"suture" poems
I didn't write this one. Its actually part of spoken poetry lyrics .. im sharing it because I feel like start to finish I can relate to every word, every feeling. I consider myself the girl behind the mask
The girl behind the mask doesnt understand the beauty, is in the eye of the beholder, and it doesnt matter how many times I have told her she still relies on the opinions of people of who dont realize that what they see as shy is in fact the feeling of lonley,
The feeling of whatever she does Is not quite good enough, the feeling of constantly disappointing the people closest who only want to see her happy,
But instead they have to watch the detoeratation and can do nothing. They hope and pray that one day the girl behind the mask will finally say with content and honesty to herself "IM HAPPY "
I can put these feelings of no self worth on the shelf and live on, build up my life and repair myself from the past,
And can finally say to myself that at last " IVE DONE IT"
I've beat the demons inside my soul, the demons that made my thoughts and life cold,
The ones that made me contemplate my life, my confidence, my existence and my future, made me feel hurt that cant be fixed with a suture,
The girl behind the mask doesnt see that her strength shines so much brighter, you see the girl behind the mask doesnt know what she is capable of, it's as if how blind to how happy she makes everyone, she puts a smile on a face of the person feeling down, shes blind to the fact that she can turn a sad day around, and make people smile from ear to ear,
But when she takes off the mask she's filled with nothing but fear, fear of what the next day brings her, as if she's waiting for her sentence and there's nothing but rumours being spread around about her.
The girl behind the masks is the definition of beauty , the meaning of strength, she needs to know thats its the duty, of everyone who cares to help in the fight, to make her realize that her life is her life, to understand that there is nothing to be afraid of, she has family and friends that will show depression what they are made of,
The girl behind the mask needs to lift her head up and open her eyes and realize that she'll never be alone and as much as she may feel it, the pain she is feeling now.... happiness will heal it
So be strong and proud of the person you are because with strength and power the end of these feeling isn't far, and you can smile,dance, and sing live thr life that u were deprived from, the life you have not yet felt.. the life u lived contemplating overdose or the rope. The feeling of eating was hell, the life u lived where everything goes wrong you will be free from all the anxiety and pain
Look at yourself in the mirror and say these words to your self, "why am I letting this control me, look at your beauty. As hard as it seems you need to smile. Its your duty, then see your pain as a emotional journey,
Remember certainly there is a destination waiting for u to be happy at last.. but please be strong stay strong the girl behind the mask
Nov 7, 2020
Nov 7, 2020 at 10:22 AM UTC
The Syrian process is a serial problem
When the disenfranchised
Cause a landslide
Of historical hatred
The key that ignites
Business and commerce
Wildfire hearts
And boiling skin
The harsh outbreak of deadly cholera
The blockade of the forceful armada
The coalition forces
Run wild like horses
The bombs keep falling
The people cry
The engine keeps stalling
The car dies
The white phosphorus
Brought by the white prosperous
Can burn to the bone
And wounds can ignite up to three days later
But the people of Raqqa
Are used to reigniting scars
They're used to searing flesh
That melts like tar
Where this will go
No one knows how far
Machines must be sustained
Hearts will be untamed
Lives constantly rearranged
A human rights activist attempts to send a report
What he's witnessed in Raqqa
Injustices; perceived and objective
But Hellfire
Turns the Internet cafe
Into a senseless violence display
The dirt, blood, and bodies
Mixed and spread like the art
That was ignored to lead to this quagmire
Whether this calamity started
At the Melian dialogue
Or a market diagram
Or a martyr's diatribe
What we need now is an m.d. to suture the wounds
But who will save us?
When noble protectors are blown up
And the reigniting scars scorch the hands that heal
Jun 12, 2017
Jun 12, 2017 at 7:48 PM UTC
I searched for "truth"
I found weakness
Forever doubted theories compromise
To hide their failure through fragile lies
I searched for "justice"
I found corruption
The fairest laws defy morality
And relativity fights equality
I searched for "happiness"
I found the source
Jesus, my almighty savior
I found You in the poor
Help me love my neighbor
The way You love me
To keep this happiness
Flowing inside me
You stand by me
Suture me with Your affection
Understand me
Lead the path to my redemption
Helped me draw
The masterpiece in me
And withdraw
The shackles off me
Somehow, lost within Your stream
I ended up finding "truth"
Personal and general
Strangely irrefutable
The weak you redeemed
Lowered the powerful
Your perfect divine "justice"
Defies my human logic, empirical
yet so vulnerable
~Epic Monkey
Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 4:30 PM UTC
*I am sorry for all I caused you.
I saw you sink in my eyes and I lost you.
Thought it cost you,
To see me breathe in broken souls,
Never knew about the love I sold.
I ripped up all the truths in my head,
Wished me dead in a bed
Where I bled,
And the wind spoke.
All the secrets that I had inside me
Beat on the doors till they shattered and the lock broke,
I always felt like a flower on a hillside,
Mercy to the wind and you till I
finally died.
The sun set in my throat,
It rained in my eyes,
I had no where to go.
I am sorry that my anger left stains on your skin.
But you cut me with the lies you told,
And you broke me with things that we never could have been.
I sinned,
Serpents sliding down my cheeks.
When I speak,
Its like the tide is in my mouth,
The waves moving south until they're gone.
We build up our bodies,
Broken promises,
And whispers we hear in our head.
The foundation we've set is shaking,
It can't handle us breaking,
And can't handle us faking so tell the truth.
I have never lied to you.
But you took the love I gave and you threw it.
I never knew how my half a heart craved your hand but now I do.
You are like the greatest poison.
Moving through my own veins with no noise and,
My hands shake wothout my fix,
But you can't fix me,
Its true.
I need you to stay here now,
While I fly away,
Leaving you standing on the ground,
Don't frown,
You never needed me,
With concieded tragedy
Trembling from your lips.
And I know you can feel it,
Can taste materiality when you kiss.
My head is crashing,
My body thrashing
on the ground till its blue,
I'm not saying that I want to leave,
I'm just saying that you can't love me like I need.
I know it might be hard
But I'm looking so far
And all I can see is my tears.
How am I supposed to live this way?
Waiting day by day
For you to reveal all my fears.
You know I hate my future,
As much as I hate your present suture
You're letting dive into your heart.
I don't know how to start,
In a world where you're my world
But I'm not yours.
I say that I will leave and close the door,
Leave it a crack,
So I can see your light in the dark,
And find my way back.
All I asked of you was your hand,
Press it to my chest,
I know you can.
You make me resent all the words that I've said,
Went through your ears,
Passed by your brain and out your head.
You said,
You don't know how to help me,
I'm not the titanic that's sinking,
Just a person that's wishing,
that someone had taught me to swim.
I know you don't get me,
Don't understand what my head thinks,
Well darling that makes two.*
May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 1:17 AM UTC
I feel like going back to those days,
when I could feel and not fear it.
When I didn't know the world's ways
and I didn't yet need my fighting spirit.
When I could simply have a romance,
nothing complicated or categorized,
that would come up by happenstance
with no limits needing to be devised.
I miss those days, I could awaken
find another body next to mine,
and not even be mistaken
in thinking this won't be the only time.
I miss those days with a passion,
too often I feel like I'm crashin'
straight through the mud and the dirt
all the pain and the hurt.
I render my poems inert,
when I stare in the mirror,
see myself crying and dying,
insanity getting nearer.
I one day hope to rise from it all,
stand from the ash, proud and tall,
but I know that after I do
I'll eventually once again fall.
I miss those days
in more than a million ways.
Watching my eyes glaze over
thinking about days over
again.
I flow my heart into this pen
put my soul into what I write
now and then.
I know I'll be that happy once more,
I've got that joy kept in store,
for a future when I suture
this wounded pride and mind.
I've got a stride in mind,
for when I return.
See the surprise in their faces,
I bet they thought I would burn
up in the anger like butane.
I'm just too hard to contain
and I walk through cold rain,
thinking about once upon a time,
through sweat and grime,
You were mine, I was yours,
now it's vice versa.
Aug 31, 2014
Aug 31, 2014 at 9:38 PM UTC
Dear Lovely, my tormented fair-maiden
I write thou in love, transparent and unhidden
I know you seek answers that are hard to find
searching this soul and this ****** heart of mine
Seeking the signs of a lover's true intention
while hanging on the lips of every word mentioned
You look and you hunt through your longing
to discover if I am your true belonging
I know by the pause's in your words spoken
that you're trying to avoid another heart broken
I've been honest, dear Lovely, with every answer given
and as you slowly say my name I begin to give in
But these walls I create are for the protection
of a heart once fooled with misguided direction
Everything I do, I do for our future
so you know difficulty inherent with this suture
With caution I proceed, by no cause of yours
But from past loves I've learned there are no do-overs
I, with pounding heart, beg of thee, please understand
that on this earth we can walk hand in hand
But time heals all wounds, and these are freshly made
I can love and never leave, dear Lovely,
once the scars begin to fade.
Jul 9, 2011
Jul 9, 2011 at 12:06 PM UTC
Stepping on the corpses of all you've known
trekking through the field of bones
the sirens sing, green angels with broken wings
like a desolate future, in need of suture
I see a patina on everything, rustic brains
you can always find some sign of life
for there is always life within something
rose still exist among the filth and ****
there will always be beauty in the lies
and in the truths that flow through our mouths
Apr 28, 2015
Apr 28, 2015 at 2:49 AM UTC
He refuses to offer a piece of his heart
'Cause he can't trust it'll be kept unbroken
He keeps his feelings belted smart
Chances for new emotions left untouched and unspoken
He offers his rut, fresh and mastered
Decides it's the best and most he wants for now
The heart that's growing a case on him is being plastered
At the mere longing to exchange a loyalty vow
There is hope he will change and offer more
With no guarantee of his final choice for a future;
There is hope, at the depth of a bruised heart still sore
Longing to hold him close upon his merciful role as a suture.
Nov 5, 2015
Nov 5, 2015 at 11:17 PM UTC
……Now
With springing force
I was shot out into the future
And with needle to the suture
Sewed together what I could
Lo, the spring sprung back into
The autumn
Found my porthole at the bottom
Into all I understood
Yet,
An equal opposite reaction
Fueled combustibly by action
From believing things that I was told to read
Found
Me far beyond what I
had seen
Cross dystopian ravine
Though in spite of any betterment, still brought to you by greed
Now from safely at the station
In the cold and condensation
I can see with clearest vision
The successes of my mission
Here, within, the multitudinous expanse of tears and laughs
Will be difficult to honor with a proper epitaph
Jan 22, 2011
Jan 22, 2011 at 7:53 PM UTC
Wandering under
woodland leaves,
my mind confined
to winding suture lines.
Paths of pink nerve tissue
cherry blossom trees,
dendrite branches wave
in a heavy breeze.
Myline bark, an axon stump,
rooted contents of my skull
continuously growing,
a tangled plexus of
neural connections.
Twisting, turning,
a knotted blockage.
Pathways, rippled in roots,
a crossing synaptic stoppage.
A suffocating strangle,
choking corpus callosum
decaying mangle.
Branches atrophy,
shrivel and scar.
Root terminals suffer
hormonal harm.
Forest trails quick fainting
when lost in overthinking.
Feb 17, 2019
Feb 17, 2019 at 11:29 PM UTC
hands upon the door
to the cell phone store
I had an awful sore
in my heart and core
something I'm mad at
before the phone shat
something like ****
that some cat spat
so I rant at the gal
even her pal
and the guy Al
who give's a hal?
"The phone's inferior
Where's your superior?
I'll rip him a new interior!
You're all about exterior."
"Look at me when I speak.
or are you too weak?
Talking while you tweet
Look at me when you speak"
what's with this culture?
digital gone vulture
your phone like a suture
trying to mend the future
"Sorry if I got all hot.
Diplomatic I am not.
Had to rant and shout
get the dysfunction out."
"Your phone hurt my ear
The speaker on too near.
On this much I am clear
Your phone hurt my ear."
Jul 21, 2015
Jul 21, 2015 at 7:48 PM UTC
Lonely as a heart can be
living a life that is not for me
pondering what will be in the future
so far only to be fixed with a suture
Longing forever the woman for I
There's no light visible in the sky
where are you, my little spoon
i will be right here, waiting on the moon
Sep 13, 2023
Sep 13, 2023 at 3:58 PM UTC
From a child's eyes
To a child's heart.
Impressions lasting
First one's the start.
Young and innocent
Even more pure.
The smile to a bad day
Sometimes the cure.
An empty vessel
To fill and to mold.
A respectable child
Does as they're told.
Taught right from wrong
Morals are planted.
Posture is straight
Not crooked and slanted.
Religion is introduced
Traditions hallowed out.
Expectations set
No time to doubt.
Captured over time
In the parent's planned future.
Trust earned and lost
Disappointments need suture.
What happens when that child
No longer hears praise?
Repeated in their head
"This is not how you were raised."
When conflict of interest
And what's stood for changes.
When a child's soul is not
Resistant to the turning of ages.
Product of their environment
It's not just what's taught.
It's every lie and hardship
That they've ever bought.
The bruises the tears
For some the neglect.
Do they become the examples
We all forget?
Oct 5, 2015
Oct 5, 2015 at 6:27 PM UTC
11/24/2017
Everybody says i dodged a bullet
But the bullet landed
As for the trigger, was it him or me that pulled it?
I thought he helped my heart expand its hard to think i even could with
Both feet braced on solid ground
Our situationship wasnt planned
I know its hard to understand
From the outside its easy to brand me
Can we analyze every time i noticed how masterfully he handled me?
I understand that time is the only poultice
But for a moment Id like to be candid please
The bullet landed and it travelled
It ripped a path through my flesh
Day by day i ate less and less
Let this be as many lessons
As you can manage to pull from this
The side pieces and the rest is all fluff and ********
He put strings on my heart and pulled it
And i danced and said “how high”
And my soul became dull it became harder and harder to wake up every day
Is it ok to say the only redeeming quality is that he never struck me?
But i wanted to escape the pain of being stuck he told me never, ever again to cut
He didnt see that he was the reason i needed release
The Mona Lisa was out of luck
Finally the bullet festered
The pain became so great
And the benefits so much less
The bullet ripped a path
I cut it out and sealed it back
Now the bullet is nothing but waste
And i can find a new way to relate
New tissue to create
It takes talent to close, to suture they say
“Approximate, dont strangulate”
And now the bullet is disposed
So they say i dodged a bullet
But the bullet landed
It ripped a path through my flesh
Til i became so much less
And the wound began to fester
So i cut out the bullet and cleaned up the rest
Now i have a scar to show the truth
The bullet landed
And i still choose
Not to be bulletproof
Apr 15, 2018
Apr 15, 2018 at 8:21 PM UTC
I saw the saddest scene today,
when a boy— now a year older—
abandoned his bicycle because she was older.
Enticed by lust, on his new bike he rode away,
caught up in the moment—he didn’t mean to scold her—
yet no second was spared to look back over his shoulder.
I stopped watering my lawn, eyes where the bike lay,
imagining the loneliness felt when he disowned her,
and I felt emptier than a bike’s seat with no owner.
Even inside my home, on my conscience it weighed
because of their tryst, there was another knower.
“He took her for a ride, and he didn’t even know her.”
In my mind I console her, such idle words I say,
for nobody’s pedaling foot would ever suit her
until that pettler’s foot stopped blocking the suture.
“I was like you recently, so for you I pray,
though, the absence was open and lacked closure;
hopefully, your steel frame employs better composure.
“Nostalgia will make him pine for his yesterday,
pictures’ll frame the story of love lost when he’s older.
In time, loving hands will lift you up,” I told her.
Jul 19, 2013
Jul 19, 2013 at 2:43 PM UTC
In a slow oak and elm ING breath
Ent felt tears in the air
She inquired the feather like dancer
From where a river now streamed
Say, your sobbing must stop
Just enjoy being unlocked
You do not know tree pain
With my long hard locks
Knotted under the weight of usefulness
for you are still yet a seed
Riding the wind of dreams
No rings yet formed on fingers
rings to be broken for fires timber
Your tendrils are bendable
The beginning fragment of a future
So show no pain and suture a smile
I know capons
who fell free from home
Only for gravity to shatter dreams & reclaim them to the unknown.
And the dandelion said:
My short life comes with long memory
While my youth may seem naive to tree
I have only arrived and I must die to be
You will remain when I am reborn
deity
And as your locks begin to leaves
And birds flock like river ocean streams
I know pain because I remember birth
I will die a thousand times before you know me
Yet these tears should not offend
I cry to womb the happiness within.
Aug 6, 2016
Aug 6, 2016 at 10:46 AM UTC
Beneath the water lived a nymph, beautiful as
A flower, if you like woman with petals
Growing from out of their face
And lips adorned with myriad metals
Moving silently with infinite grace.
Fishermen who caught her, in alarm
Tossed her back with dismayed cries
Fearful that she would do them harm
When she exposed her fangs, darting from her eyes,
Forked tongues from each palm.
But apart from all that, she was a delightful creature
As proud as a catwalk model
Sexuality impressed into each feature
Death in each cuddle,
Poison injected from each freshly opening suture.
At the sea’s dark bottom lived the nymph
Devouring fish raw, terrifying sharks and barracuda,
Dining on shellfish and prawns for lunch;
Darting amongst Angel Fish and eels, a hungry aficionada,
Tearing into shreds what she could not crunch.
Gentle with her own kind until coition
Was complete, when if hungry she devoured
Her temporary mate without undue consideration,
No please or thank you. Feeling duly empowered
By her actions, as confirmed by her explosive, acrid indigestion.
No longer young, her children dead,
She glides through the water from China to France
A preposterous seaweed hat upon her head
And in several places, impaling her scaly flesh a serrated coral branch.
Her sartorial taste filling even the sharks with fin-quaking dread.
The last of the kind. The others are (literally) toast.
Protected by animal charities here and abroad
She gladly subsists on ambitious swimmers who venture far from the coast
All she can now catch or afford.
A capricious tyrant until the last, when, victim of a fisherman’s boast
She was hoist up like iniquitous cod
Out of the sea, paraded on the deck while she struggled for breath.
Shot at. Abused. Poked and speared with a steel tipped rod,
Dragged into the harbour, pummelled close to death.
Screaming out, as she in unexpected agony died: “I thought, I truly thought, I was god!”
Jul 20, 2016
Jul 20, 2016 at 2:06 PM UTC
I would give you, almost anything,
for the borders, to close.
For our separate galaxies,
to inch, and crawl, ever closer,
winding and unwinding
around each other,
like the red thread of fate,
rocking gently, on twin spools.
I would give up, almost everything,
for my lifeline, to unravel,
if only...
to retangle, around yours,
in a closed,
but infinite loop.
I would give you my all,
my everything
For the distance,
between us...
to vanish.
For the spaces around us,
to suture themselves, together,
and heal,
like gaping wounds.
For the sublime favor,
of feeling you shine down, on me,
in a way no other, could do.
To see all your love,
reflected, in your mirrored irises,
and know that no one,
stands before, or behind me.
And I'd sell my own soul,
without a second thought
just to hear you say
That I'm your one,
your only love,
and no other
could ever
do.
Jun 21, 2025
Jun 21, 2025 at 12:43 AM UTC
Him:
*I'd like to request that we take a digital snapshot,
not remember in black and white.
Our keen insight developing symphonies
Our harmonious future.
I need a piece,
I need the key to twist
Turn this defeating suture.*
Her:
*It breaks my heart to see your disease.
In my bones I wish to mend your seams
I'd give you my lungs to let you breathe
To you my love I send
. . .But to me your soul is dead
I'd rather be friends instead*
Nov 18, 2014
Nov 18, 2014 at 1:45 AM UTC
And so resounds the echo...
Sewn against your shadow,
handstitched destiny edges,
unraveled in the fire,
pulses rage
in heart-paced whispers,
collision of midnight panther
pelts, bleed into powder silk,
ravage the gentle merge,
your touch upon my awakening
sway me softly in your gaze
taste me with eyes that pierce
my soul from wingtips of butterflies
cast from the fire of your existence.
Unfold the unspoken words
dripping in the creases of this
throbbing...needing...wanting
heartbeat-slip-stitch,
suture seal the ache
of gossamer flesh
pressed against raven,
twin glances,
the bookmark,
fingertips
tracing the eyeprints
of your words upon me.
...so resounds the echo...
As echo wrecks the body
in a fever of words, purged
from the ****** night,
that devours_and devours_your lips,
my hands' gentle cradle, spread
its roots dark these russet
threads the gold, swept
wetly over hands, like nerves,
quickening and so laden
with tremors, these words echo echo
Slip knot tongues intertwine,
tangled tasting breathes, exhaled
in slow moans surging, purging
that drink_and crave_and need
m o r e
beneath hands that unleash
the fervor, lips pressed through
the flames, as gossamer falls
upon panther silk,
an exigent trespass,
beyond the touch
beyond the kiss,
educe the quake and the quiver
within this rapture.
...so resounds the echo echo...
Aug 30, 2012
Aug 30, 2012 at 5:42 PM UTC
There lived, beneath a hanging leaf
A Ladybird called Annie
Who hated being female
And daily, cursed her *****
Her voice was deep and baleful
Her shoulders, broad and strong
By right, she was a Boybird
Just her genitals were wrong
Her family rejected her
She alive alone, ashamed
Until she met a Dragonfly
‘Salvation’ she proclaimed
For every bug and critter
When feeling below par
Would visit Doctor Dragonfly
In his empty pickle jar
Just maybe he could help her
With snip, a tuck and stitch
She’d not be Annie any more
Tomorrow, she’d be Mitch
She lay down on the table
And a beetle knocked her out
The doctor took his knife in hand
And bustled all about
With suture made of thistledown
And sap of pine for glue
He reassigned her gender
But the best that he could do
Was not a lady, not a man
But somewhere in between
And, as he used some aphid parts
The ***** were small and green
Annie never changed her name
It didn’t seem quite right
Her family still shunned her
She slept alone at night
The only insect in the field
With ***** ***** and *****
Even hungry birds avoided
Ladyboybird Annie
May 8, 2014
May 8, 2014 at 7:43 AM UTC
We gather them,
These stolen moments,
These orphaned seconds,
These lost dark minutes.
Stateless, Unattached,
These refugee clicks
With no form or voice
Do not belong here.
We pile them up,
These off cuts of time,
These shards of passing,
This swarf of tempo.
Shreds of interval
And dislocation
With no named event
To give them title.
And with our small words we bind them,
A suture in the wounded day,
To make a tiny poem of the scars.
Jul 5, 2014
Jul 5, 2014 at 8:36 PM UTC
A leitmotif of your average smug **** is a proverb here and there.
Spouting them off like the receptor has no care.
Their evidential naivety is blatant and almost impossible to bear.
As an audience member you can do nothing but hide your malevolence and stare.
******* in maxims that are apparently laced with benevolence and care.
You know the kind of oxygen waster I’m referring to.
The type of person that watches BBC 4 and likes tofu.
The kind that does the Financial Times So-fucking-Do-Ku.
Look I’m just saying that clichés annoy me.
I’m not asking you to love me, give me a reach around or employ me.
In fact you don’t even have to enjoy me as I tell you of things that matter not.
Suture yourself hypothetically to a geographically different mind. That mind being mine, oh that maverick-esque mischievous mind of mine, looking at this from my perspective.
In my transcendental endeavours to rid the clichéd ridden world of the afore mentioned adjective.
In the opposite of anachronistic times, we might successfully, surreptitiously rid the world of moral coated rhymes.
We can do this; all it takes is a few. One of which needs to be you.
Break out from being solipsistic, even the blind, the meek, the autistic, those that besmirch the edge of coffee cups with their lipstick.
Yes, I mean you. Here is what to do…
The next time someone spouts off a cliché, punish them, make them listen to an album by “Hearsay.”
If someone says “An Apple a day keeps the doctor away.” Then simply say, Steve Jobs had thousands and the here’s the definite answer, that consumerism inducer still died of cancer.
If a woman says “When I say jump. You say how high!” Don’t even cogitate to pardon her.
If the grass is always greener on the other side – shoot your ******* gardener.
Aug 24, 2012
Aug 24, 2012 at 8:03 PM UTC
Ode to Self
Walking on my own in this road to nowhere
I have thought my life was a whole lot better
Without the things that I used to consider
Superficial like love that made me bitter
Then an angel came to me in a jiffy
Dressed in golden feathers with lips like ruby
Suddenly I was enthralled by her beauty
Misery left me then came my love story
She gave me her heart and I found my shelter
At last my cry was like the rushing river
Can’t imagine why God put us together
Only to be with another’s arms sooner
It’s hard to live in the shadows of her past
Happiness gave company yet left so fast
I don’t have the clue of how long will I last
Like a fracture in a sculpture with a cast
My hopes have faded like the stars were aligned
Like prayers answered like proposals declined
Bursting with ideas from an empty mind
Beauty of irony which left them behind
I have heard limericks from my broken heart
Pieces of memories being torn apart
Mosaics of truth that built a fancy art
But I don’t want to go back from where I start
Ode to Beloved
Sassy lady how lovely you shine so bright
Blind me, come and take away my precious sight
Do you want me to go on a solo flight?
Or be a tool for another man’s delight?
Oh ears of my dearly loved can you hear me?
Draw closer to me please respond to my plea
Heed the sonata of my melancholy
It feels like I’m falling with no gravity
You‘ve lost your sight from the dimness of the dusk
You’ve fooled your own heart when you wore on that mask
Love was next to you even if you don’t ask
Like a machine with an automated task
Hey girl do you see a man from your future?
Do you know that he would stitch up your suture?
From sorrows that have caused your heart to rupture
Which made you weak and soon became your nature
If metaphors can be like reality
And reality can foresee destiny
I don’t know how happy it would be for me
If you could make sense of my allegory
Just gaze at nowhere but only in the front
Disregard the pasts that persist as they haunt
Like carcasses in graves so ghastly and gaunt
Walk with me make sure it isn’t just a jaunt
iamthe_avatar ©2010
Mar 7, 2014
Mar 7, 2014 at 1:14 AM UTC
I look inside, all I see is gold
I try to let it out but ain't bold
I got caught up in what I was told
On the outside, I start to grow mold.
My content is intact
But I couldn't get it out
Disapproval a major factor
Maybe I need a mentor
Or a mental restructure
Falling apart, I need a suture
Started to mine my reserve
I ensured to preserve
Slowly began to serve
All the negativity reversed
A lot blessed by every verse.
Aug 28, 2018
Aug 28, 2018 at 10:34 PM UTC