Precious of mine,
won't you run and hide;
far away, from my gaze,
being afraid of the monster I cage.
#scribble
won't you run and hide;
far away, from my gaze,
being afraid of the monster I cage.
#scribble
A heart is a heavy burden;
Yet none of us can let go of it.
And if you get too tired to bear it;
Stay. Breath.
The world. The moment. The race.
Can wait.
#scribble
Yet none of us can let go of it.
And if you get too tired to bear it;
Stay. Breath.
The world. The moment. The race.
Can wait.
#scribble
We were too young,
too foolish,
crying over an ending,
that never came to be.
So if you hear me now,
know that I have come to cherrish,
the pages that we wrote,
the starry sky we saw,
and the memories we made.
You would always be,
my first spring.
#scribble
too foolish,
crying over an ending,
that never came to be.
So if you hear me now,
know that I have come to cherrish,
the pages that we wrote,
the starry sky we saw,
and the memories we made.
You would always be,
my first spring.
#scribble
You, my darling, are a free bird,
yet a prisoner to your own heart.
And it's despairing,
to watch you scratch yourself raw,
tear yourself apart.
#OC
yet a prisoner to your own heart.
And it's despairing,
to watch you scratch yourself raw,
tear yourself apart.
#OC
It's forsaken,
what beats inside my chest;
Do not ask of me
to let you in.
Do not ask of me
to wear it on my sleeves,
to let the words bleed
and let it grieve.
Do not ask of me
the flowers I cherished,
Do not ask of me
of warmth that has perished.
Do not ask of me
of my starless sea,
Do not ask of me
to let you in.
__
For the moment you leave,
abandon and deceive,
I would lose my mind,
and forfeit my breath.
#Atuneofbrokenhearts
what beats inside my chest;
Do not ask of me
to let you in.
Do not ask of me
to wear it on my sleeves,
to let the words bleed
and let it grieve.
Do not ask of me
the flowers I cherished,
Do not ask of me
of warmth that has perished.
Do not ask of me
of my starless sea,
Do not ask of me
to let you in.
__
For the moment you leave,
abandon and deceive,
I would lose my mind,
and forfeit my breath.
#Atuneofbrokenhearts
Find me
in the midst of your war,
Deep beneath your skin,
in the walls of your fort;
Love of mine,
even if I'm no longer here,
I will always be,
the rythm of your heart.
#love
in the midst of your war,
Deep beneath your skin,
in the walls of your fort;
Love of mine,
even if I'm no longer here,
I will always be,
the rythm of your heart.
#love
I envy you;
your freedom of thought
without guilt,
your perfect hands
not soaked in blood,
your innocuous actions
unaware of the monsters
that lurk around,
your courage to live
despite the grief.
I envy you,
you flightless bird;
How dare you, learn to smile?
How dare you, dream of the sky?
I envy you,
for being the perfect reflection of mine.
@Nyx_thinks
#scribble
your freedom of thought
without guilt,
your perfect hands
not soaked in blood,
your innocuous actions
unaware of the monsters
that lurk around,
your courage to live
despite the grief.
I envy you,
you flightless bird;
How dare you, learn to smile?
How dare you, dream of the sky?
I envy you,
for being the perfect reflection of mine.
@Nyx_thinks
#scribble
Hey, Nyx here,
Thank you for staying along, I know I have been away for a long time.
The GC is also open for poetry sharing and discussion, @Nyx_thinks_DG
Thank you for staying along, I know I have been away for a long time.
The GC is also open for poetry sharing and discussion, @Nyx_thinks_DG
Cofide in me,
won't you my dear?
I may not know
how to wipe away your tears,
But I'll pick up your pieces
and gaurd your fragile heart.
#random.
won't you my dear?
I may not know
how to wipe away your tears,
But I'll pick up your pieces
and gaurd your fragile heart.
#random.
A million ways to embrace,
yet all you do is pick me apart.
What's so wrong
about yearning for warmth?
#scribble
yet all you do is pick me apart.
What's so wrong
about yearning for warmth?
#scribble
An Empty Prayer [Part 01]
I kneel, but the floor is a pit—
my words fall through
like stones dropped down a well
that ran dry years ago.
My lips move, but the air is thick
with the absence of listening.
"Holy," I whisper,
and the word dissolves
like sugar on a rotten tongue.
I was taught to press my palms together,
but no one warned me
how they’d ache with the weight
of all the nothing they hold.
The candles gutter,
not from wind, but from the sigh
of a god who turned away
before I even learned his name.
I chant the old words—
"deliver us, forgive us, save us,"—
but they bounce back,
hollow as a bird’s bones
after the cat has finished.
This is how faith unravels:
not with a scream,
but with the quiet *click*
of a rosary slipping through fingers
too tired to clutch at hope anymore.
The altar is dust.
The hymns are ash.
And I am just a mouth
shaping pleas into the dark,
waiting for an echo
that never comes.
#longpoetry #HID [Draft 11]
I kneel, but the floor is a pit—
my words fall through
like stones dropped down a well
that ran dry years ago.
My lips move, but the air is thick
with the absence of listening.
"Holy," I whisper,
and the word dissolves
like sugar on a rotten tongue.
I was taught to press my palms together,
but no one warned me
how they’d ache with the weight
of all the nothing they hold.
The candles gutter,
not from wind, but from the sigh
of a god who turned away
before I even learned his name.
I chant the old words—
"deliver us, forgive us, save us,"—
but they bounce back,
hollow as a bird’s bones
after the cat has finished.
This is how faith unravels:
not with a scream,
but with the quiet *click*
of a rosary slipping through fingers
too tired to clutch at hope anymore.
The altar is dust.
The hymns are ash.
And I am just a mouth
shaping pleas into the dark,
waiting for an echo
that never comes.
#longpoetry #HID [Draft 11]
To cage a wild thing;
First, name it "precious"—
soft, like a wound.
Then prove how the world
is sharp and unkind.
Show it your teeth,
but call them "pearls,"
and praise its wings
while you clip them first.
#lines
First, name it "precious"—
soft, like a wound.
Then prove how the world
is sharp and unkind.
Show it your teeth,
but call them "pearls,"
and praise its wings
while you clip them first.
#lines
I am not what I am;
I am the empty chair at the table,
the skipped heartbeat, the unlit candle.
I am the ghost in the grocery aisle,
tracing the prices of my worth.
I am the hunger and the hollow,
the prayer and the punishment.
And still, beneath the snowdrift of my skin,
something trembles—
not yet dead, not yet gone
#shortpoetry #draft
I am the empty chair at the table,
the skipped heartbeat, the unlit candle.
I am the ghost in the grocery aisle,
tracing the prices of my worth.
I am the hunger and the hollow,
the prayer and the punishment.
And still, beneath the snowdrift of my skin,
something trembles—
not yet dead, not yet gone
#shortpoetry #draft
My mother’s hands are dove wings,
soft against my cheek.
"My beautiful girl," she murmurs,
and the words slough off me like dead skin.
How dare she love this carcass?
How dare she kneel in the ruins of me,
planting flowers where only thorns can grow?
I want to crack open my ribs,
show her the nest of spiders inside.
'See? This is what you cradle.'
#Atuneofbrokenhearts
soft against my cheek.
"My beautiful girl," she murmurs,
and the words slough off me like dead skin.
How dare she love this carcass?
How dare she kneel in the ruins of me,
planting flowers where only thorns can grow?
I want to crack open my ribs,
show her the nest of spiders inside.
'See? This is what you cradle.'
#Atuneofbrokenhearts
Teacups tremble in my grasp—
too fragile for fingers bred to break.
What right have I to porcelain,
when my touch still bruises the air?
#draft
too fragile for fingers bred to break.
What right have I to porcelain,
when my touch still bruises the air?
#draft
And dare I ask;
How do you plead with bloody hands?
How do you mourn something still alive?
_
What else can a broken thing do
but learn to love its cage
until the bars
grow familiar as ribs.
#scribble
How do you plead with bloody hands?
How do you mourn something still alive?
_
What else can a broken thing do
but learn to love its cage
until the bars
grow familiar as ribs.
#scribble