mosaic person

theres no better place to share my thoughts than social media | call me mosaic

[madeofmosaic]

im posting my poems on ao3 too! :D

(also to respect my boyfriends wishes, poems i wrote to him wont be posted there and i also deleted it from here)

[embrvx]

- Komm süßer Tod -

I sketched this almost a year ago, final,y took the time to finish it

[madeofmosaic]

being a writer is such a weird thing cuz wdym my search history looks like this bc of a new story idea

[madeofmosaic]

suffocation

a.k.a. i wrote a poem about... family issues...?

shouting, screaming, yelling.

it’s always these three,

but not always out of aggression.

sometimes to make somebody pay attention,

sometimes it's to make someone notice.

the words aren’t always loud, though,

sometimes it’s a sigh filled with madness, hatred, disappointment.

or maybe it’s a stray whisper carried down the hall,

perhaps a barely heard muttering from outside the mood,

from conversations not meant for me to hear,

yet I can't help but listen to it.

but if it's not those, then it's tension.

a tense jaw, with tense arms that are always ready to hit,

but they never land a single punch.

instead, it shuts the door with force that rattles the house,

crashes every small things to the ground,

maybe it lends one single hit to me, but it's forgotten.

also the tension in the air.

no words, no action, no reaction,

just the pure thick air that fills the house,

it’s so unforgiving, and oh so disgusting,

the tense air that suffocates my weak lungs

and strangles my heart till failure.

[madeofmosaic]

question

a.k.a. i wrote a poem about what's after death

I was always curious about what's after death.

is it the happily ever after?

that we were always told about

and believed was true.

is it reunion?

where you'll meet the deceased

and finally hug them again.

is it heaven?

where you don’t need to worry

and everything is good.

is it hell?

where eternal suffering awaits

and you can't escape it.

is it reincarnation?

where you can live a new life

and forget about the old one.

is it nothingness?

where you float in the vastness of emptiness

and don’t feel a thing.

is it the feeling of being stuck?

where you haunt your empty childhood house

and relive memories in agony.

is it grief?

where you mourn every “what if”

and every “what could’ve been” till eternity.

is it acceptance?

where you learn to accept every decision

and die with every mistake.

would you be mad if curiosity killed the cat?...

[madeofmosaic]

all things that are pretty

a.k.a. the title says it all, but i left out the part where i ruin it all lmao

such pretty eyes,

wasted on the blind.

supposed to see the world

and everything that’s good in it,

but it's shadowed by endless tears,

destined to never see the light.

such pretty mouth,

wasted on the mute.

supposed to scream words of justice

and stand up against the wrong,

but it's banished in space,

destined to never be heard.

wasted on the deaf.

such pretty ears,

supposed to hear words of encouragement

and hear the melody of nature,

but it's stuffed with words of hatred,

destined to only hear the negative.

such pretty mind,

wasted on the fool.

supposed to overflow with ideas

and create something new,

but it's plagued with naivety,

destined to believe empty words.

such pretty heart,

wasted on the numb.

supposed to feel things deeply

and be cherished, loved so dearly,

but it's caged by unshatterable bones,

destined to never experience a thing.

such pretty body,

wasted on the hidden.

supposed to be loved by the world

and something to be proud of,

but it's wrapped in insecurity,

destined to never be seen or touched.

such pretty hands,

wasted on the restrained.

supposed to feel the softness of grass

and touch your face gently,

but it’s held back by fear,

destined to bang on self-built brick walls.

such pretty arms,

wasted on the weak.

supposed fight all that’s evil

and turn against the deities above,

but it's trapped in an endless battle,

destined to hold itself till eternity.

such a pretty face,

wasted on the masked.

supposed to express intangible emotions

and change its features accordingly,

but it's locked in a room of mirrors,

destined to look at its monotone reflection.

such pretty legs,

wasted on the slow.

supposed run through endless fields

and catch up to it long-lost self,

but it's stuck in an endless loop,

destined never move forward.

[prophetic-writer]

Being a student and a writer at the same time involves a lot of arguing with yourself over when it is appropriate to write and when it is appropriate to do work.

The answer somehow always ends up being that it's time to sleep, but we keep arguing anyway.

[madeofmosaic]

why are my poem titles slowly starting to lose their meanings😭😭

[madeofmosaic]

dreamers

a.k.a. i wrote a poem about dreams

people snoring down the hallway,

sometimes I wonder what they’re dreaming about.

do they dream about better days?

where everything goes their way,

where they get their job done,

and come home to a quiet house.

do they dream about weird things?

where animals can talk,

where the world is upside down,

and the sky is green.

do they dream about the old days?

where they were young,

filled with freedom and peace,

and they felt like the world will change.

do they dream about the future?

where they’ll be older,

filled with other kinds of worries,

and closer to the end of a journey.

do they dream about others?

who yelled at them on the street,

who once helped when they were kids,

and was once their friend.

do they dream about things?

that one thing they can’t find anywhere,

that one thing they forgot to buy,

and no longer have the money for.

do they dream about desires?

the old love they missed out on,

the words they wanted to say,

and yet they never did.

do they dream about the worst?

where the path ends,

where the black awaits,

and the white appears.

do they dream about conversations?

that one argument they could’ve won,

that one chit-chat that was interrupted,

and never got to really end.

do they dream about losts?

the loved one they never said goodbye to,

the stuffed animal they lost as a child,

and never had the time to find it.

people are snoring, dreaming the night away,

I wonder if I’ll ever get to dream about things like they do.

[daily-spooky]

[madeofmosaic]

love the sin, hate the sinner

a.k.a. i wrote a poem about... a pomegranate again

I spot a something atop the counter, a sin

such a beauty waiting for me to commit to it.

“a murder waiting to happen” my mother says,

“a bloody one at that” she continues.

I ignore her and focus on the commitment,

I expose its inner beauty and I stare in wonder,

“you should put it in water” my mother says again,

what she means is, “drown it, so the sin doesn’t stain your hand”.

and who would want to drown a pretty thing in the water?

such a selfish thing to hide the beauty of a sin,

I want it to stain my hands, for everyone to look at it and wonder.

want it to stain not just my hands, but my everything, my ins and outs.

when I finish its peeling, my mother takes a bit,

“it's quite ripe, so sweet” she states, even though it's sour.

“sweet” she says about a sour sin, but it's supposed to nip at your taste buds,

make you feel its weight.

it's not a sin if it doesn’t hurt, is it?

 “I hate it when it's sour, how could you even like it?” my father says.

I wonder if I’m really at fault to love the sin.

[madeofmosaic]

Waiting game

a.k.a. i wrote a poem about life..?

life is an impatient game.

it doesn’t wait for you, neither does the time and people.

the people you’ll trust and call your friends won’t wait for you to pull yourself together.

nobody waits for you while you tie your shoes, make a phone call.

they won't wait for you while you mourn, they won't wait till you feel better.

they won't cut the rope from around your neck and call for help.

they’ll say the feeling will pass, you just have to move along with it.

don’t stand in place to wait for the right time to move,

you’ll just hold up the line of an always moving journey.

so then stand aside and wait alone.

call for help yourself because others won’t do it.

 stand alone to not hold up someone else.

you don’t have to follow someone else’s path to reach the end.

[madeofmosaic]

wake up

a.k.a. i wrote a poem about… idk any more

I close my eyes, yet I see a hand reaching towards me.

after all the harsh touches I received in my life, the soft touch of the cloaked man was pleasant.

he puts his hands behind my shoulder and I try to flinch away, but I can't.

I find myself not in control of my body, I can’t go away from the cold hand behind my back.

he puts his other hand under my knees as to lift my limp body up.

my eyes are closed, but I can still the man dressed in black.

his hands are soft and icy, colder than my freezing and rigid body.

he lifts my body, but doesn’t move.

I open my eyes, and it automatically locks onto you.

you’re crying and sobbing over my body.

your tears seep into my dirtied clothes and you bunch them in your fists.

I want to reach out and touch your face, wipe away your tears.

tell you that I’m right here, and I’m alright, everything will be alright.

you’ll be fine without me, live a long, healthy life without the burden of my heavy heart pulling down your shoulders.

but I still wish I could hold your face in my hand and kiss your lips as a “goodbye”.

I try to reach for you, but my hands are heavy and my body feels numb in the grip of the reaper.

he starts to walk with my dead body away and far from you, if I could, I’d run back to your open arms that await me.

I wish the best for you, my one and only.

I hope and pray to the gods above that you find someone else. someone who will stay by your side till you take your last breath.

but some part of me wishes that you will hold onto the ghost of my body even after you find someone better.

I hope you’ll still feel my hand on your face and kiss the knuckles on my icy hands.

my soul will always be yours and only yours.

death and rotting can take away my body from you, but you will always hold my heart and soul in your forever young hands.

[madeofmosaic]

grass growing

a.k.a i wrote a poem to my dog who passed away a little over a year go

I always thought time doesn’t go that fast.

first, only a few patches of grass turned into dirt.

you walked on them so much, they became one with the dirt under them.

after a few, I could see a pattern where you always laid down.

guess that was your favourite spot.

I always sat there with you, your body on my lap.

after some more, I could see a larger batch of grass turned into hardened dirt.

I could distinguish how far your chain let you run.

I always wish you could be free as a bird.

to see you run free, was always something I wished for.

then you got weak, sick and old.

and oh, how much I hated seeing you suffer.

you no longer walked that much on the hardened dirt.

it started to soften up.

before I could even grasp the time, it all slipped through my fingers.

you were no longer here to walk down batches of grass.

I always thought time doesn’t fly fast,

so I always chased it, desperately trying to catch up to it.

but this time I couldn’t comprehend how fast it really is.

nearly a year has gone by and I still miss you.

I can no longer distinguish how far your chain let you run.

I can no longer see the paths you used to walk.

I can no longer see where your favourite spot was.

without realizing, the time was moving on without you.

and time caused the grass to grow,

and you are no longer here to stop it.

the grass already started to grow back.

and I can’t stop it from growing.

it will grow back, and none of us can stop it from growing.

P.S.: at least now I know your soul runs free, just like how I always wanted to see. I hope one day I can run alongside you.

[madeofmosaic]

y'all nvm i got logged out on my laptop and idk my password

[madeofmosaic]

omg heyyyy im posting all my remaining poems *runs away*

[write-on-world]

[big-blog-of-cheese-day]