Poetry
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An Understanding As To Who I Was
Self-hatred: Noun; Hatred, disregard, and denigration of oneself. What is often forgotten: Self-hatred is a dangerous dance amongst crinkled eyes I can never look at directly. It is the falsely forgotten memory of his voice, suddenly brought to my attention all the way across a room. It is you, in the form of my mother attempting to fix me. My…
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Silent Screaming Of The Local Loons
I have no idea of what is to be I pretend that hope is thinly spread across my bones When it truly weighs me down Pressing me to my bed Too much to think of or even bother with When night rolls on me like a blanket And dead stars awaken for their ghosts…
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A Rambling
I know all these details about you and I don’t know what to do with them Your life is smeared onto my hands Your smile is stuck within my nails Your scent is hidden in the creases of my palms And your eyes are silently remembered in my veins I feel a deep…
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Meeting You, Knowing You
I breathed you in, Tired of the hot and humid basement. You said hello to me, And it felt like the last day of summer, Had lasted forever. I am being selfish when I say, I only wish to continue breathing you in. But I’m growing tired. My chest hurts from breathing so deeply.…
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Day 23
I see bruises on my knees, And think of beauty. The faded contrast of, Purple skies and a child’s hands, Holding the infinities, I’ve been chasing for far too long. I wonder if we invented suffering. Our emotions swirling heroically, Through our minds, Thinking too wildly and passionately, For life to translate it correctly.…
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Little Desires
Light up my skin with your fingers. Drag them lightly, Like butterfly wings beating steadily. Continuously reassuring me of your being. With your hands, Let me feel the creases of your palm. The gentle thrum of your pulse. Educate the goose bumps that trail my arms. With your knuckles, Use them gently, Only…
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It’s Too Early
The hours seem longer when you look at the clock and realize it’s too late for good night. Each minute feels whole rather than the New York minute we constantly live and breathe by. Maybe it’s because I’m tired and my brain wishes to focus less on the constant reminder of fleeing life. But as…
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This Is For You
To choose your words of uncertainty To pluck them like roses with thorns galore You hand them to me Trust me Fear crawled into your voice like hope slithered into my heart You asked of my day And I hadn’t loved you more. My friend, You are more than my friend You…
Gia Raquel 