did anyone bring sunscreen?
did anyone bring sunscreen?
these feelings I must address
deeply personal emotions
we’re all called to express
can be unrelenting, overwhelming
a constant cause for distress
attempts to keep it together
falter to my doubts and bouts of regress
sometimes I’m just… such a mess…
yet I never lose my will to fight
carry on with hope that I’ll progress
so I stay home alone
writing poem after poem after poem
sharing intimate pieces of myself most repress
without concern or interest
with popularity or achieving success
I’m simply here to share
because I care… I’ve no need to impress
in a world where most long for more…
I prefer less…
realizing life is a random chance
an unrehearsed dance…
who’s got the time to second guess
©️ @followcb ☆ July 9, 2020
i don’t know how to board a train of thoughts
where the terminal station isn’t you,
where the fuel isn’t my tears
where the passengers survive the flood of emotions
where it doesn’t leave me a fucking wreck
There was always a gap
A part was missing
The ache of yearning
For someone not yet known
Satisfaction alluding me fully
Life played a game on me
Hide and seek with my love
Chewed me up and spat me out
Told me I was unworthy and alone
Flawed and unloveable
Reset the playing board
Made my first move boldly
Strumming my heart to my own rhythm
Bold and brave shining for all to see
Then you saw me
But you hadn’t waited for me
Ignored the unsaid whisper
That I was your forever
You took me when you couldn’t have me
The truth dawned when my adoration encompassed you
Now you’re cursed to know that I was meant for you
Too late the pain has taken root
When your world is with you the angels sing
Yet that final farewell
When he leaves for his world
Because you’re not part of it
Sickening punch I cannot recover from
Truly now I am unloveable
For who would love one
Who can never love you back
Dance with the stars;
Sing me their song;
I’ll sew you a tapestry to kiss when they’re gone.
Dance with the stars-
Tell me their names!
(In the end, a tapestry is all that remains.)
A string of words beneath my skin sting sometimes, aching to get through;searching for some dead metaphor to rescue them.
Sometimes my words get caught up in the middle of a sentence, they demand more space; phases trying their best to pierce through each heartbeat yet meeting their fate with nothingness.
I seek for warmth in empty spaces; building my home upon withering roses I follow my mundane routine with a hollow heart and a caught up mind. My words beg for an escape and I try to hush them; promising them a dreamlike reality, I keep them quiet. First I fail as a lover, then, as a writer.
Maybe one day your familiar silhouette will sit at the end of my bed,flipping through my journal and will ask why are they all about heartbreaks. And I would say my words are stubborn, weaving the lost with intimate fingers that seek for second chances, denying its destiny.
I would always blame my words rather than blaming you for the inked bruises; for mistakes without a heartbeat weigh less than mistakes with one.
Boredom is dreadfully, dead-fully, depressingly dull.
It leads to drastically sad day dreams.
The saying goes; idle hands do the devils work.
Such can be true.
Boredom makes you want to slumber into an eternally dark depressing dream.
Only to drift off into a shadowy jet black abyss.
Boredom can lead to wild fantasies such good and bad.
Boredom comes in many ways, shapes, and forms.
Pretty little cotton candy pills, a soft fluffy pillow, a magnetic mattress, or dimly lit rooms filled with cigarette smoke.
Boredom can destroy everything that once made you happy.
Nevertheless, you have the power to fight this devious enemy.
I’d wish for
Romeo and Juliet without
The gauze wrapped around
Shards of projected romanticism,
Pasted corners on pages of
Wistful comparison turned
And faded circumstance.
Oh how lucky it would be
For the closing of the book
To mark dual demise;
But the most tragic tale yet
Is of one heart still
Beating out smudged scratches
Of pens’ strokes
And the second providing
He insists on walking back home after our evening classes and I always agree happily. We alternate between exchanging popsicle-kissed wholesome smiles and deep, unfiltered conversations by the riverside; and by the time we say our goodbyes by the corner of the old town library, I would have learned about a new constellation. We would spend most of our nights roaming around the empty streets of the old town, feet stomping against the cold rainwashed concrete as the summer winds whirl past our happy silhouettes. And the mornings that followed promised laughter upon every sappy poem we read sitting against the timbered walls of old bookshops, cheeky smiles we exchange when our favourite songs suddlenly play on the radio. If my summer with you came in colours,it would definitely be yellow; happy, bright and vibrant.
But bitter end to an almost “us” embraced us that night when
the wayfarer in him longed to be elsewhere and the silent lover in me let him go oh so easily. Yellows begin turn into shades of blue. Sunshine and smiles never got along. Poetries carried pain disguised as love.
Happiness still bloomed but fits of unspoken sadness grew stronger. Walking alongside the regret of letting him go and a tiny hope to see him again, I have come a long way. Now every cloudless night, when the stars align and the moonbeam scatter across the old town, I gather all the bruised snippets of my unspoken beloved and start painting my life back to yellow.
For whenever we meet from now, know that I have never missed a day telling Orion and Lyria about you.
Maybe this is all just a table you’ve been turning to get my attention.
- Vagabond Prophet
give me the unknown
when I leave home…
twists and turns of mountain roads
where wandering, poet-explorers go
hoping nature’s rarest scenes unfold;
unusual, sensual curves and hills
resplendent river valleys
inspired horizons of joy
to elevate spirits,
remind me how rich
unplugged, easy living
Image & Poem ©️ @followcb ☆ June 30, 2020
i think back on the times we shared
the good ones and the bad
the fun times and the sad
a mutual split we thought best
this separation made me whole
i grew, bloomed, and healed my soul
i’m a well-rounded individual
i have matured at my own pace
reached goals without any heartache
why do i miss you?
you were a significant part of me
before we found our own streets
i can see clearly now
we aren’t meant to be,
but i can’t help but think of you
and thank you for all the memories
There’s a bird perched
behind my collarbone
It wasn’t much of
a problem at first
but now it’s grown
And I don’t think
it ever sleeps
a constant thief
of half the air I breathe
A small stabbing beak
to any available meat
Its fluttering adjustments
converting into my need
to constantly move
to try to flee
To curl in till it hurts
To break us both down
if that’s how
to get it to leave
of vulnerability, acceptance and everything in between.
we humans, or specifically me, are pretty crazy.
there was a man who was afraid.
everything in this world.
a bus might run him over, or a man might breathe deadly germs onto him, or lightning might strike him, or he might slip on a banana peel and the people would laugh their heads off.
so he went into his room, locked his door and got into his bed. and stayed there.
for a while.
then a picture fell off the wall on to his head and killed him.
perhaps that’s how our mind works.
i think about this the next time someone asks me “how are you?” and i answer with an overused lie “im fine”.
cos i’d rather pretend im fine than bare my soul.
and so i shut down.
the way i see it, vulnerability is a pillow.
the problem is, my mind is haunted by the fact that it could suffocate and kill me.
my body yearns for some comfort.
some rest. some sleep.
my head aches for a pillow under it.
i refuse to sleep.
and if i do doze off, im shaken awake by a nightmare. leaving me out of breath and sweaty.
and so i roam around with bags under my eyes. restless.
He entered my life to set my soul free,
to challenge and heal my insecurities.
The journey to discover and learn to love myself,
began with letting go of needing love from anyone else.
To heal the unconscious wounds from deep within,
releasing me from the pain of powerlessness.
So that I could find someone to love me for my worth,
I had to begin to find a way to let go of so much hurt.
Abuse colored the lens from which I saw my life,
it littered the path and clouded my perception with lies.
All of the trauma left untreated and overlooked,
paved the way to my heart, by pretense I was hooked.
Lifting my spirits higher than they’d ever been before,
he appeared as a savior, meant to love me whole,
but instead he left me aching for more.
The narcissist made me fall in love with a disguise,
and when the mask fell, he shattered me over time.
I met him to be awakened to heal my soul from within,
to find the beauty in the scars of the woman that I am.
He unintentionally gave me the insight I desired to find,
to be there for the others who need a little bit of light.
The enchanting son of Cephissus,
distinguished for his godly beauty,
blessed to lead a long and prosperous life
so long as he were never to see his true identity.
A beautiful goddess echo fell deeply in love,
but being a man of rather selfish convictions,
he rejected poor echo and her pure love for him.
Perched a top of forest of hearty evergreen trees,
Nemesis observed echo’s tears falling into a gentle stream,
in anger she cursed Narcissus to love his own reflection,
and to never know or feel the beauty of true affection.
Falling into a deep despair Narcissus took his own life,
while echo’s heartache faded into Greek mythology,
the fate of narcissus’s ego would devolve into psychology.
In a sudden wind
his mind turned inside-out
like an umbrella.
He could feel the spokes of the real
bend, groan, and break
like the spine of that umbrella.
He could feel his own heart,
his veins, his blood, his breath
as if they were at last his own.
Words beheld the things they imagined,
poems dropped gently with the leaves,
and books read deep into their readers.
Then another wind
turned the world inside-out,
and he blossomed into darkness and light.
He heard stars whisper like children,
the night bless lovers with planets conjoined,
and dandelions chant silver to the moon.
Now he lets the storms blow through him,
the sun enlighten, and the moon, in joy,
dream him to the silence of his bones.
And the beasts that guide us home from memory
lead him down their secret paths
he never-always knew might still be there.
It’s been nine years
But I swear we’re just getting started,
Unlike my hair
My affection for you does not grow thin.
I’m losing count
Of the storms we’ve weathered
And the times I’ve patched holes
In the gunnels.
So many pushed off from harbour
So many made vows
Of eternal wind blowing
Towards masts of constancy.
Do you remember the crowd on the pier?
And how they cheered on each vessel
I remember your confusion
At the lul in the mob
When the wind blew and took us away.
As for me I mostly recall
Not caring if few recognized our flag
And don’t know the words
To the songs our clan will sing.
The best explorers become legend
Not for their love of those on land
And the praises they may sing
But their love for waves unseen
Tempests and paradise alike.
Few make it through such weather
Through the eleven gales
That blew through us last spring
Each with its own accent.
Is it lost on you
That for how far we’ve sailed
The seas are now empty
Those still voyaging
Are fathoms between.
So let’s run away with our pens
You know we’ve got plenty
We’ll rewrite every story
To be about us.
We’ll steal into the shops
By cover of night
And patrons by day will
Peruse through the titles
‘Love in the time of Corona’
Maybe no one will buy it
Or think it of worth.
Will we care?
We’ll be gone with the wind.
- Vagabond Prophet
@inky-child Happy Anniversary.
poems erase distances
writer and reader unite
twin flames forging spiritual fires
smoke from water
ascending into bluest skies
until we vaporize into cirrus clouds
fall like snow onto mountaintops
glistening diamond crystals
we melt together under sunlight
streams to rivers to the sea
oceans of love course through our souls
we reach the beach
global gypsys born from desert sands
knowing life is death is life
poetry, an oasis in our hearts
where we dive and swim and float
amid the paradise of the words we write
a treasure chest of art
an imaginary island
we discovered together
in the unwritten lines in-between
our daily lives and our dreams
©️ @followcb ☆ June 18, 2020