Original Poetry - Blog Posts

Rabid

I often think I an rabid.

My heart races,

my eyes dart

my hands tremble.

My teeth ache

to dig into

your shoulder

My nails score

lines in your

hip cradle

You coon and stroke my hair

You kiss my bloody lips

You hold my stained hands.

Waking up

feels like

walking in syrup.

You've moved on

My teeth are dull.

child of grey

My father was of ebony. My mother of ivory I am the child of grey. Not enough ebony to be of my father To little ivory to be with my mother

My heart was of half-ice. A cold so unfeeling So a cold almost to the point of burning, never enough feeling to care my head half of snakes calculating and cruel always planning and waiting for the perfect moment to strike

My heart is made of half gold. Tender and caring beautiful and full of love, perfect to suit you my head half made of fire burning hot, always craving for something to fuel it unpredictable and starving for its next game

I am the child of grey. With the head of flame and scales calculating and unpredictable, Ready to strike and always to keep you on edge. And my heart of ice and gold blinding you with its beauty, while slowing killing you with its burning ice

i love you

I have loved you since We were young. barely old enough to even understand what love even was. the feeling of pure and utter devotion I had felt for you before I fully realized How much love would ruin me. How much it would kill me Tearing me apart, never letting me go Stealing away my heart, never giving it back

be proud

You tell me to SPEAK UP. To be "proud of my words" Let them out into the world. Stand behind them, ready to defend them with my life. And my entire being and soul

but how am I supposed to be "proud" of my words when I haven't even learned how to be proud of my self

how am I supposed to be "proud" Of these words I say. When I've learned that they don't even matter They get shot down and ignored. Before they even got the chance to be spoken.

How am I supposed to be "proud" when I've seen how you react To the thoughts, I've put out. Putting my heart and soul into them and then getting to watch you kill them

to the sea

Take me to the sea. Where the air is crisp, and the smell of salt clings to it. Where the winds pull in the sound of the waves to the shore where I can finally hear them calling my name begging me to join them begging me to follow them into the deepest depths

Take me to the cliffs. where I can see the whole world in front of me with the deep sapphire sea stretching out to the horizon where it finally ends on the cliffs where the winds whip around me whispering those words of encouragement beckoning me to the edge telling me to take those last few steps To let those jagged rocks at the bottom welcome me home.

Take me to the forest. Where the trees swallow all the light leaving only the darkness to call my name inviting me to explore The air seems to be alive, swirling around me. Calling to me telling me to rest coaxing me to let the darkness and all the creatures in To let them devour me, control me. To guide me and welcome me home

haunted

I can still feel your fingers drifting down my skin as I still sit here after what seems like hours later they crawl down my neck, and back up my arms, through my hair. While your words, echo in through my ears with subtle warnings and orders no to be crossed.

dear adora, from elliott

To the little girl, I used to be do you remember all those nights when you would stay awake Thinking and dreaming up all those far away hopes and dreams You would stare up at the ceiling planning out how you would do it all

All those late nights Planning on how you would save the day Becoming that perfect superhero Swooping in to rescue everyone, Saving all the kittens from trees, Putting out fires Freeing your family from that living nightmare they would never wake from

Remember all those promises you would use to make Between you and the world outside that shitty apartment window Telling yourself it would get better, rehearsing it so much it was branded in your heart and brain Telling yourself those thoughts would go away That you could wake up And be the perfect daughter You would wake up and be a girl and believe it Your body would no longer feel so wrong

Spending all those nights and early mornings Praying to that god you were so hopelessly clinging to Begging him to make it all make sense Those thoughts stuck circling in your head All the worries and fears that had kept piling up Tangling themselves together

What would you think of me now if you saw who you became Would you be proud? Proud that I finally found myself That I had finally realized who I was Would you be happy? Happy that I had made it this far, Being able to finally make it to sixteen, even though you didn’t?

I guess you had been right when you thought you wouldn’t make it For me to make it, you had to die That I had to kill everything that you were Stealing away your name Cutting off those long curly locks, everyone had adored scarring that beautiful skin, that used to be your pride and joy

mama don’t you know

Mama, don’t you know your little baby is sitting in their room? Crying their eyes out screaming for help Screaming for you to help them Begging for you to love them for who they are

Mama, can’t you see the way they're pleading? How their pleading for you to love them For you to finally tell them they're good enough For you to please noticed this once how much they need you.

Mama, do you ignore the blank stares and the emptiness? The way they wear barcodes on their body       How no matter how much they try, they can't get you to love them

Mama, do you ignore all the blood and tears? Pretending you don't hear them crying out at night Acting like you don't notice the blood and bandages.

Mama do you spend your days looking for new ways to hurt them? You filled their heart with all your spite and hatred. Poisoning your little baby before they had a chance to grow Making them believe they were a weed Never let them be able to believe in anything else.

the bathroom

Smoke flows from my cracked and bloody lips the dingy bathroom lights flicker above me a low buzz echos through the room my reflection stares back at me a sly smirk gracing its lips I can almost hear its laugh echoing in my head. The cold porcelain of the sink pulsing against the rising heat of my hands dirt and grime caked on to the counter and mirror the buzzing of the lights mixes with the pounding of my head Voices and conversations outside the door seem to grow in volume. pounding against my eardrums All the noise seems to be surrounding me. Building up and building up my reflections laughter ringing in my ears the lights buzzing and flickering The mirror starts cracking. Sounds of glass falling and shattering mix with the symphony of noise The class finally shatters falling all around me. Knocking on the door starts. The pounding and shaking of the door mixes with the calls of my name It sounds like I'm underwater. The door and the voice feeling so far away while I'm sinking farther down in my head finally, I snap back I'm in the bathroom. the mirrors still intact no longer shattered lights buzzing no longer deafening My fingers loosen their grip on the sink. The reflection no longer laughing and taunting My legs start working. Uprooting themselves from the floor the sound of my footsteps echo against the walls

side show mirrors

You call me an attention whore.  Only because my heart screams out for any type of love  something you never gave  look me in the eyes.  And tell me. "I'm always craving attention."  All I could do was Laugh.  what you call craving attention I  call a cry for help.  Haven't you noticed that?  You never taught me.  how to ask for help

Anger feels like a sharp green. It lives in the eye of a snake ready to strike. Sharpening its tongue using it as a knife Ready to lash out and wound. Anger is locked in the eyes. Constantly watching and waiting to attack

Yellow is the color of safety. It warms like the sun's rays. Surrounding me. Being a beacon in the dark It's soft and shining in contrast, to angers hard sharpness Safety is free to roam. It finds those in need and makes them safe.

Fear is the darkest blue of the ocean. Primal, cold and harsh Running parallel to anger. Fear stalks its prey, Watching and waiting to strike. never hesitating, always ready. Waiting to cover you in its shallow depths pulling you under like a riptide Devouring you in its purest form

my anger

my anger is a cigarette with every hit, it pulls me in the rage fills my lungs like smoke killing me a little each time disdain exhaling like smoke disgust clinging like the smell of stale  cigarette contempt lingers in my mouth and on my tongue like the bitterness of menthol repulsion circling around the air, smothering  those around me like the smoke

her cravings

The girl craved depravity. She loved it in her twisted way. Loved how it made her feel The way it felt as the darkness consumed her. How it crept through her veins stealing its way into her heart making it's self its own little home inside her heart. Whispering their tales of the demented and cursed screaming the depths of its madness into her heart. Corrupting her, molding her, stealing her Twisting her into a demented shell of her once pure self.

darling

Darling, I see your eyes sparkle with the light of a thousand stars  They shine light in my darkest night.  Darling, I see the gold in your veins  It glows with the ichor of our old gods.  Dripping down your fingertips From the gashes,  you made into them.  Darling, I see the night sky in your hair  the way it shines and moves with the utter darkness of the stars  darling, I see the sea in your mind  the way your mood changes like the tides  You rage like the sea.  And you hold your desire like the sea holds the creatures.  

take me

Take my lungs. watch me as I slowly.  Gasp for breath.  Have me begging for air.  while I slowly start to suffocate  my lungs start to cave 

Take my bones.  replace them with glass.  watch me as I shatter and break.  look at the crystal stained crimson  step on me while I'm already breaking  listen to the music of my whimpers of pain,  mixing with the sound of shattering glass 

Hallelujah

Is there truly a religion?

I always question myself about my religion.

What do I believe in? At first I thought I was catholic but in reality my relatives practiced the orthodox religion and pushed me to do the same. Then my grandpa believed in the muslim theories and my father too. My mother claimed to be an orthodox. As time passed by, she realised something very strange; all religions believe in one thing: God. And it is true.

My family’s culture in fact is pagan. My hometown’s population was and still is based in paganism. We are patriotic and we believe in our town. We believe that there’s a God but we don’t practice religions. Perhaps, we never had a religion. Conquests influenced our population and culture, imposing a new emphasis of social differences and new words on our language. Our language was and still is un religious. It’s hard to believe I know, but that’s how it is. In our language the only thing we had was “God”.

That’s why I don’t have a faith. Or perhaps, my only faith is my consciousness.

Was it all a way to fool people’s mind from finding out the truth of Earth’s origins and history?

Or was it all true?

I just know that I don’t believe in any religion. I believe in God and myself.

Do I respect other religions and faiths or beliefs? Of course I do. Who am I to neglect their existence? I shall respect but not only, I ought to study them because their historical behaviors amaze our provenience. We are human beings that without religions’ existence we wouldn’t know what we are.

Is there more to know about our existence? Of course there is.

Do they want us to know about them? Of course not. You’d be a fool to believe otherwise.

And why, when I listen to Jeff Buckley’s song, I feel deeply touched? I am uncertain.

Is art somehow connected to religion?

Or is God connected to art?

It’s completely complicated. How can a mere person come and claim to know how to respond to these questions? Are you that much of a fool to think that we are allowed to ask of this thematics?

Nonetheless, I will continue praying at difficult times.

Sirop de Fraise

pur sucre

Oh, fraise. You make me feel unsteady with your saccharine juice.

And, why so? I haven't the faintest idea.

It is particularly strange to think that I might be attached to a red fruit. A tiny one, at that.

Fraise, strawberry, is my God. It crafts a welcoming juice into my mouth's sensitive parts. I feel its nectar flowing in my lips, tongue and palate. It graciously stains my lips, leaving behind a natural reddish color and finally making me more esthetically appealing to men's eyes.

Fraise, fragola, brings me to paradise. While the essence floods down my esophagus, my cheeks burn. Try guessing where my mind went to? I couldn't tell you.

Fraise, fresa, la reina de las frutas. Why do they call her that? In its composition, it is the only fruit in the world that has the seeds on the outside. And in addition, its intense fragrance and sweet taste make it irresistible. So, remember that you are savoring the queen of fruits. Does this make you a queen too? Well, it depends. Do you have seeds on the outside? My man used to have freckels for seeds. He had them everywhere. Even in his adam's apple.

Fragum, fragaria, Fragaria. Wild strawberries grew in the forests of France and Italy during ancient Roman times. They used to believe that the "fraga" were special fruit that had medicinal properties and used them to heal wounds or to make spells.

Erdbeere, strawberry, the first fruit to ripen in spring, making them a delightful harbinger of warmer days. My man, who loved munching on some strawberries, smelled of their fragrance. And he augmented my fertility. I was devoted to his seeds and sperm. It would surge in my insides, producing a new feeling in my head. We had unique offsprings. They were all made of love and strawberries. We took care of them and brought them up, nurtured them to be as lavish and eager as strawberries.

Be careful about the origins of your strawberries. Check out their provenience, because in sylvis proveniunt fungi, fraga, myrtilli et cetera.

Placentne tibi fraga?

Hawaii.

While listening to “wayamaya” by lana del rey (lizzy grant) made me feel all good about summer. Here in my hometown is hot as fuck. And I’m dying from the heat; summer is hot and floral. Not floral as in “full of flowers” but the atmosphere of it. Like, singing country songs while running through the fields full of green and flowers, with the sun shining and hitting on my head; but I put a hat over my head and a pair of sunglasses, happy with what I have. My mother has brought me up this way: free and young. She says that we can be 80years old and still feel young and free. In fact, she had taught me to keep living through everything, either hard or easy. She has taught me to be easygoing, thoughtless and free; the most important part is to live the carpe diem or nocte diem. So, to live the present day; the “me” of today. Is it possible to be you when you want to be you? Yes.

So can I be free and easygoing, today? Of course.

The point is: be happy with what you have. You have little money, no worries. Live the little things you have around you. It’s not hard you know? I am writing this while being me. It’s summer and it’s hot as hell, but I keep on running through these fields of words; unknown words. Like me.

I might know who I am and how I am, but you don’t. Am I running now through your mind?

Oh yes I am.

I might be crazy but what I say is true.

Us, poets, have the right to control readers’ thoughts. We have a unique talent; dancing to elvis presley’s harmonies and putting words in a sheet paper. We are all set to follow the command of our creativity, which allows us to put words together and to bring the imagination of something impossible into your eyes.

And that’s why we are poets. We are big wave surfers living in the Wayamaya bay.

i want a man. A man that after having a heaty discussion gets a little upset, and sees that when I feel offended somehow, I don’t talk to him for a while, not even acknowledge him, because he doesn’t deserve to be treated with affection after raising his voice at me. I want a man that sees this reaction of mine towards him and tries several times to make me change my mind with tiny little gifts or presents, then changing to writing letters and spraying them with his perfume which he knows I find it amazing, and then getting me my favorite flowers everyday with a tiny letter written by him. Then I want him to realise that these tiny things won’t make me forgive him. And I want my man to kneel in front of me and kiss my stomach, my hips and worship me. While I’m there watching him kneeling before me and that’s where I’d melt. And forgive him.

Excuse le rouge.

Red.

All I see is red.

There’s blood everywhere. I should be terrified, but I’m not. It’s not strange to me. This blood means so much to me. It shows how much he cares for me.

They envied me. Provoked me.

I warned them, nicely. They didn’t listen to me. And I smirked.

He loves me. I love him.

That blood shows his devotion to me. And that, arouses me. Excites me.

I don’t want flowers. Neither chocolates.

He gives me what I need.

Protection, devotion, obsession, possession and his body with his heart.

He knows me so well.

I want to give him children. He knows. He grins and pounds harder, deeper.

Now that we’ve come this far, I don’t know how to explain to you the connection we have. The truth is, he makes love to me. Our bodies are united. He knows my body so well. He gives me what I need.

Oh my devoted man. My dream man.

Touch me. Look at me, I’m dripping, creaming, making a mess.

Please.

Je t’aime et je te déteste.

With love, your woman K.

And here comes another poem.

Here's the other poem I wrote for my black history school assembly.

 Unforgettable

We will never forget our brothers,

Malcolm, Martin, and Medger.

And we will never disregard our sisters,

Fannie, Shirley, and Ruby.

We will not forget the anger and hate that was thrust upon Rodney and Emmett.

We will remember the strength of Mamie Till to show the world what happened to her boy.

We will remember Rodney asking the Nation, ”Can we get along?”

We won’t forget the bravery of the Little Rock Nine or the patience of the Greensboro Four.

We will remember the boycotts and the protests,

Along with the dogs and water hoses.

We will not forget the people from the past,

Who wouldn’t give up and fought for their rights. For even those who were not in the spotlight,

Still shine like diamonds.

For they showed courage and determination,

In a time of fear and discrimination.

So let us never erase these people from our memory,

For each and every one of them is unforgettable.

Here's Another Poem I wrote

This is one of the two poems that I wrote this year for a black history assembly at my school.

Blind

Can’t see it.

Can’t feel it.

Can’t recognize it.

You’re blind.

You turn away from the struggle of others.

You won’t hear about the injustice.

You pretend it’s all in the past.

You’re blind.

Don’t act like isn’t here.

Don’t act like it isn’t there.

Don’t make-believe it's all gone away.

Don’t look away from all the pain.

Your guilt is telling you to turn away.

Your fear is making you hateful.

Your hate is turning you violent.

Your ignorance has made you blind.

Devotion

I wonder if anyone has studied me in the ways I’ve studied you,

Faithfully cataloging every habit and hobby and quirk,

Because to be known is to be loved, and how i love you,

The great loves of my life, my sisters, friends, and not quite lovers,

I wish to cradle you close, in the palm of my hand.

Every act of creation is done with you in mind,

A gift, made with the hope of being treasured by you,

To make you understand the depths of my love,

I try to cry out, “see, see how i know you! See how i love you!”

But speaking the words is a difficult task that leaves me vulnerable,

To a rejection i couldn’t face if you didn’t know or understand,

The depths of my love.

So i’ll choke on the blooms of my love for all of you,

The great loves of my life, become part of me,

In lilies and peonies and lavender, crawling up my lungs,

And i would gladly die, just for the thought of having given you,

The hope, the feeling, or even the faintest notion,

That you were loved.

My Happy Ever After

Fairytales are fiction

People don’t have fairy godmothers

To turn their woes to weds

Princes don’t hold dances

Where they suddenly meet their love

Bibbidi bobbidi boo

Just simply won’t do

Happy endings don’t exist

Love isn’t a fairytale

But then I saw you

They say that princes

Aren’t charming

But what about princesses

Can they prance around the floor

With all eyes tracing their steps

Can a princess meet this peasant

And live a love so enticing

What am I talking about

Surely there is no way

This story ends without tragedy

But when I’m near you

The lights are brighter

My shoulders feel lighter

And it couldn’t feel any righter

Than being beside you

Seeing your smile enchanting me

Like each of the spells you cast

I thought fairytales couldn’t be real

But now it seems

That I might just get to see

The book closing with a

Happy ever after

Nothing here is familiar

None of the noises

Voices

Faces

But one is familiar

Well not familiar

Though I know it better than my own

Or at least the sparkling eyes

Adorning it are

It’s probably the thousandth time

I’ve been magnetized to those eyes

Each time I see them

The face is never known

But they always feel like home

The eyes always glow

With laughter and light

As well as

Sadness and spite

I meet those eyes for the

Second

Fifth

Fourteenth

Sixty-Eighth

One Hundredth

Three thousandth

Ten millionth

Infinity

Time

Eyes always the same

On one person

Who always changes

What’s wrong with you, freak.

Get a life.

No one needs you.

Give up,

You’re never going to amount to anything.

Forget the nice things people say to you,

They’re all lying.

Will you ever do anything that’s meaningful?

Why do you try?

Everyone is struggling,

You aren’t special.

You just want attention.

You’re such a faker.

Leave everyone alone.

They don’t want you.

No one cares.

Get it through your thick skull,

You are useless and replaceable.

It’s all I hear anytime I try to sleep.

Anytime I’m alone.

Anytime I’m with others.

Anytime.

But I don’t want to hear it.

I don’t want to give up.

I don’t want to forget what people say.

It is true.

I’m not useless.

I’m not replaceable.

I’m not ashamed.

I’m not forgettable.

I’m not broken.

I’m me.

I’m passionate.

I’m unique.

I’m proud of myself.

I’m perfect as I am.

I’m human.

I’m how I’m supposed to be.

And to those voices in my brain,

It would be incredible

If you kindly shut up.

Shut

Up

Shut the fuck up.

I really love the quiet.

My creativity and I can meet.

If quiet had a price, I would buy it.

Like lemonade in the summer, it is sweet.

But the thing I hate,

In the quiet comes silence.

It allows my thoughts create

A world full of hurt and violence.

My mind travels too far,

Away past my line of sight.

Like the horizon being chased by a car.

I struggle to hold on to the last of my light.

I try to escape the dark,

But it isn’t a walk in the park.

I found you abandoned in a boat house.

I took you with me,

So you weren’t so alone.

You promised you would help me

To stay above the surface.

You would make sure I wouldn’t float off.

You promised.

But when I was thrown in to the deep end,

I realized you were made of cement.

Through my attempt to stay afloat,

I was pulled under the sea.

And all the while,

You clung to me.

You asked me to help you,

Make everything better for you,

Fix everything for you.

You, you, you

And I always felt obligated to do it

Because I was scared of letting go.

I did it all for you,

Even if I couldn’t breathe.

It was there that I drowned,

In your bottomless ocean of lies.

But at least being dragged down meant,

The waves would bother me no more.

Sun filters through the window,

Like a bright beacon entering the room.

Chirping birds create a beautiful and welcome symphony.

Children are playing outside happily,

They’re giggling and smiling,

Innocence surrounding them.

Flowers are in bloom,

Bright like fireworks everywhere.

Trees are providing shade for people lounging under them.

The world outside is so bright and lovely,

But sitting inside,

Darkness surrounds my brain and all my thoughts.

My head is against me,

And everything is wrong.

Am I as imperfect and broken as my mind makes me feel?

Is every mistake I make one that will haunt me forever?

Why does it feel like my room is closing in on me?

What is wrong with me?

Can someone fix me?

Why does everything feel empty and hollow?

Do my friends really care?

Or are they just lying to me?

Hanging out with me because they “love having me around”

Why can’t all my thoughts just leave me alone?

Leave me alone.

Please.

I don’t want to feel this anymore.

Every thought is negative and painful,

A perfect contrast to the beautiful outside.

I feel like a whore. 

Used and disgusting. 

Why did I say yes?

I thought it would make me feel better about myself. 

It didn’t.

Why didn’t it?

Why?

I've betrayed God.

And for what?

Some girl I barely know?

(I've known her my whole life.)

She doesn't love me.

I don’t love myself.