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Literature Text
There is a bite mark on my wrist,
smeared with red and purple,
teeth indents grinning at me
.
We are all the same,
at the very essence – writers
stuck in words, artists stuck
in images, readers stuck in books.
Together, we destroy our
world by distracting ourselves
from reality.
.
Tomorrow, I shall starve,
promising off food because I lust
over your soft layer in a way
that's more envy than want.
Other people deserve the
gift of food more
than I.
.
Tears are shed by millions
of people
every night;
do you still feel alone?
.
I have a little belly
as if I have a child in there
and I think sometimes maybe my night-
mares are right after all.
.
I watch the pinkish-red tears of
bloodied water spiral down the
drain and stare at the gash in
my skin,
feeling my desires settle down
for now.
.
20% of people in my country are depressed;
2% have eating disorders;
1 in 5 has some mental disorder.
42% of women have had a violent partner;
in one year, over 46,000 children were abused;
1 in 3 girls and 1 in 4 boys are sexually abused.
2,000 people die by suicide every year.
Sometimes I wonder
if they have the right idea –
this world is rotting at the core.
.
It's three o'clock in the morning
when I wake up from scary dreams
of people reading my words
and laughing,
pulling apart my emotions and
leaving them bleeding all over
my hollow stomach.
.
Tacky advertising scrolls over
what could have once been a beautiful
landscape and
I have to wonder when money
will run out
and everyone will drop dead.
.
I miss you.
.
Surely I am not the only
one to experience this whirlwind
rollercoaster of what they
simply claim as
love…
So where is your understanding?
.
Today, I saw a girl laughing
and a little babe no more than weeks old
and I thought
the world is dying because so is
innocence.
.
I'd like to tell you my first memory
but I don't have one,
because I didn't cherish my minutes
when I was young;
and if I'm honest,
I still don't.
.
In the morn, I spoke these
words to the mirror:
I won't let me destroy me,
because they've already done it.
But then I realised there are
things more important than I
and destroying me or not
does not matter.
.
We all try to be perfect;
a cardboard life-size copy of
your own interpretation of perfection –
because we'll never be satisfied
in ourselves.
Humans were born with a hole
in their heart which was supposed
to be full of
the knowledge that they
matter.
.
I poured a portion of my heart into
your ears and you've barely
spoken to me since.
Did you realise you deserve
better?
.
One time, I tried to scratch
a hole in my skin to
free the poison in my veins.
I could feel it burning.
.
I see the same sadness in your eyes,
sometimes, when you think no one is looking.
I want to take it away.
And you just turn away, turn away
but I always see the thin red lines
etching secrets in your skin.
.
We are nameless as we pass, stranger
by stranger, on the street,
each of us waiting for some unknown
miracle to sweep us away
and into
somewhere different, somewhere full
of wonder and smiles.
.
Your eyes passed right over me yesterday
and I wanted to run run run
until I meant something.
.
We believe we are nothing more than
blood and sweat and tears and
masks and lies and barely-there
smiles;
but somewhere, underneath the shallow
needs of money and beauty and longing,
under the pain and after we've peeled
off our rough, rough surfaces,
we all have a tiny seed of heart.
.
Don't kid yourselves –
even at the very essence of our innocence,
we are not perfect.
smeared with red and purple,
teeth indents grinning at me
.
We are all the same,
at the very essence – writers
stuck in words, artists stuck
in images, readers stuck in books.
Together, we destroy our
world by distracting ourselves
from reality.
.
Tomorrow, I shall starve,
promising off food because I lust
over your soft layer in a way
that's more envy than want.
Other people deserve the
gift of food more
than I.
.
Tears are shed by millions
of people
every night;
do you still feel alone?
.
I have a little belly
as if I have a child in there
and I think sometimes maybe my night-
mares are right after all.
.
I watch the pinkish-red tears of
bloodied water spiral down the
drain and stare at the gash in
my skin,
feeling my desires settle down
for now.
.
20% of people in my country are depressed;
2% have eating disorders;
1 in 5 has some mental disorder.
42% of women have had a violent partner;
in one year, over 46,000 children were abused;
1 in 3 girls and 1 in 4 boys are sexually abused.
2,000 people die by suicide every year.
Sometimes I wonder
if they have the right idea –
this world is rotting at the core.
.
It's three o'clock in the morning
when I wake up from scary dreams
of people reading my words
and laughing,
pulling apart my emotions and
leaving them bleeding all over
my hollow stomach.
.
Tacky advertising scrolls over
what could have once been a beautiful
landscape and
I have to wonder when money
will run out
and everyone will drop dead.
.
I miss you.
.
Surely I am not the only
one to experience this whirlwind
rollercoaster of what they
simply claim as
love…
So where is your understanding?
.
Today, I saw a girl laughing
and a little babe no more than weeks old
and I thought
the world is dying because so is
innocence.
.
I'd like to tell you my first memory
but I don't have one,
because I didn't cherish my minutes
when I was young;
and if I'm honest,
I still don't.
.
In the morn, I spoke these
words to the mirror:
I won't let me destroy me,
because they've already done it.
But then I realised there are
things more important than I
and destroying me or not
does not matter.
.
We all try to be perfect;
a cardboard life-size copy of
your own interpretation of perfection –
because we'll never be satisfied
in ourselves.
Humans were born with a hole
in their heart which was supposed
to be full of
the knowledge that they
matter.
.
I poured a portion of my heart into
your ears and you've barely
spoken to me since.
Did you realise you deserve
better?
.
One time, I tried to scratch
a hole in my skin to
free the poison in my veins.
I could feel it burning.
.
I see the same sadness in your eyes,
sometimes, when you think no one is looking.
I want to take it away.
And you just turn away, turn away
but I always see the thin red lines
etching secrets in your skin.
.
We are nameless as we pass, stranger
by stranger, on the street,
each of us waiting for some unknown
miracle to sweep us away
and into
somewhere different, somewhere full
of wonder and smiles.
.
Your eyes passed right over me yesterday
and I wanted to run run run
until I meant something.
.
We believe we are nothing more than
blood and sweat and tears and
masks and lies and barely-there
smiles;
but somewhere, underneath the shallow
needs of money and beauty and longing,
under the pain and after we've peeled
off our rough, rough surfaces,
we all have a tiny seed of heart.
.
Don't kid yourselves –
even at the very essence of our innocence,
we are not perfect.
Literature
Ceteris Paribus
In an eon
You and I will greet the choate moon
Surrounded by her fairy dogs
warrior wolves and magnetic fox tails
who howl some foretelling tune
decoded only by the whistling winds
within my once listless room
I nip your Adam's apple by my Cupid's bow
we are a perfect art, a Sistine Michelangelo
We are stomata of the umpteen,
swimming in each other's dulcet drippings
of halved and pitted French tongues and ears
Let the years pass in this gentle deaf-muteness
where Ceteris Paribus
In this, Hallowed and His Seraphims know
how in the glow of one night tide
the firmament of all
folded into my limitless room
You and I part in sweet sorrow
t
Literature
on the cusp
it is just that when i let go of you
when i let go
it's hard to remain that perfect without you.
--
the in-between of love, buds- so full of potential
our love is written in whispers on the pages
of a book which has not yet been opened.
--
that day, the sun had erased the last lines
of an unforgiving winter from my skin, i was renewed
olive skinned and feeling as if i had just fled the eternal
garden naked as i came- free, fallen.
--
the sky was dark;
nothing but the blood red smile of the moon
cut through the transient darkness of the night.
Literature
consecrate
authenticity an arsenic
in morning coffee, in the smiles
pressed like ironed laundry,
because I feel like one wrong breath,
one wrong kiss between glossed lips and soft jaws
and I will be nailed to a cross
deception a shame rising like steam,
where teeth grind against each other
like clockwork gears, tick tick ticking
while the tongue kisses the roof of its cathedral
like a prayer to gods yet to be named
because her face is a mosaic window
shining the sin out of love
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Because you can think a million thoughts and end up with nothing.
Yesterday I realised there's this whole big world with about a gazillion people with a gazillion emotions, and really, I am nothing more than a speck of dust.
Don't ask how, but that made me feel better.
Yesterday I realised there's this whole big world with about a gazillion people with a gazillion emotions, and really, I am nothing more than a speck of dust.
Don't ask how, but that made me feel better.
© 2012 - 2024 jikivigoig
Comments6
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AHHH!! I love it!! It reminds me of a poem called 'This Shore'. I'm not sure how because the subject matter is completely different. Anyway, Yay! Tonaya wrote a poem that didn't make me want to cry even if it was sad. Tonaya ,my dear, you get a fave!