L. V., an old piece, revisited
What a beautiful piece!
Misplaced Lens Cap
Today's Document

#extradirty
No title available
$LAYYYTER

No title available
we're not kids anymore.
noise dept.
Cosimo Galluzzi

⁂

祝日 / Permanent Vacation

pixel skylines

Discoholic 🪩
wallacepolsom
Three Goblin Art
todays bird
Claire Keane
Cosmic Funnies

Kaledo Art

No title available

seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Germany

seen from Malaysia

seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from Australia

seen from Qatar
seen from United States

seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
@emeraldstarzz
L. V., an old piece, revisited
What a beautiful piece!
What if Fairy Tales Exist?
Wary and weary,
Our scarred and scared hearts,
Buried neath the rumble
of a dragon’s lair.
“Do not trust; think twice
before you jump.
Monsters; they’re monsters,”
They whisper to us.
But maybe the monster
in front of me.
Is wondering and judging,
And fears I’m the monster they see.
And maybe the speck of glitter
on the street is gold.
And maybe the Beast deserved
The Beauty’s love.
The glass slipper might truly fit,
The frog might turn into a prince.
Perhaps the hand I can see,
Is reaching out to help not hit.
So hush, hush now,
Let me have faith and hope.
Let me believe,
Let me dream.
The End of The Road
Life is a maze with a million roads,
And the one I must take is filled with falls and pits.
You push me over each roadblock,
Yet I can see you lose faith whenever I trip.
It's aching; my knees are bruised and scraped,
I'll keep trying but I can't dare to hope.
I wish I'd never stumbled here; now I'm lost in this maze,
But now I'm here so all I can do is walk.
I hate this path and you for pushing me onto it,
And I hate myself for letting you down.
This exhaustion and bitterness is gnawing at my heart,
Is it worth it?
Is the end of this road worth the cost?
Stuck in Between
I’m tumbling down; cast away in a chasm,
The walls are closing in around me.
I can see a flicker of light in this stifling sea of black
But it’s too far; just out of reach.
I’m clinging on and clawing my way back out,
But I’m entangled in a spidery web that keeps tugging me back down.
I wish to bask in the sun rays and starlight,
But my head is pounding with every ragged breath.
I can’t hit the rock bottom
(I’m afraid of what I may find there)
I wish to feel the autumn breeze on my skin
(But my feet are slipping.)
My body is fire-lit and desperate to flee
(But something within me screams to let go)
I haven’t fallen down, but I haven’t climbed back out either.
(I’m stuck in between–and perhaps that’s the worst place to be.)
The Guilty One
A mistake, a failure, a burden to bear
A price not mine to pay,
Yet a weight on my chest,
Tearing my conscience either way.
A drop threatens to trail down my face,
Yet I dare not spill it.
For the accused do not deserve,
To relieve themselves of guilt.
Searing pains and twisted knots,
Stinging blades and blunt stones.
Are all that shall await me,
All I should’ve ever known.
To deserve is to earn and hold on,
And earned I never had.
Or perhaps my fingers were too weak,
And let go, when they should’ve grabbed.
A Peaceful Night
Basking in the serenity,
Of the night with it's shadowed, moonlit sky.
When the darkness envelops,
It's the sign to bid the sun goodbye.
What is better than to look afar,
At a field of flowery stars.
Enter a piece of paradise,
A world that can only be seen with closed eyes.
Laying your head with a dreamy sigh,
Letting all worries drown and hide.
Cleansing your mind and heart,
Looking forward to a new start.
Pattering Rain
Tears clouded my sight,
As I watched the rain through hooded eyes.
Its soft patter a cool balm,
Soothing my rage into calm.
When Silence Drowns
All songs sound the same,
The sound of my voice can’t keep the silence at bay.
My foggy mind allows no thought that could entertain,
And the clock’s ticks feel like the oncoming of an inevitable fate.
Am I going insane?
Wetness wells up in my eyes,
Yet I have not a clue as to why.
There is a stone inside my chest,
Weighing me down though it doesn’t exist.
Or does it, and it is I who doesn’t acknowledge?
I wish to sleep, guilt burning my eyes,
But guilt for what, I don’t recognise.
For old wounds and fights long gone by.
For not being someone who can make people smile.
Guilt for existing, perhaps?
It’s a silent hour,
As both the best and worst are.
My mind is numb yet my heart is in disarray,
A heady tangle I can neither unravel nor evade.
Life is a sinkhole and maybe I was meant to drown.
Trust.
Aww. So Adorable!!
A Question of Ardor
Is it better to have loved and lost,
Than to have never loved at all?
To dance in the eye of the storm,
Than never have been graced by rainfall?
Why do then hammered hearts shatter,
Where the untouched remain sheer and bright?
Why are then the dancers lightning-struck,
Where the sequestered watchers remain safe inside?
Perfect is the glass; glittering and pure,
Why must then it be stained and cracked?
To create something entirely new,
Something that is as beautiful as it’s jagged.
Is it better run across broken shards,
Feet bleeding, burning and alive.
Than to lie in stony stillness,
Lacking in aches and strife.
Is it better to have loved and lost,
Than to have never loved at all?
To choose between fire and ice,
Between cages and falls.
Reflection
I stare in the mirror,
Taking in my face and figure.
And God what a mess I am today,
With a face full of marks and decay.
I tear my eyes away after a bit,
Lamenting each speck and zit.
A moan of sorrow on my lips,
Not quite on the iceberg’s tip.
Another day, another sight.
Another reflection, a trick of light.
And again I hide my face and sigh,
For of course dark circles would ruin my high.
My throat is filled with bile,
As I walk yet another mile.
Grumbling stomachs and hollow hearts,
Yet I will smile and play my part.
‘You look so pretty, dear,’ Mother said sweetly,
Gosh, how does she lie so skilfully?
Can’t she see the flaws and imperfections,
That mar my plain complexion?
A hint of gloss, blush and powder puff,
Better, but still not good enough.
Perhaps another layer of concealer and cream,
Could make me appear as I wish to seem.
’Stop!’ Screamed Mother as I poked
yet another pimple, my nails pus-soaked.
‘It’s normal. You’re still growing’ insisted she,
‘You’re beautiful, sweetheart. Trust me.’
‘You look so cute!’ My friend declared,
Staring at the dress Mother had insisted I wear.
A gorgeous thing, ruined by me.
But by God, why did no one agree?
‘They are lying, they all are.’
Whispered the honey-glazed poison, drawing me to the mirror.
A nose tip too wide and round,
Not ugly, but nothing for which I could be proud.
My hair was beautiful, that I could see.
Smooth soft skin, nicer than it could be.
Nothing to be done for my glass-hidden eyes,
Though with a cut of hair, my big forehead could be disguised.
I look at myself and my stomach twists,
Poking out beneath my chest–are those my ribs?
Mother said I have been looking weak,
But I’d never imagined it was that bleak.
I sigh and stare and then I pace,
God, why can’t I love my face?
I wonder when the day will betide,
When I see something I can’t deride.
Reflection
I stare in the mirror,
Taking in my face and figure.
And God what a mess I am today,
With a face full of marks and decay.
I tear my eyes away after a bit,
Lamenting each speck and zit.
A moan of sorrow on my lips,
Not quite on the iceberg’s tip.
Another day, another sight.
Another reflection, a trick of light.
And again I hide my face and sigh,
For of course dark circles would ruin my high.
My throat is filled with bile,
As I walk yet another mile.
Grumbling stomachs and hollow hearts,
Yet I will smile and play my part.
‘You look so pretty, dear,’ Mother said sweetly,
Gosh, how does she lie so skilfully?
Can’t she see the flaws and imperfections,
That mar my plain complexion?
A hint of gloss, blush and powder puff,
Better, but still not good enough.
Perhaps another layer of concealer and cream,
Could make me appear as I wish to seem.
’Stop!’ Screamed Mother as I poked
yet another pimple, my nails pus-soaked.
‘It’s normal. You’re still growing’ insisted she,
‘You’re beautiful, sweetheart. Trust me.’
‘You look so cute!’ My friend declared,
Staring at the dress Mother had insisted I wear.
A gorgeous thing, ruined by me.
But by God, why did no one agree?
‘They are lying, they all are.’
Whispered the honey-glazed poison, drawing me to the mirror.
A nose tip too wide and round,
Not ugly, but nothing for which I could be proud.
My hair was beautiful, that I could see.
Smooth soft skin, nicer than it could be.
Nothing to be done for my glass-hidden eyes,
Though with a cut of hair, my big forehead could be disguised.
I look at myself and my stomach twists,
Poking out beneath my chest–are those my ribs?
Mother said I have been looking weak,
But I’d never imagined it was that bleak.
I sigh and stare and then I pace,
God, why can’t I love my face?
I wonder when the day will betide,
When I see something I can’t deride.
i’m not “mysterious,” i just don’t know how to start conversations without sounding weird
I can relate!
Unravelling
You were never my dream,
Never the one I lay awake imagining.
But you’re real and you’re unraveling my seams,
And each deft graze makes my blood sing.
They say I should flee from your shadow,
You’re not good for me; I know, I really do.
My head demands I listen, demands I follow,
But heart is screaming for you.
I shudder as I stare at the stars,
For even in their glow, I can see,
A glimpse of your face–a parallax afar,
Yet too near to let me be.
You are a leech, a parasite,
Making a home inside my heart.
Seizing my thoughts, rotting my light,
And you refuse to part.
I shout myself hoarse, screaming I hate you,
But do you know what I truly despise?
It’s no matter what I do,
You never believe my hollow lies.
Is it love, or merely lust,
Obsession, or perhaps addiction.
I know I should think twice before I trust,
But God knows I can’t evict this affliction.
There is nothing safe about you,
O creature of shards and wreck,
But isn’t the caress of a peacock’s plume,
Worth enduring a thousand pecks?
I don’t know why I crave your love so dearly,
I’ve tried to choke every flutter of affection.
But I have failed spectacularly, so all I can do now is beg wearily,
Is to take me wherever you turn.
OH MY GOD YOUR POETRY IS AMAZINGGGG!!!
Also you're enough. Don't let your mind succeed in convincing you that you're less or more than. You're doing great. All the hurdles in life will clear. You just need to have faith in yourself. And if smth goes wrong take it as a lesson.
Love you loads
Thank you so much!!! Your words really mean a lot!
Exhaustion
Am I destined to be a failure,
Is uselessness in my nature?
A fall—sharp and sudden,
Like the dimming of a winter sun.
The kiss of rusted iron,
Paints my flesh a bright crimson.
Muting the world’s relentless noise,
Wearing the skin of choice.
My heart flutters with glee,
When fantasies claw in, promising to free.
Only for the ache of a cracking heart,
To drag me back to that familiar graveyard.
Mockingbird
Are you even real,
Or merely a shadow–
Of a mightier hero,
Of the greater heart?
Every cry a mimic,
Every pride a fraud.
A stand-in for what could've been,
What should've been.
Sweet little mockingbird,
Dreary creature.
Nothing on your own,
But a faded echo.
Sweet little mockingbird,
Don't you cry.
For each cry is a victory,
Torn from the deserving.
Your voice is theirs,
But their songs will never belong to you.
Sweet little mockingbird,
Why can't you ever learn?
Disappear–dull thing,
Cruel are you.
Why survive,
When you are but a parasite?
Kindness, little mockingbird,
Is it your due?
Do not scream,
For your screams are theirs too.
Love, little mockingbird,
Do I owe,
To a sweet little thief,
Like you?
Sweet, I called you,
Are you sweet?
I doubt you are,
You wretched thing.
They yell, little mockingbird,
Yell for gentleness.
For mercy and compassion,
Do they not see what I do?
You can repeat, little mockingbird,
How sound must be your ears.
How trained must your strings be,
To produce a tune so near?
A mockery of life,
But living still.
Perhaps there is a purpose,
To your dreadful existence.
Maybe you aren't a burden,
Sweet little mockingbird.
There's a place for you perhaps,
Sweet little mockingbird.
Maybe you do belong,
In this vast world.