you sleep under phosphorescent
awnings as i'm in the company of
the opal morning: of paint fumes
my renaissance cactus and my
dragonfly heart out in the
frigid sun: without shelter
a slight lisp of lies-moss
ever since your glazed eyes shaped
my contours: filed me alone there is
too much of your silence: that i can
hear the mosquito's wings tremble
along with that
the mediaeval poets were poisoned
for reasons only your recesses can
like vermin or worse
that someone: clasping their own life
with petrified stigmata velvety palms
and their verse: the eyes of
i would recognize you
by your voice and not your face
and take hold of your hand
rather than calling you by your name
I fell in love with your eyes,
and their depth,
the way they made me,
lose myself deep,
within the oceans they held,
there was no way back,
Music is something that can make a soul breathe.
love bares its teeth at midnight. click for better quality.
consider the litany of beauty—
tonight, there is you, nestled in the fists of silence,
borrowing tenderness from dreams we never dreamt.
you—marauder of sleep, thief of holy & unholy,
still carrying with you a primal scream
you want to let loose in billows of softness.
(you’ve been weary).
kanna, i know.
tonight, there is longing—i still belong to you.
this too, will become an elegy in little time much like
the night sky. in a soundless language, i'll tell you that
i love you. silence isn’t always a precursor to violence.
what truly was said in this poem?
i'm still inaccessible to myself—only you make sense,
in this little life.
consider the litany of beauty tonight, kanna.
Looking across the room,
Only for our eyes
My heart, a flower,
That bursts with color,
A slow-motion, burning,
You are entrancing
In all of your phases,
And I, the sea, dance to you,
J. K. L
Why are oranges called oranges
When bananas aren't called yellows
Why are you parking in the driveway yet driving on the parkway
Why is the oldest photo of you also the youngest version of you and vice versa?
Why do I want to be alone and around people at the same time?
Why do horrible things happen to delightful people
Who are you if not a collection of attributes labeled with a name
What are you waiting for
I will not tell you her name
I have a name for a daughter
But no daughter
I don't know if we will ever meet
Her name would be only hers
Named for stars
That breathe the wind of the open seas
From a language mostly forgotten
Lingua franca, once
But the name will resonate so eternally
Tonight, I will look to the constellation
To perhaps see her face
To see how her name fits so exquisitely
Dear Picasso, my blue period has last longer than it should.
My entire room is like a sea
full of all shades of blue.
My hands are blue
my eyes are blue
my veins bleeds blue
and blue orquids dying
until the jar is empty.
Sometimes I'm scared
I think I love this.
I'm fucked up.
thoughts after 10 pm
life is heavy company
find the corner where you won't be disturbed and find solace in your water glass
with the tipping of water you can pause this earth
look, nothing matters
the floor is wet but it will dry
so much possibility if you stare through the bottom long enough
it ripples, changes shape
you can avoid the shadows or splintering light this way, a clap on the hand
dull it through the glass
wait for your guest to be shown the door and finally
disappear off down in the dusk
no one reads your telegram
anymore—and no one flips
open my phone cube—if you
find me underground—then
come say hello i will
wait for hours—for our
histrionically than how i detail
it here—so many of my walls
wail in smooth coral
white with innumerable
rejections—but i can
never see them differently—
each and every one pricks
the same—and you ask
how can the hurt eclipse
time and i reply that the
mind makes it recur—giving it
a certain depth shade vividity
if i embrace it
it will be beautiful
Where do I begin, and what do I even write, for the words within me are slowly drying up.
There are stories still to be told, memories yet to be lived and things look bleak even when they shouldn't.
There's chaos often, and certain things are somehow distant but not much can be done.
A lot has been heard, said even, not heeded though and we are where we started from, back to square one.
Surprisingly so, reasons to be grateful are a plenty, yet past wounds, remedies for which were implemented, are still salty.
How to then manouver the various phases, seemingly apparent catastrophes of life; if not by writing every single thing, each thought and feeling as an escape, a refuge of sorts, from life itself; and yet, it is becoming clearer the voice within me is quieting down, the words are slowly drying up.
I must fight and resist and that I will but what else is there that can be done, what else must I do, to prevent myself from transitioning to a state of utter oblivion.
Take Me Back
Take me back to the time
right before everything started
so I can choose a different path.
Before I was forcefully turned into a soldier
and sent to the battlefield
that I wasn't supposed to be in.
Before I dared to fight a war
that turned everything into dust
and quelled the sparkle in my eyes.
Or maybe take me farther back
when I can still laugh like a carefree child.
Give me just one chance.
Maybe this time,
I'll be brave enough to choose me.
Maybe this time,
I can save myself
from turning into the despicable being
that I didn't intend to be.
✒️ May Rashiele Sueño
love is a precursor. click for better quality. transcript under cut.
like a gentle breeze warmed by the sun,
you pour over me in a steady stream, constantly.
i cannot escape you—not that an attempt will follow this poem,
but you’ve subdued me in the most peculiar manner.
you gave me room to dream.
it was then i found how close the proximity of grief is to love.
loving you is grieving you.
i am swollen with your eulogy.
i carry you in a way atlas knows nothing about.
i love you in a way that’s inexplicable to others,
outside of time and reason—you are,
and i love.