n-ehpamoi
It's not me. None of it.
Asks always welcome. statements or questions. Send me one word topics and see if I can turn it into a poem.
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Text
I tried sleeping on the couch
to see if I could get rid
of the person shaped
impression
that always lies in the bed
next to me --
it didn't work.
Of course it didn't.
There's a fucking
person shaped impression
in my soul now,
thanks to you --
Thanks for that.
And for what?
For you to realize
you didn't love me
like you thought you did?
And yet now, somehow,
I'm the one stuck with you?
#poeticstories#writerscreed#writtenconsiderations#smittenbypoetry#recognizingthevoiceless#writingthestorm#poetryportal#inkstay#twcpoetry#poem#poetry#original poetry#original poem#m
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How do I know these hands
are the right ones?
Sometimes they feel
so distant I think,
surely
they cannot be mine --
And if they are, mine
(the "right" ones) --
then are they the
r i g h t o n e s ?
Are these hands the ones
made
to fit in yours?
And, then,
what of yours?
Are they made to fit
in mine?
#poeticstories#writtenconsiderations#writerscreed#recognizingthevoiceless#poem#twcpoetry#poetry#m#original poem#original poetry#poets on tumblr
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I loved you
My life in so little words.
I loved.
I loved.
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I might hang myself right side down
and drip dry my self
from swinging hooks,
so that you might have room
to make a home
beneath my skin.
I want your hands
against these bones which ache,
too much,
for your touch,
and for your heart to beat in unison
alongside the endless murmurs of mine.
I wouldn’t mind having you under this skin,
so would it be too much to ask,
to have you make your way in?
#poeticstories#writerscreed#writtenconsiderations#smittenbypoetry#recognizingthevoiceless#writingthestorm#poetryportal#inkstay#twcpoetry#poem#poetry#original poetry#original poem#m
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This too,
will cease.
Like each before it,
it will crumble.
Like every meeting of the lips,
where in time we must draw away,
like every time I’ve held you
in my arms,
but had eventually
to let you slip away,
this too,
will cease.
And like every time
my eyes met yours,
or my skin,
felt the heat
of your flesh
against itself,
my eyes will draw away,
and your warmth
will be forgotten.
This too
will cease.
And my body will move from yours,
forever in the opposite direction.
And my thoughts
will lose sight of you,
and so too,
will my mind.
This too,
like every other meeting of the heart,
with either you,
or anyone else,
will cease.
#poeticstories#writerscreed#writtenconsiderations#smittenbypoetry#recognizingthevoiceless#writingthestorm#poetryportal#inkstay#twcpoetry#poem#poetry#original poetry#original poem#m
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Some say supposedly,
a rose blooms in chaos --
but all I know is chaos --
entropy holds itself back
for no one --
and yet all I feel
is the thirst that comes
with being dried out,
losing strength,
and wilting --
where are my petals,
some pretty red, pink,
or white?
Surrounded by everything
hectic, and all I am
is a stem
full of thorns.
#poeticstories#writerscreed#writtenconsiderations#smittenbypoetry#recognizingthevoiceless#writingthestorm#poetryportal#inkstay#twcpoetry#poem#poetry#original poetry#original poem#m
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I remember, the heat of you –
a fire stealing all
the air, in the room –
Suffocation,
overwhelming the bellows
in my chest,
forced closed
and empty like
they were so weak –
helpless, in the presence of you,
a forest dry, thirsting for rain,
laid waste by the blaze
of your lips –
In the ashes
of their destruction,
was born
our love.
What embers wrought
is gone now –
what has been made ashen,
will not know flame,
again.
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And by mine hand may you be brought low,
not struck but lied down gently,
not to rest but rather shining wake,
ever woken and quaking –
and lo, behold,
by mine hand might you tremble,
not in fright but anticipation,
not simply excitement
but there, temptation –
by mine hand,
for a night,
you are mine.
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A young lesson, then –
Sometimes, I will be too strong
for the delicate skin
of my friends –
and though now my body has become,
or at least feels,
so much more frail –
though my mind has become
so much more
soft of heart –
it seems still that I can crush
so easily
when I mean instead
to caress –
a young lesson then,
again learned –
you must fear yet
your own strength –
sometimes it’s better to be
far too gentle
than to hurt the ones you love.
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And, god,
I have held the joy
and the pain --
of so many lovers --
So much. So much joy
And so much pain
had, shared,
caused, and endured --
The good, so good --
surely our time would stretch on
into eternity --
And the hurt so bad,
at the end of that "eternity,"
that surely,
surely,
there will never be love again --
And yet still, I love, once more,
no matter how hard I swear
'never again" //
I always wonder, how,
when we hurt each other
so much, we can still die
loving one another
In a way, I hurt myself,
with the knowledge that I've left
pieces of myself
with every,
last,
one of you,
as have you all, with me --
and when I go,
I will shed tears for what I had
with each and every one of you --
and I know,
for better or worse,
I'll always be there,
on your minds --
For each and everyone if felt
so much pain,
and joy --
And I'd change that for nothing,
even at times, like now,
when I'm doing nothing
but shedding tears.
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I will be mourning our connection,
I fear, until I lay
down in my grave.
How do you bury
the loss of abounding love,
when your mind has never
held a grave
for feeling?
That which has been lost before
as has been lost today,
roams freely, eternally,
upon the ashen fields
of conscious,
unending --
If we deign to speak again,
you will not know this --
Kind, but stoic I will be --
if I betray
(in some golden future
in which I will be able to
speak to you again)
that I still feel for you
how I did
at our most loving, I know,
I would only cause you
the pain
I'd still feel.
Come back to me,
I scream,
into the void --
If there is a god to hear me, please,
grant this wish;
Lest you leave me existing with this hole
where my heart should be //
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You slept
long into the day
and with the least of grace --
the most beautiful creature
I'd ever seen --
first, the morning,
and then the afternoon air
filled with jagged snores,
harsh breaths,
and hurried, single,
nonsensical words --
I could not leave the bed;
every last bit of it
soothed me to my core --
Every last bit filled me
with that beautiful light like
that of the morn'
which by the time you woke
had long since passsed --
"Welcome, sleepyhead,"
I'd announce, beaming
with the warmth I felt for you
"to the world of the living."
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On top of today’s update, I also have a new painting. He’ll probably show up soon. Probably. Soon.
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What's it like there,
on the edge of time?
You seem so close --
If you were to close your eyes
and wander,
what would it be?
Fifteen steps
and a sheer drop?
What hides there,
beyond that which
holds us so dear, so near, so rough,
to the things we've done?
Are you afraid to know?
Would you sink in that void,
or simply,
float away?
Or maybe, shackles broken,
eyes w I d e open
to all that is, was,
and could ever,
will ever,
be --
Would you become ethereal?
or perhaps, more simply,
cease? //
If you need a hand,
I'll give one to you --
If you're still afraid,
I'll test the waters --
I'm too curious,
and too tired of that which
I cannot change
and furthermore,
cannot predict --
Knowledge
and/or oblivion
sounds nice,
doesn't it?
Doesn't it?
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