Poetry

Homecoming

Your walls will go up again.

And this time you will swear it.

You will swear to keep them standing.

You will swear to protect yourself.

You won’t break like tired wood.

You won’t fall.

Your bridges won’t burn

because there will be none – no crossing to the other side.

No marching against yourself.

You will surrender to yourself.

You will belong to you.

Not to the promises.

Not to the waiting.

Not to the wishing.

Not to the lonely nights,

or the dying lights.

Not to self-destructing habits.

Not to people who aren’t or things that aren’t.

Not to what you’ve lost

or what you will never gain.

You will be yours now.

Yours to guard.

Yours to defend.

Yours to secure.

You will come home, to rebuild.

 

 

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Poetry

For A, and the many times you have burnt my body

Lies.

Like adrenaline pump life. Make us woke.

In just enough time to do foolish things.

Because one-night stands are stories we swear to never repeat

Until our bodies catch feelings and we attempt to burn evidence of it

In several wild sexcapades.

 

Truth.

There is something about a person needing several shots of it.

Before sanity scrapes the folly off their eyes.

You’re alone in this bubble and it’s going to burst. Run.

But you can’t.

The last of it hits you.

As if you’re anesthetized and time contains you.

You’re cold.

In a room that feels that like it’s just been torched.

Your stomach turns. And crumples. And kneads

Like the diarrhea it announces when you’re anxious or too nervous.

Only this time there’s less physical awkwardness

And the pain coming is from a place beyond the soul.

 

Pain.

On its own it triggers bearable harm.

What makes it insufferable is the thought that we ourselves, might have been guilty of giving it all the venom it needed to destroy us.

Like when I thought I could love you enough for the two of us.

To balance out this rollercoaster relationship.

This, fucking love.

Literally.

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Poetry

Emotional Psychosis

For our rogue minds have a mind of their own.

And everything is right in the moments when they are for us.

Like when we won’t let go because we want to be ‘happiness’ for others at all cost,

—without permission,

even if it means a bad relationship.

Because convenience is staple and maybe lives longer than a broken heart.

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Poetry

Life: Conquering It, Living It

Every day we discover parts of ourselves we never thought existed

That beyond the chaos and the suffering

Beyond our fears and our many lacking things

There is a will, more resolute than just conquering life

A promise and hope within us that we desperately must cling to

We have so much strength is it not frightening what we can do with ourselves?

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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

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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Poetry

Black Saturday

It was a Saturday

One of those that looked like stress

I remember I couldn’t stand the pressure
of cooking your food
of dealing with your sugariness
of loving you

It wasn’t a good time
But has it ever been

Have I ever come out of my hiding
Have I ever shown my soul,
my music,

have I sung to you?

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Poetry

A force of your own

Every so often,

my desire to cap you

grows stronger

And I forget that

I cannot hold water

in my palm for long

without it bleeding

through my fingers.

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