emarowtheboat

I, the worst of all.

[emaraude]

Sometimes in the morning I think the sun mocks me—

it stands above my failures in all radiance and glory,

and I want to confess my small feral fears to it but I am inferior,

and time shows no mercy to the hesitant or unsure;

maybe I could learn abasement or learn to stoop and score my dread

into the gutters where rain do erasure on my brightest days,

but the questions breed faster than weather

and I am left supine on the pavement

counting cracks like auguries and needing faith,

needing anything that does not flinch when named—

I speak to the sky yet it oxidizes into a ceiling of rust;

do the trees know the leaves fall in time?

do the seasons know at some point they die?

because I envy their permission to change,

I fear the constant, the monotonous labyrinth with no clause for mercy,

no promise of difference and only corridors repeating themselves;

I read Notes from Underground

and wonder why dread performs these antics

why the ego loosens its grip

like a drunk on a stairwell

why reality keeps thinning;

why I am always so unwell

Milton would not find me diverting

nor my dead heroes on my shelves,

yet I know they touched this fever in another century,

felt the same abrasion of being awake and in mercy—

I wish they would lean out and say: endure,

it is going to be okay,

it will take longer than you want,

and still, you will remain.

[literarygoof]

Anatomy of an Exile's Body

Time gushes from the unknown deep, and it is cunningly gentle, river-like, yet silently aching like crimson blood liberating itself from your young wound. It caresses us only to cut us open. It engraves longing into the sinews of our bones, only to make us an exile from the homeland inside our ribs.

It is much too difficult to be pittilessly torn without knowing how to put ourselves together again. We polish the incisions of our flesh with the pretense of normalcy; we possess ourselves with the light of a thousand small suns and only bare the nakedness of our truth under the ebony of the boundless sky.

A body is a memorial to things we never dare forget. From the expanse of the shoulders to the intricacies of the thighs, to rearrange its bones and make it a pyre of something holy. In the crooks of our bodies, we build our own temples. On the lips of our beloved, we exchange a hundred prayers.

The mouth is a cathedral where we take our communion, where the pastor asked us to spit out the wretchedness and to fold our hands to make tender worship out of our blackened fists.

Communions are quite simple: you just kneel despite the shame; you surrender to be loved despite being cruel.

The mind is a fire raging without knowing when to stop until it invades what lies untouched, until it devours the little good that is left. Delusion is a theft I commit from the drawers of borrowed time, a price I covet to exist in the world as a mortal dreamer. I confess the sin, but I do not offer the guilt. I pour without leaving it empty.

The teeth will carve roughness within the crevices of our skin, like the hand of a god sculpting his own sharp-edged stars, like merciless water ravaging the fissures of the earth. But I will remain tender, and beware, for mercy is a capricious thing. It is a luxury I cannot afford to give.

The tongues may pierce the blood with venom and intimidate my silence to sleep, but although hope is a bird that may descend, my courage will always try to rise up from the bottomless pit of wanting.

And look, the earth is spinning under the barrel of the watchful sun. I will lay target to its cosmic scrutiny, but I will not offer my fear nor submit the remnants of any shame. I have already ascended from the tiniest of deaths; I have resurrected into the heavens of my own making.

[theblazingpoetess]

Unexpected Invitation

You; crawling inside yourself, deflecting to save. Darkness; your unlikely dressing. I tempered myself to move past this hostage situation, Breaking through glass, shattering the scene.

Running down wooden steps — gritty, slatted chocolate bars on sand — making an exit. White dress, splattered with blue splotches and bitter tears, Injured by your lour sentiments alone.

The great mountain in the distance beckoning my explosion; Watery waves asking me to recycle this broken phase.

I did not know I would meet our mutual here, Breaking up the night with an unexpected invitation.

find me on Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/theblazingpoetess/

[emaraude]

goodbyes

i'm tired of yearning for the people I parted ways with yet, the 'what ifs' continue to linger in my mind what if our paths had remained tangled to this day? we might be laughing over the meaningless things letting our childhood carelessness flow through the rivers of fate

i try hard not to feel, trust me but deep inside I'm a symphony of screams because my mind is filled with your voices my skin lingers for your embraces looking for the imprints of your existences the gifts you all gave are still inside my closet silent witnesses to a friendship once delicately held in the fragile, reckless hands of mine i remember the solemn dismissals the sweat dropping from our heads the wrinkly uniforms and faces from laughter, that no amount of iron could weather it away and we would sit at the brick benches serenaded by the afternoon winds as the sun sets then we say goodbyes the simple wave of a hand running towards the car and you shrink and shrink until you're the size of my thumb and gone

but partings were temporary then devoid of the enduring weight they now bear

we have parted ways but the corridors of our old school still echo with our laughter and footsteps as if untouched by the ruthless passage of time

[emaraude]

exile

in this world, wretched and unforgiving, i hold on to the idea… the haunting idea that to leave may be a survival instinct, a weapon against the inevitable sting of abandonment. because the vulnerability of remaining and letting my roots root deeply couldn’t stop the echoes of uncertainty of being left behind… there’s also this persistent fear of the wounds that others might inflict upon me. and i’m afraid that i’ll never find forgiveness, and i’ll find peace in casting blame upon them until my final exhale.

so, the ties once deemed tight and unbreakable unravel at my fingers. i mercilessly burned houses i thought i’ll live forever. and the ring in my finger that bears the weight of a life intended for happiness and peace, now marked by the barbed edges of self-inflicted pain--- a tight knot reminding me of my stupidity, fears, and vices.

so, i become the architect of my own wounds.. i created the potential pain that others could inflict upon me. because it is my desperate idea of control in a world where certainty is not certain… it is my twisted idea of power, that i, alone, hold the brush that paints my scars. the marks on me are inscribed by my hand alone, and the blood that stains is caused by me. no one else can do that.

it's a wretched idea, i know, and i don’t even plan on forgiving myself.

and so, i walk the path into the woods, with no one to blame but me. i walk the path to a solitary pilgrimage… to a self-imposed exile.

[emaraude]

jupiter

oh, beauty and great, a giant in a celestial haze radiant amidst the dead crowd of stars. a brilliance like diamonds, a sun amongst the dormant. yet, in this cosmic happenstance, you faded away, as they say. almost, they whispered. yet time stops for no one, so in the vast space, stardust still swirls. you wander dead and, in a storm, around the bright star, you were supposed to become. and now you're too colossal, it’s a reminder that persist, to the greatness you nearly reached.

so, jupiter, you tell me, what feelings accompany being an "almost," a fall in the midst of your ascent to greatness?

emaraude

[emaraude]

the blacksmith

the darkness of my room burns my skin im at that loop of hatred again smoke, wooden cabinets, dark chair the rest of the room in a twirl i shut my door, hoping your words couldn’t get in yet, like evening ghosts, they pierce through slipping through the cracks of the wooden frame and into the dark fortress of my heart i'm said to be unbreakable, unyielding yet, your blacksmith hands have melted me you wield your weapons with a cruel finesse reopening my old wounds in time and time you know how to cut deep drowning me in molten agony until i'm nothing but a charred soul in your wake

emaraude

[emaraude]

all the beautiful cheap things

baby, we carry the scent of cheap perfumes and the faint smell of thrift store polyester. the pearls around our neck lack luster. and the way we sit reveals, a ton of bourgeois worries weighing us down, burdening our posture.

baby, we don’t fit in, so let's retreat to the back of the cab with the mule we got from the vending machine. we may reek of inexpensive liquor, but that's fine, cuz every time we pass by, it disrupts the ease of those on their thrones.

emaraude

[emaraude]

past life lover

you

i still remember you

from my past life

i was the verses of your poetry

and sometimes i try to look for you

with the hope that our paths may cross once more

i remember our shared moments from a distant lifetime

in the morning, you brewed my coffee

your hair, kissed by the lake

you read your newspapers

and wonder why people are the way they are

it’s just you and your contrarian spirit

and, oh, i remember

the maps of constellation in your face

my fingers like stardust brushes

"this one's Andromeda," i'd playfully say

"it's the Big Dipper, you silly." you with your fake bravado

and i’ll laugh and laugh

though both of us were strangers to the stars

by evenings, we frequented elegant soirées

swirling in dance at the middle

thinking the world faded around us

our favorite tunes playing

though, i’m the only one who can sing right

then we slip away and embrace the moonlight

sometimes i’d sigh

wondering if you’re ever around

if you're treading the same streets as i

i’d like to see you again under this lifetime’s sky

and i wonder if i’m the only one who remembered

or if you too, in your still moments, hold me dear

thinking about me just as frequently

and by some divine miracle

there you stood at the bus stop

you look exactly like how you looked a lifetime ago

the maps of constellation

and honey pools of eyes

that familiar smirk on your lips

and those poignant gazes that spoke

saying, you remembered

you remember me

and like a lightning bolt, it struck

your hands wrapped around another

and the bus rumbled away

leaving our memories stranded

where it belonged

you were once mine, in a distant lifetime

we spent our nights at posh soirées

and days by the lake where i’ll sing verses

and you serenade me with your proses and sonnets

at least in that realm, i was your muse

i was your muse

but it’s alright, i no longer love lakes

i long for the crips air of seas

coffee no longer graces my mornings

for i love my morning tea

i no longer sing, my melodies now adrift

at least in our past life

i was once the muse to your proses

and you to my verses

though, our love now dead and withered

our words in history forever whispers

a lifetime of us has passed by

perhaps that was enough

emaraude

[emaraude]

goodbyes i'm tired of yearning for the people I parted ways with yet, the 'what ifs' continue to linger in my mind what if our paths had remained intertwined to this day? we might be laughing over the meaningless events of the past we will embrace each other, sharing both our sorrows and our laughs i try hard not to feel trust me but deep inside I'm a symphony of screams because my mind is filled with your voices my skin lingers for your embraces looking for the imprints of your existences the gifts you gave are still inside my closet silent witnesses to a friendship once cherished i think of all the times we spent together at lunch how I’d steal your food because it was better than mine at dismissal we would sit at the brick benches serenaded by the afternoon winds as the sun sets then we say goodbyes but partings were temporary then devoid of the enduring weight they now bear we have parted ways but the corridors of our old school still echo with our laughter and footsteps as if untouched by time emaraude

[emaraude]

no one sleeps upstairs

when we were kids,

we were told of stories

tales of lost ghosts and wandering souls living within its walls

that these ethereal beings possessed the ability to shapeshift

taking on the appearance of someone familiar or unknown

in the dead of night

they would roam my grandparents’ home, as if claiming it as their own

one cousin claimed to have seen the ghost

from that moment on

our mischievous grandpa saw an opportunity to have some fun with us

when we get noisy, he would slyly bring up the ghost's tale

and that was when we thought it’s all real

as kids, we were scared

carrying that old haunt in us

whilst teasing and joking about it throughout the years

however, if you were to ask me

I was never really afraid when I was young

for my grandfather was a big man

and in my young eyes

he was an epitome of fearlessness

a guardian whose mere presence brought me reassurance

no ghost can hurt us

as the years have slipped away

more and more people have left and passed

as my cousins and I huddled together on a cozy foam in the living room downstairs

at night, while lying awake, I couldn't help but steal a glance at the staircase leading upstairs

waiting for the ghost they've always told us about when we were kids

but there’s none

and I only felt the lonely silence

my grandfather has left

in the cold, cold evening

no one sleeps upstairs

emaraude

[literarygoof]

i found myself grieving over the remains of childhood like a traveler returning to the ruins of his homeland. the soil that has nourished me and bore witness to the cacophony of my laughter and cries has now been painted with blood until it became a wasteland that dried with the passage of time.

[7thgenbotulist]

I’ve cracked the code.

[mytholympus]

Ares: Send dudes.

Aphrodite: You mean nudes?

Ares: I’m in a fight. I need more men.

[emaraude]

I Want You To Know

I want you to know all these All the things your eyes might have missed You know when you hold my hand The shattered bits of me start to mend When your mind starts to speak My eyes would instantly glisten You know when you lean Whisper weird nothingness And all the sweet things you mean I feel like I'm lost in a movie scene The warmth that your presence gives It warms up the cold Octobers I've been Standing and there beside me You created the passion I'm starting to feel And all the words in here I've written You know every bit of here I mean it

[taylorswift]

‪City Of Lover Concert 💕 Airing this Sunday at 10p ET on ABC and streaming the next day on Hulu and Disney+! ‬

‪📸: Dave Hogan‬

[emaraude]

gorgeous

[emaraude]