Poetry

Your first love

your first love’s

tattooed on your heart

and it burns, still burns

like it was just yesterday

they decided to be fire

instead of water.

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Poetry

Because love, this morsel, is just not enough

Actually, this was inspired by the #kpodolachallenge. But (of course!) since I didn’t get around to submitting it, I figured maybe I should post it on here.

Because love, this morsel, is just not enough

There’s no such thing as a ‘sort of relationship’

There’s no ‘kind of, maybe, let’s be together’

There’s no doubt, ‘baby, I want you, but I’m not sure’

No trying, ‘okay, let’s see if this will work’

 

Bad Talk. All you’re giving me is drifting words

Words that have no grip

Words that are limp

I can almost feel their sag

Before their last letter escapes your lips

 

Words, these same

That hop out of your throat

Without feelings or a care

Of the magnitude of their torture

 

I watch your tongue curl as your lips deliver the poison of a thing

You want going on between us like I don’t have a say

Like I should take it or leave it

Like it’s the best that will come my way

Like I should thank you for this generosity

 

I cannot begin to tell you, though, how grateful I am

That you show me love, this, much

That you consider me worthy to receive

This charity you give.

 

But when it comes to matters of my heart

And how it can be shattered into a thousand pieces

By non-commitments like yours

I swear, I’d rather take the lone way home

Because love, this morsel, is just not enough.

 

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Poetry

Desires. Heartbreak. Healing.

Find it.

Find your wings

And darling fly.

Fly from this place

That brings you no joy.

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Poetry

Home will be beautiful

Someday we will leave

this pain behind,

and all the suffering

that has been etched

on our skin will fade away.

We will tear into new bodies

created out of our will to live.

Home will be beautiful

and I promise,

we will get there.

 

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Poetry

People of unquenchable fires

We are ruins

We are fallen towers

We are remnants of

Fragments of

Our broken selves

We are pieces

And loose ends

Bits and bobs

Bric-a-brac

Rubbles and shards

We are tempestuous spirits

Breaking walls

People with spikes for bodies

And rootless limbs for souls

We are mares and stallions

Running free

Wildflowers

Thriving on the edges

We are wandering homes

Because of the desires that scorch our throats

Infernos

For our unquenchable fires.

 

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Poetry

Labor of love

There is no story of love without sacrifices

No joy where there’s never been pain

There’s no happiness where sorrow hasn’t thrived

There’s none. No victories without labor.

There’s not a sacrifice greater than loving without self

Or any pain larger than a soul without joy

There’s no sorrow more deathly than an unhappy heart

No labor as reckless as one in vain.

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Poetry

War

I’m at war with myself

The kind whose loss or gain you feel in equal measure

 I’m at war with body and soul

And I cannot bear one apart from the other

These days sleep eludes me

I struggle to forget how much time has passed

since we last spoke

 Thoughts of many ethics

scurry through the insides of my mind

 I’m afraid,

people like you,

memories,

that’s all you’re good for

 I cannot love you anymore

Because when I peruse this thought of doing it all over

I realize

our silence has built a wall so tall

only my rage can go over.

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