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 Posted: Tue May 06, 2008 10:50 am
I lie there
With her
Her arms folded into her chest
Her warm breath blowing against mine
I look down to see our legs entangled under the blankets
Exchanging heat, keeping eachother warm
I lie there and watch her
Her chest rising and falling rythmically
I look at her white skin
I try to hold myself back
But i cant
I reach out
Only letting the slightest tips of my fingers touch
I trace the outline of her figure
From her round little shoulder
to her smooth side
to her soft hip
But she stirs
She looks up
She asks me
Is everything alright?
I just smile and tell her
im just Drinking you in
I lean down to kiss her softly
Her lips pillowy soft
When I pull back she opens her eyes
And shares her smile
That beautiful smile a treasure I hold higher than gold
Then she slowly closes her eyes
And cuddles back into my chest
And drifts back to sleep
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Posted: Tue May 06, 2008 10:59 am
By the way that was a poem I wrote when I was completely in love with my old ex... ah memories... bad ones... well... good ones that are bad to remember...
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Posted: Tue May 13, 2008 12:04 am
Awww, Lancey. I like the vivid imagery. It gave a ... It gave a soft, gentle, and cuddly feeling. I like it. :3 Bravo.
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Posted: Wed May 14, 2008 12:07 am
Why thank you.
Its funny how it started, it was a bit of an msn convo which turned poetic so I saved it.
I miss having someone I care about enough to say those things to them...
*emo emo*
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Posted: Wed Jun 11, 2008 6:46 pm
Life on end
every life starts out in darkness,
we see the dark before we see light,
before we know,
we get used to the night.
we have seen the light,
as it comes from the east,
and shines above us,
we are blinded at least.
before we die,
people see a light,
at the end of the tunnel,
when people loses sight.
We go forth to die,
until we see our friends again,
our family,
we live again,
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Posted: Sat Jun 21, 2008 1:35 pm
Second Love
I hate this man.
Since my pride as a woman depends
on how I react to his wise remarks
his constant complaints
his obscure muttering of comebacks
his whistles as if the wind has
whistled between his ears
which is his way of ignoring
my pestering, my attack of
quick wit and grins,
since we are nothing more than
blissful children trying
hard to prove each
other right or wrong
and I swear that he is only against me
just for the sake of his amusement
I hate this man.
The phone in my hand is of metal
but my ears are mistaking the
pillows and the speaker against my ear
as one soft object
and there is nothing else except
the darkness I fear
and the hushed voice from the
other side of the phone
that irritates my ear drums
allowing my eyes to be snapped
open for the rest of the night
until he reaches his phone limit
and I am left with nothing but the dark
and my insomnia and
anticipation with
that pace of breath
that tone of sound
that husky voice
that echoes within the corridors of my mind
in the middle of the night.
I hate this man.
Mainly because he is too far
and voice and talk can only go
a long way to my ears
and if I ever attempted to
contact in any way to avoid
voice confrontation,
the damn texting bill will
go up
in price
when I am full aware that
I can’t afford to spend
$15’s worth of texting,
in which the price
causes me to
breathe so heavily
but it is not as heavy as
the palpitations
I get from seeing
the responses
from his mind;
he was never
good with
talking
anyway.
I hate this man.
Because I can’t see him smile,
I can’t see how he would
react to a certain scenario
that I threw at him,
I can’t be there if he
was throwing a tantrum like a child
just so I can hug him like a child
and the fact of knowing that
brings me to eternal rage
and cursing Mother Nature
because it is her fault that I
can’t step over mountains,
and I can’t make the distance
of fields shrink at my command
like she does, and for that,
for that, I
blame her, I envy her power to
control the behavior of the land
and I turn to another religious habit,
somehow wishing that our spirits
can be connected through
measly communication.
I hate this man.
I grow so obsessive, so
compulsive for his replies,
and that alone is enough to
get me upset because it is not I
who should fall in love
for I forbid it, I swear,
that all men are my enemy
and all loves are what I
should stay away from
and I pledge chastity when
it is demanded,
and I am obliged to never
let a man blind me
deceive me,
manipulate me,
to his wants and desires,
because I am a woman of
pride and I will never
let love manipulate me
like men always do
and the thing I hate most
is that I have broken
my swear,
my pledge,
my obligation,
because here I am now,
anxiously anticipating his reply,
tired of the reticent
replies towards his words.
I hate this man.
He takes up my time,
and I constantly feel like
I can’t get through the day
without one argument
one miniscule taunt
because I am, after all
a woman of pride,
and I refuse to go down
without a fight, without a
test of the wits,
and I anticipate nothing more
than his comebacks that
sometimes gets me,
even though I won’t admit it;
honestly, why would I
admit it to my enemy,
my sworn enemy
my arch nemesis
my dark other half
the dark side
and I can’t help but get away
even though I listen
to his sleep at night
through the receiver,
quietly smiling to myself
like a mere idiot,
a love struck idiot,
a creepy woman.
I hate this man.
Mainly, because I can’t seem to act
like myself anymore,
like I used to,
and I miss those days where
we would insult each other
without getting offended
but now it’s just a battle of
wits, petty exchanges of lips
that I treasure secretly,
and then analyze them later
like English literature,
and speaking of which,
it feels like I am analyzing
Poe or Hawthorne,
since the feeling I’m getting
makes me feel so insecure
and so rigid,
so paranoid of everything,
expecting everything,
when it is presented to me
in something
molecularly small,
childishly small,
and there really isn’t any way
I can go another direction
with his mixed messages
in which, I wind up
screaming in my pillow for.
I hate this man.
Because I can write this poetically about him,
but as sure as Hell,
there is no way I can say this through the phone,
let alone face to face,
and it’s safe to say I have lost,
because my pride is shriveled,
and my heart is no longer a dam to love,
and I have no more strength,
to repel his attacks, and I’m on the
verge of just going out on saying it,
but then again, I retreat
like a coward, like a war between
Britain and France,
and the most I can do is
be the girl I am not,
be obsessed with make up,
with my weight,
with how I talk,
treat myself like a damn princess,
just so I can get him to notice
that I actually care,
that I am actually trying,
for him,
in which,
I seriously hate.
I hate this man.
Because I can’t talk to him like I used to.
I hate this man.
Because it’s easier to blame him than myself.
I hate this man.
Because it’s scary to think other wise.
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Posted: Tue Jul 08, 2008 12:13 am
If I write too many love poems recently, I give any member of this guild permission to virtually shoot me. I think I have gone overboard. x_x
After a good talk with Geo-san, I began to think poetically and pensively. Blame him too, while you're at it.
The abscess on my chest
seems to be growing as
of late, and I have no
intention to relieve
it as of yet. Mainly,
because I am afraid
that it will hurt like one
son of a b***h if I
ever try or attempt.
I don't really know how
to go about it yet,
but all I know is that
if I don't cure it soon,
it will consume me whole,
and then I will be a
walking existence of
pain. If I don't relieve
myself from the burden
in my chest, I might just
go insane. Every part
of me will go insane.
It might hurt me as much
as it might cure me as
much as it will effect
that one person that is
responsible for all
the accumulating
feelings within my chest.
It's built up to this. I
have waited a long time
to say simple words
that, some how, hold a lot
of importance, and some
how, you hold a lot of
importance to me. I
was convinced that you were
the best cure for my chest,
my passion, my frustration,
this abscess ... was nothing
more than words and feelings
that I could never say,
but stored within my chest,
forever unable
to reach to you, my love,
I cannot breathe with this.
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Posted: Tue Jul 08, 2008 6:25 pm
It isn't my fault >_> Really... just because I listen to sad and sappy love songs and try to find poetic relation to my current feelings and to others... xd
Wrote this one as part of a roleplaying post. It's set in a war-torn age where the man's country which he calls home has been conquered. The only person the character ever looked up to shunned him, crushing him, and as he walks away he speaks these words.
I've been to hell and back again;
The view was dark and bleak
Alone I am left to face my sin;
Lonely, helpless, and weak
I look back and wonder where I've been
I wonder what words I should speak
We all sit and watch the end begin;
Lonely, helpless, and weak
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Posted: Wed Nov 12, 2008 9:11 pm
I wrote a pretty long poem~~ Three pages college ruled. But, I really had to vent~~ honestly. And damn, it felt good. I know I'm notorious for long poems, but I have this habit on working on a large scale, artistically speaking. Critique if you wish, I just kind of want to share it with you all for some literary criticism. I also am curious if my poem actually makes sense to any of you. Help with the title would be great too. Anyhoo~ enjoy!
They fell like the morning dew,
fresh from the night that held
the obscurity of dark hues
white lights peak from the horizon,
purple and orange watercolor against the sky.
They fell like the morning dew,
when the letter arrived in the mailbox.
The postage stamp attached to the envelope
like a clingy toddler pining for mother.
Ink etched into the paper, scarred with
meanings and translations; a textual war was
fought here, words that clash with a
supposed meaning -- an action or feeling.
Get straight to the Goddamn point -- no digression.
They fell like the morning dew,
she was up all night and all day,
letters piled, papers processed with purples
and oranges came through the windows.
She laid there awake,
eyes puffed, black eyed, sleep deprived,
constantly snapped open with worry,
reddened whites from exhaustion -- she's drained.
They fell like the morning dew,
delicately balanced on green leaves that
embrace condensation, refreshed and crisp,
the fog lifting, leaving all of
nature's tears behind; they fell.
Tearing all papers violently,
bill, court orders, pay checks, court appeals,
mutilated by human hands,
frantic frustration, panicked impatience, eager emptiness,
the cries of the papers, her tearing,
the tearing by human hands, over and over
amongst her deafening cries, and the paper' cries;
human rain dampening upon a thin sheet
of what was once tough bark.
They fell like the morning dew,
clinging upon the body of Jesus of Nazareth
who was nailed in mute agony,
His blood dripping towards the earth,
towards the hands that was reaching for Him,
weeping for Him, waiting for Him,
their sins were His pain, as He
suffered for earth -- here on earth,
it is evident, that His pain is displayed on
that sanguinary cross
until the daylights appeared.
They fell like the morning dew,
water that crept up during the night,
with no clear direction on where they were
to land -- her health, court cases,
they had no affirmative place to land,
just like the scraps of bills and letters
she threw onto the air out of frustration,
like how she fell on the linoleum floor of
her kitchen, landing head first, the right side,
now bruised and battered before
healing will ever make significant process.
They fell like the morning dew,
losing their balance on green leaves,
rolling down where there was warmth,
in hopes that heat can evaporate what's left,
and if she dared to wipe what's left,
thin lines of water will be made wider,
and that would do her no good.
No good at all.
Just like those insurance offices
that supposed to help her get better,
but she was left with being bitter.
Lawyer offices writing letters, promising
to make the work load lighter.
Lady Liberty will carry the torch light for her
but that's a bunch of bull if she
ever heard it, and she's heard it all,
from professionals, to critiques, to family,
defending her ground like no other.
And for sure, she's gone, she's lost it,
tearing the paper, tearing away from her friends
and her daughter, torn from within,
now knowing that Lady Liberty's light is
distinguished by the rain, the pain from
the government's sins were in vain and
that leaves everyone bitter.
They fell like the morning dew,
fresh from the night that held
the obscurity of dark hues
white lights peak from the horizon,
purple and orange watercolor against the sky.
They fell and fell.
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Posted: Tue Mar 10, 2009 6:04 pm
when will i have a chance,
to fall down,
in the deep pit of despair,
no one but me,
i want to go away in darkness,
where no one can see me,
feel me,
hear me,
sence me,
i need the chance to fall,
down to hell i go.
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Posted: Mon Mar 23, 2009 3:35 pm
oO person with no name? x.x
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