Tag: poetry

  • Hope

    a world where nothing is heard

    only said

    where nothing matters

    except oneself

    where only a few are seen

    others disappear

    a world where anger is accepted

    not unexpected

    despite all of this we all

    Believe in something that has a reason

    Where there is still faith in

    The Unseen

    A Better World

    Humanity

    There is Always

    Hope

  • Goodbye Opa!

    And so suddenly it’s time,

    To say goodbye at last

    After all these years,

    I’ve left my innocence in the past.

    I’m a big girl now, older than the rest

    I’ve faced many trials but this is a new test

    My heart is unprepared for this ungodly pain

    And melancholic memories assault my brain

    A piece of me leaves with you; whom I’ve known from birth

    It leaves me here to wallow on this place we call earth

    But is the earth strong enough to hold me still

    Or do I fall to sorrow with a broken will?

    These tears flow down my face; they’re proof of my love

    I promise to do my best so watch over me from up above

    For I am not alone on this realm; I’ve friends plenty

    These tears will dry but my love remains strong and steady.

    I shall push on because like it or not; it’s time for goodbye,

    My time has not yet come.

    I tip my hat; give a kiss and a hug.

    Then I retire for the night while you head for wonders beyond.

    Tomorrow is waiting for me so goodbye,

    I will live on!

  • Slow Fall of Summer

    Lush and Vibrant

    foliage begins to shed.

    Trees slowly undress for

    the season.

    Leaves burn red.

    Embarrassed of eventual nudity

    or, perhaps, heated at the

    thought of another season

    Change.

    Summer,

    leisurely slipping off.

    Gently pushed away

    by crisp gusts.

    Fall is near.

    Wait. Fall is here.

  • Growing Fear

    You know what the scariest thing to be told as a child is?

    You have a genetic predisposition to dying:

    Addiction,

    Heart disease,

    Cancer–

    That’s just your father’s side.

    As a young adult,

    You think

    Oh that’s not going to be me.

    And only after you wrestled with stopping smoking,

    And struggled with not drinking,

    Struggling with yourself for one moment of sobriety

    So you could finally think level headedly,

    Do you realize:

    Shit.

    It might be me

    Next on the slab.

    It might be me

    And instead of thinking clearly

    I go ahead and take a tab

    To alter my reality

    Because I felt like I didn’t have access to the tools

    Necessary to be cool with the situation

    And approach it with a level head and maturity

    To get out of this slump of depression

    To inspire a nation,

    Like I always wanted to.

  • f-i-r-s-t s-e-m-e-s-t-e-r b-a-c-k c-e-l-e-b-r-a-t-i-o-n

    me

    et

    main

    street

    back

    skot

    skins

    in

    ma

    bele

    m

    m

    m

    skot

    skins

    class

    is

    for

    smarts

    et

    smarts

    is

    not

    for

    first

    nite

    back

    its

    ober

    rate

    em

    be

    mais

  • Don’t Go Too Far

     
    Don’t go too far, my love,

    my darling, watch the waves and the

    pounding surf wash upon the sand,

    whirling forth in a flurry of salt and sea and sun.

    Don’t trust those white caps while you wander

    forth into a wondrous world, they’ll cheat you.

    Watch the tide, the rise, fall, pull of water

    As you laugh, gleefully, in the face of it.

    Don’t stay out too late, my hope,

    my daughter, watch the boys who laugh,

    and smile and dance and disappear like

    sea mist on a sunny morning. Don’t let

    yourself get caught, ensnared in their nets,

    harpooned like a wild, exotic sea creature,

    who chanced upon their boats.

    Don’t forget this moment, my pride,

    my joy, my sunrise over the horizon, rising

    above as ever. Don’t rush by roses and flowers

    like sailboats in the distance, colourful, quaint,

    and entirely out of reach. Don’t miss out on laughter that

    bubbles over like foam on sugar soft beaches, or

    dreams that float on currents of moonlight and magic.

    Don’t go too far, my heart, my comfort,

    my ray of sun on windswept days, my summer

    breeze, lightly pushing me onwards, across

    oceans and seas and lakes and rivers. Don’t leave me,

    my guide, my seashell path down a barren coast, my

    wave of adventure who will wash over me, drag me under,

    teach me of the ocean, the worlds in which I wander,

    and wash away. Don’t go too far, my mother.

  • I Know How the Tide Feels

    I Know How the Tide Feels

    I know how the tide feels

    When the moon pulls her close

    To a land unyielding.

    A rocky surface with crevices

    Even ocean cannot fill.

    I know how the finch feels

    Flying against the wind.

    Suspended, disarmed

    By the very thing that helps him soar-

    An impossible, invisible force.

    I know how the daylily feels

    When the hummingbird sips her nectar.

    So quickly he moves on, gives it away

    As if it weren’t life-giving-

    As if she had not created it through her own body.

    I know how the cicada feels

    When it waits for dusk to fall,

    Eyeing its conductor, anticipating its downbeat.

    At the mercy of cosmic movement-

    Measuring sound by light

  • Beautifully Painful

    Beautifully Painful

    That is what love feels like.

    Touring the open house of your dream home

    and realizing that you will never be able to afford it.

    Setting your clothes on fire

    when you just so happen to be wearing them.

    Hearing your favourite song on the radio,

    only to hear the station start broadcasting news mid-way through.

    Please don’t get me wrong.

    Love is incredibly precious.

    See, love is a jackhammer and I am the patched pothole.

    Love is a thin sheet of canvas, while I am the bright and colourful kite soaring in the clouds.

    This is my way of saying that I could not possibly exist without it.

  • Seasons Change

    Seasons Change

    I used to write about October, 

    about watching the leaves change colours 

    and falling in love 

    with the way the world would 

    slowly 

    and surely fall apart 

    in the most beautiful way. 

     

    I used to write about December, 

    about feeling the long nights 

    settle the sadness that always 

    comes creeping in, 

    the sadness that keeps me safe 

    through the storm, 

    the comfort 

    I found in darkness, 

    in the cold, 

    until it consumed me 

     

    so consumed, 

    that I could not think 

    to write about May 

    at all, because I was so lost, 

    so high on the adrenaline 

    that comes from being 

    the perfect storm. 

     

    I ran away,  

    destructive in my attempts 

    to avoid change,  

    I ripped out the roots 

    of the flowers that tried to bloom 

    and buried them in empty pages. 

     

    Now, I write about August, 

    about how the sun starts to look tired 

    by the time afternoon comes around 

    but refuses to go to sleep 

    until it absolutely has to, 

    and is still to rise early, 

    eager for a breath of the morning,  

    the light I managed to keep around 

    and hold onto 

    so that when October,  

    and December  

    return once again  

    to take my soul  

    as their own 

     

    I will be strong enough  

    to make it to May, 

    I will not run away  

    from the words that  

    try to grow 

     

    I will lay amongst the flowers, 

    and I will be even better 

    than before.  

  • Plight

    Plight

    Having recognized a purpose also comes with a plight.
    You end up living in the fight.
    I’m exhausted, I’m tired.
    I feel it in my bones.
    I’m always in the zone.
    And it does take its toll,
    On your body, mind and soul.
    Having to wake up on each day,
    trying not to lose your way.
    And don’t forget what’s important,
    Why you’re here in the first place.
    My life isn’t mine anymore,
    but it wasn’t really mine even before.
    it’s always been of a bigger scope,
    first a family asset,
    now a feminist fucking joke.
    Can you imagine living for yourself?
    Might be better off being dead.
    So I’m thankful
    No, I’m thankful.
    For the tired in my bones,
    For I’d rather wake up aching,
    Than wake up feeling cold.
  • Headscapes

    There’s people outside,
    the thrashing and bustling kind.
    Nowadays they seem to blur
    like shadows in dithyrambic dazes.
    We shiver at the thought
    of joining them out there,
    so we watch through
    sectioned sickle panes.
    And the days that go for us,
    are punchy plucks of a
    gut string.
    Yet we raised our chins real high,
    peeked out through the slats
    and into their beady reddened eyes.
    Let’s see what it sounds like outside
    I thought of that earlier today:
    what happens if the strings don’t
    pluck in the same old way
  • Second-Hand Sky

    For once I was a first impression,
    To catch a lady’s eye.
    Though now I sit here on a rack,
    Watching customers pass by.
    Child, Mother, Mayor and maid,
    Looking for something to buy.
    Do my bright colours intrigue you,
    I think I look like the sky.
    My light blue cuffs and bright white tuffs,
    do take four hours to dry.
    But don’t you think if you had me,
    Neighbours couldn’t help but say hi.
    I’ll keep you warm, like many before, over a shirt and tie.
    I wish you the best, for you’ll see me next on your neighbour who waves goodbye
  • unerotic erotica

    when a cotton white shirt sits down
    when it’s new, but about 23 wears in
    when you smell it before you see it
    when you think about putting your
                   knit brow
                   running nose
                   and contemplative pivoting chin on it
    when his Plaines of a chest crouches over his stomach
    when shoulders protrude out,
                   like two synchronized divers in unison swim over the ripples
                   that the blades have created
                   or when
    when they remember to call their mum, and email their dad
    when they have shared too much
    when they change their hair because
                   your girl liked it that way
                   amiright? haha pfft
    when they’re half in the bag,
                   and smiles are just for the boys,
                   happy to be blinking still
    when Adam’s apples dance on first tries
    when they borrow the book for themselves, but it’s for you
    when they have paint on their canvas jacket from helping a neighbour last fall
    when they think gnawing on their cupid’s bow
                   will help them remember the right answer
    when will they realize, beauty is not born with, but is inevitable?
  • The Side Unseen

    There was a girl who used to look in the mirror and tell herself one thing she loved about herself every day.
    She always smiled,
    she sung in the shower
    and spent all of her hours
    comfortable in her own skin.
    She always found a reason to be alive
    even when the clouds took over her mind,
    She wrote poetry in the sky.
    Now, she stares blankly at an unrecognizable face, hating what she sees. She spends
    hours trying to scrub away the fingerprints left by the hands that took her love away,
    and she always looks down while walking through a crowd.
    But why?
    She is constrained –
    handcuffed to the essence of him
    as she paces within a cage built from her own bones,
    trying to create a safe place
    as the secrets eat away.
    There is no escaping the haunting memory,
    and he walks free.
    He grasps tightly on a failure to see
    that no means no.
    He is ignorant to the fact that even if no words are spoken at all, it still means no, and
    she could not speak so don’t try to say
    it wasn’t rape –
    it doesn’t matter what he thought it meant,
    there was no fucking consent.
    He chewed her vulnerability into pieces and spit it in her face,
    painted her in hatred,
    and scarred her body with a never-ending disgrace,
    an on-going nightmare
    that she has to encounter every time
    she sees herself in a god damn mirror.
    Instead of love,
    she feels Regret climbing up her throat as an old friend, whispering, how fucking sweet it would be to take it all away and forget.
    She exists outside of the skin
    she was given,
    outside of her temple,
    and she does not see –
    she doesn’t take notice to the sun reflecting in her eyes,
    or the dimples of her smile,
    that hold a promise of better days
    to follow,
    she does not know,
    the beauty that holds her face in its hands;
    how it has kissed her sweeter than any boy has kissed her lips before, and how it has run its fingers through her hair,
    Beauty,
    radiates from her mind.
    Every thought that has ever been her own dances in each breath she takes,
    and she sits through the night,
    crying, trying to rip off her skin
    because he made her body so difficult to exist within.
    She does not know how the stars long to hear her dream,
    how empty the sky is without her laugh.
    She does not know she is still beautiful through the continuation of self-destruction,
    that destruction is still a form of creation,
    and soon enough
    she will be brand new.
    Now, he is the reason
    She writes her poetry on her wrists.
    He is the reason she cannot wrap herself in the love she deserves as she tries to fall asleep,
    the love she needs,
    she cannot feel anything other than a constant state of empty.
    He is the reason she forgot all of the reasons she should be alive and he is the reason,
    she was never able to realize all the great things about herself that was left to count for.
    He is the reason she does not believe in love,
    not even love for herself,
    any more.
  • Trail

    Trail
    your fingertips over my skin.
    Make me arch with shivers.
    Lick
    a pathway from my navel to my breasts,
    hear me moan in pleasure.
    Kiss
    me everywhere and more.
    Let me love you forever.

Betzillo positions itself as a versatile gaming hub where structured bonuses and adaptive gameplay mechanics support both short sessions and extended play.

Built with a focus on innovation, Spinbit integrates modern casino architecture with rapid transactions, appealing to players who value speed and digital efficiency.

Ripper Casino emphasizes bold entertainment through high-impact slot titles and competitive promotions crafted for risk-oriented players.

A friendly interface and stable performance define Ricky Casino, offering a casual yet reliable environment for a wide spectrum of gaming preferences.

King Billy Casino channels classic casino spirit into a modern platform, delivering recognizable themes supported by contemporary reward systems.

Immersive visuals and layered slot mechanics are at the core of Dragonslots, creating a narrative-driven casino experience.

Lukki Casino appeals to players seeking direct access and minimal friction, focusing on fast loading times and intuitive controls.

Casinonic provides a structured and dependable gaming framework, blending modern slots with transparent operational standards.