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me-dusk-and-dawn · 1 month

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There was still one last thought that

made me sick to the stomach -

'I am here with arms wrapped around my own frame

While he caresses another girl's face;

I heave dry sobs

But I can almost hear his sharp exhales.'

And it would hit

When I am at my weakest,

Like when I tried to take back

The intimacy I lost alongside the

Dreams of shattered glass,

Or when I wrapped my duvet around myself

Getting ready for bed.

It would hit me when I needed to study

Or when I went out for the week's grocery.

And in most of those times, I could keep it at bay

Five, or six, maybe ten times

I could blink and look away.

But there would still be that one odd time

When it would sit right on my chest,

The thought embodied wrapping hands around my neck,

And I would suffer, hating to admit it.

I would suffer, and lose a tad more of self-respect.

I would hurt

For the one who was so eager to just get away,

And I would hate myself

For hurting.

Because I would be doubled up, hand pressed to the mouth,

Trying to keep acid from climbing up the throat

Knowing full well it didn't matter

Because he would always find another conquest.

And it is much

Like incurable cancer,

Some dormant disease

That would tail me as my shadow -

And it makes me sick,

So very sick that

A great injustice has been done to me;

I have been left diseased,

One breath away from

Hurling hate, hurling love,

Losing the last bit of dignity.

A great injustice has been done to me.

I couldn't stop it.

And my mother did not raise me

To drop cold tears

Over a man with no care for me,

But I did.

I did.

I am sick to the stomach,

But lemon tea and mint can't help it.

I can't help it.

#my writing #poets on tumblr #writblr #poetry #poems #poetic #spilled poetry #original poetry #sad poem #confession

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me-dusk-and-dawn · 1 month

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endings

It is almost fascinating

that an entire story can begin and end

in the matter of mere days,

over just a few times

of eyes closing to the sunrise

of hearts trying to cradle themselves to sleep.

Today, I felt mine as it gave up on beating

and it twisted for a minute

like its final cry for help

before it settled.

The whole world became a little more grey,

and I couldn't help it.

I seem to have forgotten that tears have no colour,

and ink stains black on paper,

and red is forgotten but not forgiven,

blue takes me back to my cage,

'it's over' tells me the violet,

I exhale.

The world is so still as orange trickles over the horizon

and so am I -

I do not even shake.

I delay the next inhale for as long as

I can carry this blame.

Guilty as charged,

all good things must

come to an end.

#my writing #poets on tumblr #writblr #poetry #poems #poetic #spilled poetry #original poetry #sad poem #confession

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me-dusk-and-dawn · 2 months

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vices and tears

Alcohol sits heavy in my stomach like a consolation prize

and I blame myself, only myself,

for ever letting such cruel ambitions of winning rise --

it is hope, after all, that does the killing

not the disappearance, not even the lie

but most of all, not the forgetting.

Because you seem to have forgotten the flames we let slip,

the smoke rising, choking, I am the only one trapped within.

I sit with fire in my lungs,

and frankly I wonder why it has taken so long for me

to start suffocating.

Now the consolation prize numbs the feel of my thumbs

I keep beating my temples for the ache to start leaving

but how do you rid yourself of a headache that comes from the heart

not from the screeching piece of flesh inside my skull

not even -- this headache comes from the depths of my soul,

rippling,

much like a 'told you so, you have earned this suffering' --

Forgive me if I cannot make peace with this

brutal, explosive way of

losing.

I forgo dry inhales in my search for an answer,

or just for silence, let the screams settle,

this path of destruction keeps looping.

I have built worlds out of words,

here goes my kingdom, crumbling,

the makeshift crown over my head weighs so heavy

under its palm maybe I too am collapsing,

press, release, the heavy drink sinks low

and only then I can stop sobbing.

I have never been much of a drinker, that one shelf

on the bookcase now sits empty,

drained in mere weeks

in the same way you drained me.

And maybe I could forgive myself

if I hadn't gone on my knees, begging,

even with you on the opposite end of a gun

asked time and time again for reassurance, answer,

anything -

I hear nothing.

The consolation prize has my eyelids closing,

I feel it is the world's mercy that I am finally sinking

into a senseless, pitch black stupor

in which I know not my name

or of the war lost, game abandoned,

of the head spinning.

From the meek yet curious, fearful yet

hopeful first steps of a love beginning,

I have gone to an endless pit

in which there is no losing, not even winning,

barely even existing,

I am drifting.

One more tear to add to the pile

Running down my cheek in senseless cold

yet I am no longer awake to know

neither my tears

nor time just

passing.

#my writing #poets on tumblr #writblr #poems #poetry #poetic #spilled poetry #original poetry #sad poem #confession

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me-dusk-and-dawn · 2 months

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i am not here at the kitchen sink, instead letting muscle memory wash the dirty dinner plates;

nor am i here under the shower head, instead letting water slip past the oil of my thin hair;

not since the reckoning have i been present here, now caught between worlds,

where you are there, and i am here, and somewhere, we are or, we might be.

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me-dusk-and-dawn · 2 months

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leave.

i willingly left the house less than two times

in the last three or four months

or maybe it was six, seven --

the bottomline is I left the house less than two times,

willingly,

and all the other times I had to be out for mere necessity,

I hoped nobody would notice me,

see me,

acknowledge that I exist over here, floating over

dirt and ash and puddle.

Two times I left willingly and regretted it,

not because I faced something bad,

but the world outside felt like it was missing

some crucial brush stroke

some art that used to fascinate me

some smile I tried sneakily to catch as it happened

some wink and a hint that being out there

would be worth it.

I left the house only two times,

and it was just another reminder of why I do not leave.

And I hate to admit it, that somewhere out there

there is a story unfinished;

I have dropped the pen, the ink is leaking,

bleeding all over my life if I can bring myself to call it living --

but the truth is, all I have is words I tell to myself, and even words are

failing.

At one point a thread snapped,

a string, a connection between me

and all else remaining,

it snapped, and I do not even know when,

all I know is that I left the house only two times

in the last god knows how many months,

and I regret living like this.

#my writing #poets on tumblr #writblr #poetry #poems #poetic #spilled poetry #original poetry #confession #depression

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me-dusk-and-dawn · 2 months

Photo

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me-dusk-and-dawn · 2 months

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goner

when this mess started

we blamed life

now that the rush is out, and the flame drifting,

we blame life also-

always blame life, because when the timing also proves

to not be so right

what else takes the blame?

our romance has lost its rhymes

on life I shall also blame the dryness of these lines

but can life ever be wrong, when all it does is

show you what is not right?

and sure, friendship is alright,

but when intimacy is all but vaporised

and loneliness comes back knocking on the doors

you want something to blame,

you want something

to take the fall, so you aren't the one still

suspended mid-flight

flailing like a bird shot out of air

plummeting to its demise.

truth is, i resent how fast

your want ceased, and your interest

became so friendly that I even had to ask -

do you still want me,

do you even want to be loved?

I spent way too much time

growing to love you, so why?

why stop now,

when I am doomed

and you are...

I can feel you are just about getting ready

to be gone.

#my writing #poets on tumblr #writblr #poetry #poems #spilled poetry #poetic #original poetry #sad poem #confession #heartbreak #rejected #long distance

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me-dusk-and-dawn · 2 months

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written in 2020. happy International Women’s Day!

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me-dusk-and-dawn · 2 months

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i want to be loved.

as bluntly as I can put it,

there are no other words to cut it,

I want to be loved --

and not just by anyone. I want to be loved

by you.

You, who calls me a friend, a nothing until

we find the time and space to confirm

ungodly suspicions.

I do not want to be a doubt hanging over your head,

I want to be loved by you.

I want to be touched,

but not in the ways most people describe,

I want you to hold my face,

hold my hand,

wrap your arms

around my waist

if I get too scared and want to run away.

I want to be loved by you,

easily said but infinitely harder to enact

all we have is words

when you can't even say the word,

I want to be shown love

like a kiss over the forehead,

I want to be loved by you

knowing all too well you won't get there,

You do not want love

when all you see is a mistake,

I want to be loved by you

but you can't love me back--

But but but,

all 'but' s and no 'and's,

I want to be loved by you

except you are too tired to love

even yourself.

#my writing #poets on tumblr #writblr #poetry #poems #spilled poetry #poetic #original poetry #sad poem #confession #love poem #love #unrequited #unrequited crush #unrequited feelings #unrequited love #unrequited romance #unrequited affection

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me-dusk-and-dawn · 2 months

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me.

so demanding,

as if want can only be measured by one thing

but you have always validated yourself through others' affections

so watch how it sends you flailing.

you go out searching for fuel

with which to burn your life to say you felt it

when you read messages from him

do you not see that other thing?

have you no shame?! -

how are you satisfied with your own doing;

you are taking parts of different stories, stitching them

together for the sake of believing,

like parts of a puzzle that just don't fit

you make it fit, like you can call that living.

edges bent, broken, torn

you even confuse names then laugh about it.

how can you live with yourself,

how can you keep on going?

where is the conscience, or do the past's

ghosts just weigh heavier?

this was not how you've been raised by your mother,

yet here you are

moulding your sins into a lover.

how terrified must you be of

being alone

that you see in his face

the face of

another?

and you are disgusted of yourself, sure

let's go with 'disgust' over 'regret'

bottle after bottle and even that can't make you forget.

You care so little for collateral

that sometimes it doesn't even feel

like you are human.

A monster.

What do you see when you look into the mirror?

A broken girl,

or just a face splashed with colours of murder?

Do not dare play the victim,

you are truly

despicable.

#my writing #poets on tumblr #writblr #poetry #poems #poetic #spilled poetry #original poetry #confession

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me-dusk-and-dawn · 2 months

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Dina Relles, "In A Sunday Kitchen"

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me-dusk-and-dawn · 2 months

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I laid awake all night, mumbling to myself a poem

I cannot ever dare write

But even with all the numbers I love,

All the probabilities I must calculate at all costs, I could not anticipate

that this past weekend would be

the weekend we spoke for the last time.

And sure I saw it coming, told myself I was prepared

To clean up after one more time,

Because what was one more anyway,

But here I am back in this room, between

These damned four walls and the walls are still

Covered in my blood-

I stand alone in the room of my own murder

And I shudder

Because I have been here one too many times.

Across where I stand, there is a mirror,

In the reflection I stare back at the perpetrator,

How is any of this fair? I thought you

Were real.

I shudder

And it's not even cold

But I shivered all night

Like I knew the morning would bring back winter,

hell, it's April.

It's April, and I realise

You never meant to actually be here.

I am here, in the room of my own murder,

But I was just trying to taste alive

One last time, I whisper,

it comes out like a plea to Fate

An explanation why I still do the same mistake,

I just wanted to live,

I am stuck in this room

I have no choice but to stare at my own pale face.

Just another grave.

Just

Another

Dream to lay to waste.

I'm so tired

Of digging graves.

#my writing #poets on tumblr #writblr #poetry #poems #poetic #spilled poetry #original poetry #sad poem #confession

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me-dusk-and-dawn · 2 months

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I just want to say

It is in silence I fill the most of blanks,

No, it's not the lonely that moves my hands,

but the words, just

pushing out of my brain -

I want to be important,

I try so hard to be important,

but I spent my whole night moving and

throwing my arms up in the air

and what kind of love is it that

I cannot have you here to catch my waist

when I trip over my own feet?

You were asleep the whole time,

in fact, I made sure

that you saw none of the texts I sent,

So what-

So what kind of love?

You are not here, but there is a life,

a life I am meant to live

Just

It's lacking.

It's lacking, and I do not know why,

because how can I bring a person so far away

to here, until I can call you mine?

I can't.

I can't call you mine.

When my feet cross, and my balance shifts,

I beg the world for your hands.

That must be a crime.

I do not know how long I can keep pretending

that this arrangement,

this distance,

this having without having,

is alright.

It's not.

I need you here, and you are not.

So what?

Do I give up

on another love?

#my writing #poets on tumblr #writblr #poetry #poems #poetic #spilled poetry #original poetry #sad poem #confession #long distance #distance

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me-dusk-and-dawn · 2 months

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Last night you caught me writing,

Asking if they were for you

When I said no, your very next question was,

"Then for who?"

Because poetry is only meant for lovers, right?

Only meant to be cursive and roses,

Not the ghosts that go bump in the night

See, I write for me,

For the things I cannot say,

To clear my mind of terrible things

And I know your insides are burning,

Wondering what I write,

But I will be taking no further questions

At this time

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me-dusk-and-dawn · 2 months

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panic.

it is almost 4 am again

and I wonder why sleep is so unattainable

like I do not know the answer -

I do this to me.

I sit in company of my thoughts and hours fly by

until I remember all the things I needed to get done,

all the things infinitely more important than

what is going on in my mind.

So why can't I focus and get the order

of priorities right?

It seems this is when parts of me begin to disagree,

and so comes the chaos that

put me in this damned chair at this hour to begin with.

I gawk at my own inability to see past the haze

I myself have drawn over a makeshift order;

it's going down, walls crumbling,

foundation caving, and I am let down -

I let me down.

I am sat here, petrified, and my thoughts aren't moving;

brain stuck in a loop,

by god, am I dying?

I have half a mind to think on what has me so still,

what perceived danger am I this time exaggerating?

I know that answer too,

I just won't say it.

If recovery happened just by committing to it

I could have been in bed, dreaming.

Yet I am here, this is

happening.

Don't panic.

Please don't panic.

How must I reason with my own crooked logic?

If I, myself, cannot do the best for me,

how can I expect you to do right by me?

I dread the day you realise

just how big of a mess

your innocent games

got you into.

And I'm not even sorry.

#my writing #poets on tumblr #writblr #poetry #poems #poetic #spilled poetry #original poetry #confession

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me-dusk-and-dawn · 2 months

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The Destiny of My Poems

I often wonder about the destiny of my poems as I write them.

I contemplate burning them,

Before having to relive the shame of having written them.

Often, I just forget them,

Or I hide them by mistake,

In pages of journals, and in the margins of books,

Or I leave them etched into walls or tree trunks,

But most often in some unknowable chain of synapses

That I forgot to remember.

Writing them in sand, and then sweeping them away.

I remember them, I remember them less, I forget them,

I am saddened to have forgotten them.

Some I forget on purpose.

But then I often stumble upon them.

And like how the petrichor of the first rain after a long time dry,

Reminds you of something once so familiar,

That I still somehow forgot.

How it feels to walk outside and be utterly drenched.

I find myself reliving past lives and versions of myself,

That I had forgotten to forget.

https://holeinthehedgerow.com/2024/03/28/the-destiny-of-my-poems/

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me-dusk-and-dawn · 2 months

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Yosano Akiko, tr. by Sam Hamill & Keiko Matsui Gibson, from River of Stars: Selected Poems of Yosano Akiko

[Text ID: “Picking wild roses, / some to weave into my hair / and some for the hand, / I then waited for hours, / I waited for you all day.”]

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