016 at 6:22 PM UTC
Her shoes untouched unmoved
lay carelessly
in the middle of her room
the strings still tied
forever waiting to be
undone and redone
tightly around dainty feet.
a wet shiny black nose
rest atop the left shoe.
peering through the
wide door crack
he raises his golden head
paint splattered with gray
making eye contact
with a sorrowful wine,
questioning.
a moment.
the somber shake of the head
a whimper as he settles his snout
back on the left shoe
waiting…
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 12:15 AM UTC
At twenty one thirty ,
and far away,
she made up her mind
and couldn't stay.
Her pain was too much,
for her to bare
I tried to reach out,
but she didn't care.
At just seventeen,
she had been through hell,
Could not escape
her molested cell.
Nowhere to go,
seeing darkness around,
No escape for this girl,
only hell bound.
I begged her to stay,
she said go away,
Why do you care?
I bowed down to pray.
She grabbed the blade,
going deeper every time,
Slashed her wrist,
I cried and I cried.
A thousand miles away,
I am now in somber.
Why did you leave me?
I will always remember.
Oct 5, 2014
Oct 5, 2014 at 11:03 PM UTC
I’m standing here, thinking of you, while the
wind blows through my hair and the sea creeps
ashore to kiss my toes. The scent of salty
ocean air is soothing, but the ache of
missing you lingers still. I can see the
sun setting in the distance. The soft
oranges and yellows remind me that endings
can be beautiful, no matter how much I
wish the sun would stay just a little while
longer. As the sky begins to fade to a
somber shade of blue, I close my eyes and
allow my mind to focus on the white
noise of crashing waves, praying
that when I open them, the sun will have
risen, and you will be standing here beside me.
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 10:18 PM UTC
Seasons pass, tempered by insalubrious fervor; treasonous design remiss of fate
An echo of prior songs resonate somber atrophy; mourn the passing of constant defeat, stained by triumphant dissonance and disdain
Fear strides along the broken path, left alone and solemn and crass: Through sour feats of vindication, tones of plight become dismissed
Surfeit, the sound of temptation rides upon the crest of dawn, blinding darkness like calming waves caressing infinite stretches of sand: soft and warm; kind and welcoming, embracing in its gentle touch
Sentience hides behind a creeping fog, whispering secrets of life eternal, bearing gifts wrought through sensuous candor
Two threads lost, now found; slowly bonding, uniting purpose, rhythm, rhyme, and reason; born from the same cloth, garnering habit, singing in harmony what echoes from within
Beautiful, intelligent, staunch with profundity; stark, handsome, wholesome, and good
The call of a true home may finally beckon..
Dec 13, 2017
Dec 13, 2017 at 2:08 AM UTC
~
Weeping hydrangeas spill
sapphire tears falling,
drenching grey scale gardens
suspended, free flowing
a mobile of distractions
on tiny threads scattered
above clouded daydreams
Worded floating silent streams,
spinning slowly, creating phrases
on whirlwind petals,
browned edges frame
whispered wonderings
sans answers
upon somber breezes
of yesterday’s questions
or
A cappella Hydrangeas
send harmonic petals floating
upon melodic wind chime breezes,
suspended soft concerto clouds
on love sonnet strings
tuned to a spring day,
as flowering symphonies,
acoustic mobiles of emotion
bloom within a garden
of daffodils dreams
in unison with lyrical
compositions of nature’s
enchanting song
Jun 2, 2015
Jun 2, 2015 at 10:14 AM UTC
The room was dank and dreary
The past hung in the air
There was a scent of mildew
A smell of history was there
The paint was old and faded
With stains all dark and brown
The wallpaper too was dated
And it needed to come down
It was a home for 50 years
That stood so strong and proud
It comforted all of our fears
Far from the madding crowd
We stripped away the paper first
Each layer a strip in time
It showed the old room at her worst
It really seemed a crime
To tear it down, and think of when
Each layer was first applied
The walls that seemed so tall again
I just stood there and cried
I thought about the birthdays
Celebrated in this room
Of getting covered all in glaze
That we cleaned off with a broom
The roses were much redder
Than I remembered them to be
In fact it now looked better
Than it did when I was three
I remembered Mother loved this
And of how it made her smile
And she gave Father a light kiss
After toiling all the while
The next layer though was not as nice
"Twas beige and a sort of lime
It made the room feel cold like ice
It spoke of another, somber time
I looked at the wall and I noticed the lines
Marking our heights as we grew
This was on a paper all covered in vines
Mom loved this one, we knew
It seemed surreal that Mom was not here
To see these passages pass
But we knew in our hearts that she was stil near
As we looked at paper covered with Bass
That was from when Unlcle Jim came to stay
And our folks gave up their room
To help out a brother who I still love to this day
One who can always help brighten my gloom
They changed the wall just for him
To make it seem more like it was his
They put their life on hold for Jim
And the wallpaper choice was his
The years pass by more quickly now
The paper doesn't change too much
Jim moved out and that is how
The paper changed just a touch
Mom got sick and Dad quit work
He did the room in flowers for our mom
It was at this time we noticed the rooms quirk
One of those things that made you go hmmm
Far up in one corner behind a section of curtain
Dad had left a small square showing the years
worth of papers we were certain
It was to help mom with her tears
Now as we finished we looked to the man
Sitting alone in the old corner chair
He smiled at us as best as he can
But I don't think he knew we were there
I handed him some paper and I looked in his eyes
He stared clear on through me
And then he started to cry
This was the last of this paper he'd see
Dad and the house now have gone into dust
The years get short and have tapered
But to go back in time I know all I must
Do, is look at my small square of paper.
May 30, 2012
May 30, 2012 at 3:08 PM UTC
Swirling spiral of anti-matter
Cascading down an endless ladder
In non-corporeal states
Spirits search for their soul mates
One taste and we miss our goal
And cling to a second-hand role
One state that we all share
Bittersweet and unaware
Feed on life, consumed to death
We devour the world with every breath
Forged by chance, nurtured in deceit
We glimpse the truth and quickly retreat
Our description becomes indescribable
Our delusions become undeniable
You were once mine for a moment in time
I embraced your accustomed wounds
Used and abused, starving for love
You shone like a Samhain Moon
Yet love is alive, not a lie
Not a manifestation of will
Not a statue of god or paradise façade
Nor some unholy devil’s deal
I was once young with mind undone
Chasing a somber moon
Yet time has devoured
Those dead flowers
Upon that empty tomb
Aug 15, 2018
Aug 15, 2018 at 3:20 AM UTC
dysphoria
is sitting in front of a mirror
for 30 straight minutes
picking out the tiny things
that make people misgender you.
trying to pull back your chest
pretending you have a flat one
scratching down your biceps
because maybe if they were more toned
you would be called a boy
clawing at your thighs
because if they were small and beautiful
then people might think you are a he
dysphoria
is sobbing while doing all of that
the mirror is now your enemy
giving you a million things to change
but you have no way of changing it.
maybe sleeping will help?
that is if you get past your thoughts
of your disgusting body
calm down for a bit to even let you slip into somber.
but then dreams come
you dream of being on testosterone
having a beard with a deep voice
maybe even your top surgery
where you no longer have to deal with having a chest
but you wake up
no way of getting these things
it haunts you for days.
dysphoria
is the mirror no longer being
a place to just fix up your hair or do your make up
it’s where your demons live
passing by a reflective surface
and seeing even a glance of your body
makes you want to die and tear it apart
dysphoria
is someone brushing against your thigh
and you wanting to puke everything
you have ever eaten
because they touched your body
a disgusting girls body
it can’t be mine
but I hate it none the less
dysphoria
is someone taking out your soul and choking it
the lack of breath comes from a panic attack
your nails clawing and digging into your skin
because this can’t be you. this isn’t mine
this body needs fixing
so does this soul.
Feb 28, 2017
Feb 28, 2017 at 12:03 AM UTC