Self control is not to budge
as dark thoughts turn pale eyes red
one man jury, hangman, judge
wishing that others were dead
self control is keeping clutch
to sanity’s only thread
a weathered splintering crutch
bracing up mountainous dread
As self-hatred taught me to manifest
I type out my thoughts to put them to rest
as battles are fought inside of my chest
a lonely heart wrought with pain and distress
Nights like these were moonlit
and with another I was immersed
one ping to make my body fidget
my attention she’s now coerced
butterflies up to my armpits
awaiting my phone’s next outburst
something I’m ashamed to admit
wishing that time could be reversed
knowing that we’re unfit
despite the lessons I’m well-versed
in what’s real or counterfeit
but with her I swear that I’m cursed
old habits are hard to quit
especially when they contact first
and initial expressions I get
are to follow through with thirst
Feather-like kisses, a warm breath
Trailing down battle-worn sides,
Ghosting the wounds of the past.
Claws of steel, now a memory,
A shadow in place of their worship.
Coaxing you under the spell of love,
Rewriting the marks of a twisted hand
With pure bliss. Through trusted
Finger-tips padding down your spine,
Cherishing your scars like pieces of art.
-eshaninjer
Written for Day Twenty-Seven of Spilled Inktober: Claws
[Thank you to the anon on my sideblog for this idea!]
But after all we are mere strangers, waiting for a train to come.
Looking at people pass by wondering what type of stories their eyes hold
While we exchange glances not daring to express our thoughts.
There’s an anticipating stillness in the air between us.
Oh stranger if only you knew how longingly I look upon you every time.
Since we met my days are filled with details,
the gentle brush against my shoulder, a fleeting welcoming glance, a secretive grin, only for my eyes to see.
The delicately crafted love language we’ve built piece by piece, day by day while we wait for the train.
It fills me with nostalgia each time we must depart.
My heart hammers in my chest at the hunch of you finally whispering ‘Shall we get a cup of tea?’ With a dashing smile.
Train ride
A. M.
has to have a punt
is one of the things they taught me
I found them pushing
a supermarket trolley full of booze
different types of bottles
colours labels tops
we’re laying in party supplies
you are invited
please give us a hand
later we sat around
drinking through the cache
while they talked of reds whites
appellation contrôlée domaine
how to buy good cheap booze
the vin du pays
if its cheap look for the punt
flat bottom bottles are not good
but if you look in the discount section
you know it’s a winner
got that indent the punt
which at the time seemed to me
a different slant on drinking
new way to look at the juice
neil benbow
There in moment I felt most broken. In that shattered glass, at last I caught a piece of light. You.
J.c.A
A Wednesday like any other.
Folks spill off of the bus in a
hot rush toward the salmon sky.
We walk the familiar narrow
pavement to my two-bedder.
I watch your face dance
under the street lamps.
My heart dips in and out
of the shadows.
You tell me a funny story
about a politician.
The wind snatches your words,
tosses them over the tender trees.
Towards the blackbirds
and the sun of November.
“Will I be able to catch them?”
I wonder, already out of breath.
While I Still Can
You’ll find that sometimes I fall back down over the same rock in what seems like an infinity of wasted chances to jump over it, impulsive being such as I, my mind goes racing around ignoring the signs again and again and again.. stumbling over my own faults
but I can’t ignore the warnings forever.. and eventually I’ll learn the way up the mountain
And maybe it’ll be a little too late and years gone by before I reach the threshold
but ill never stop climbing, even as i struggle on my way up the slopes, scrapes and all
Perhaps to most it’s meaningless to wait around to see if I’ll ever get up that hill, but, I’d have a lifetime to move on and keep trying
And when I tire along the way and feel the heavy solemnity of my woes dragging me down from fighting demons among the shadows of the shaded areas of my soul, I’ll find you there waiting for me all along, with the will to help carry me up and harness my heart, so that if I keep falling back to the bottom you’ll always be there to pull me up from underneath the bevy of gravel in which I’d dig myself under..
In which with your patience I’ll once again try running up that hill..even if I never get to make that deal before my death, and while I still can I’ll plant my seeds along the way up, until im rooted enough to bloom my own gardens of hope among the peaks of your soul.
[ By-Sin. Late night poems lead to long ones that get reread many times and then “fixed” for better or worse (mostly for worse,) yet I hope someone reads and likes it somewhat somehow? From XsWOs]
You think I
Write poems but that’s
not correct;
this doesn’t mean anything,
right?
You didn’t love me.
Well maybe words
write themselves and
I catch a glimpse of them.
Or
maybe
you think I
write stories via flowers -
you didn’t love me, poems.
You think I catch feelings
via glimpses
in I think I didn’t I -
poems.
JP
She greets me with open arms
Accepting the tired body
The tired soul
She does not judge me for my failures
Doesn’t speak a word about anything
She keeps the secrets
I close my eyes
Feel like I am floating
If she were in water
Where would we go
Since being confined in this room
Our relationship has become stronger
I chose to turn to her
Instead of friends
When I am away
I long for her
She has become the only anything I can count
I can run to
I can lean on
I am thankful for where I come to lay
It is at the quietest hour
thoughts are waging wars
screaming on top of the other
pulling you down under.
You feel for air and gasp for one
hoping to get ahold of warmth
but every breath feels like fire
and burns all the way down.
In silence you drown
and a question broke,
how come the fragile souls
conceal the wildest storms?
Over the years, I learned to get over petty things in life. Unreplied to messages, busy weekends, incomplete circle of friends during lunch-outs, and many more. I realized that we’re all busy souls reaching for our dreams and it’s not all the time that people will be around. That it’s not people being people but life being life. I learned to just do my thing and focus on myself and my goals.
I learned that while even real friends may not be there 24/7 to grab coffee with you, they will always have your back when the world feels heavy and for me, that’s enough reason to believe that I’m never alone even when sometimes, the rain says otherwise. It’s just one of those things I hold dearly in my heart and keep me going.
all I have are dull words
to bludgeon my tongue
into submission
but if i strop the blade
the leather’s length
until the edge gleams
as with sliced ribbons of light
then I might excise
the shadows from my heart
without a trace of blood
to mark my disillusions
(October 27, 2020)
