sticky iced lemonade, notes scrawled on squares torn off from lined paper, broken ukelele chords singing with the stars, late night movies, games of frisbee in morning mist, laying on the dewy grass watching marmalade sunsets, living like summer was forever
“Love a lot louder than liquid hydrogen meeting a spark baby, love like a colosseum on USA’s game day.. love me like to lose me would wilt your heart, love me louder than the pope prays.”
Get loud with your love and scream it to the clouds like thunder, get loud with it like you just found the perfect plunder - eUe.. come and read a story that will make you snicker..
Oh, to be a muse!
To have thy hair compared to the inky night, with a smile of a thousand stars.
To have thy voice compared to the whispers of the breeze on a summer’s evening
To have your entire being picked apart and cherished as one would a poem, attempting to understand at its foundation.
Oh, to be a muse!
There are a thousand minds between mine.
Every soul that inhabits this body is a broken and a
new one. broken as in fragmented as in
part a whole that can never reintegrate into
one being. as in
i have never once looked into the mirror and recognized myself
as in
god could strike me down and only the
body
of this being would feel it. as
in between every ounce of love i have felt and curated i have buried
myself with it. a s i n
i could view myself as a stained glass mosaic.
i could view myself as a work of art.
as in, every tragic thing is made
with loving hands.
I looked at her knowing that she wasn’t the best of circumstances
but that was just at first glance
apon the second I saw it
knew it
I had swore I had felt it
she was beautiful
even if she wasn’t
her eyes
her hair
hips legs hands
even her scars were beautiful
she was at arms length
yet we were worlds apart
a part
a piece
a segment
that’s all I wanted
because I knew that was all I was worth
she was my drug my morphine
my ketamine
the smoke in my lungs
a fleeting moment in the halls of eternity
and nothing else
I wrapped my arms around her waist as we slept
this hug
this sweet embrace
was the most loved id felt in
months weeks days
just oxytocin
so don’t sweat it
just cuddle buddies
just a silly romantic in need of some company till dawn is all
just one night, thats all
then you can wash your hands of me
and this bad situation
I told her
but I didn’t
I held that thought back under lock and lost the key
I know she’s bad for me, but like a cigarette I can’t put her down
and our time together as i know
is all too short-lived
I listened to her knowing she wasn’t telling the truth
she said it once more
I heard it
believed it
took it as gospel
she was trustworthy
even if she wasn’t
her voice
her words
pauses breaths laughts
even her lies were beautiful
her words though few, are sweet
but i know from our past they are filled with intent to mislead
But I can’t help it
I’m
lonely
and in need of some sleep
…
The night is a sort of place which guards secrets. The sort of secrets someone hides behind their eye, tucked in that little socket like a skeleton key. Man is a strange and a foreign thing, profound in its absurdity and menacing in its hunger. Hunger meaning desire meeting instinct, meaning fantasizing about the vile acts. The sort of thing one could never say proudly, the sort of thing that makes whetstone and wheat out of blood and bone. The sort of night one spends reliving a thousand profound lives in a thousand profound moments.
I am clinging to the last shreds of warmth and security or perhaps of understanding. i would weep for the person i was two moments ago if i could remember what she felt like. i am anew every two moments and time is an illusion, time is going at ¼ speed and i am afraid i will forget the woman i am right now in the next 5 moments. i am afraid i will not survive a world that lives its entire life in 5 moments. what if the sky were a belly, a worm, a womb’ i have compared my pussy to a forest a million times and yet i am clinging to the last shreds of identity i hold between split pea fingertips
I am hoping that we will meet somewhere, someday. In a place where we will never be afraid to be true to ourselves, to our own feelings—a place where we will never let our fears hinder our hearts to beat as one. By that time, our heads are finally clear from what-ifs and we will have the happy ending that belongs to the both of us.
— We Will Meet Again, n.m.g.
JT
How can you miss someone you haven’t even met?
To long for their kisses
And warm breaths on your neck?
Missing the way their lips move as they speak
Or to seek warmth in an unknown territory?
To smell the unfamiliar scent wafting with nostalgia and distant memories?
“You may be a simple man, my love, but you command my soul. You are my breath. My heart is yours! I will write about you, countless poems, poems as bright as stars, as deep as the ocean and as infinite as the sky.”
who’s trying to write letters during the quarantine?
to ask each other how you’re feeling and the newest hobby they’ve picked up while stuck at home.
to talk about the latest book you have read or what films you have watched and the characters you have fell in love with as well as those you despise.
to address the policies your state/province/country have put into place and the practicality of said policies.
to memorise the way the other writes; the way they dot their i’s and cross their t’s; their word choice, their syntax.
who wants to fall in love in desperate times to allow some light at the end of the tunnel?
i look off into the long shore
and i long for more
when you say these things
the hot bright sun shining
the world it spins for you
spins for you my muse
singing songs without a care
because i know you’ll be here
staring off into distance
on my boat with you
my hope is stone
i’m filled with joy
sing this song
love’s a-bound
somewhere off in the white clouds
what do put into the background whenever you’re writing? what do you dream about - 🍓
today was a more slow day for me and the word count was lesser but still i feel blessed to put out words everyday 🍓
tagging @bahay-kubo @haleliwia @luciellesgarden
because they’re such sweet angels 🤍💫
When I feel shy
I write
I write a poem
So that no one looks directly at my eyes
But .. who said that poetry changed this
To reveal your face behind the words
As if it to apologize for something ?!
if thorns were a person
they would be you
disguised as a rose bush
tearing me through and through
.
your lovely scent reminds me
of a dead place called home
I try to love your beauty
stab wounds shall fill with foam
.
bright red beauty of mine
toxicity unknown
roses are only skin deep
your thorns will shake my bones
.
