love, betrayal, poetry

Is it romantic how all my elegies eulogize me?

[poeticaphorisms]

Welcome to my gallery displaying my mind's pandemonium. Here you will find poetry written by me.

My name— Violet

She/her

[poeticaphorisms]

A face in the clouds

In the clouds high up

I saw a face,

A face so far

And yet one I could touch.

A smile I shared

But not the innocent twinkle in the eye.

So distant and so close

I could find it in a mirror

But its never the same—

Too old

Too regretful

Too pained

Its never enough

No matter how hard I try

The face belongs to someone else

On the outside—

Trying and failing.

Atleast thats something it shares

With the face in the clouds.

[poeticaphorisms]

This January...

This January I'm no longer someone you know

But last January I remember how you thought the flowers bloomed because of me

I remember the "I love you" and "I'm sorry",

A billion, but I still do

Like how I still remember your coffee order

Too much coffee

I told you

But you wouldn't listen

After all this January I'm no longer someone to you.

[poeticaphorisms]

I wrote about our future together in my letter.

—I found it in our time capsule,

You probably forgot about it.

I didn't,

Marked the date.

Waited around the year.

Now the day came,

And so I lunged for my past hopes—

Like fireflies put in water,

They were pretty but never possible.

Writing that letter,

It was like seeing a star knowing I was too late;

Seeing the light of a now dead star's past.

It hurt to see a ray of sunshine in that dark ink—

I knew it wouldn't last but delusion gripped me,

Held my hand through it all.

(Image taken from pinterest)

[poeticaphorisms]

A moth once warned me of the dangers of an open flame,

It told me this story—

"I was in the park,

Flying towards some light,

When i noticed

Light emanating from a distance.

I went towards it

Found a light so bright it made my little heart leap

I flew closer and closer to it

It was warm

But once I was close it scorched me,

Now I'm all burnt.

All I wanted was warmth and light

But instead I received fire and a light so bright it made my head dizzy."

And so I continued my walk home,

Pondering upon it,

And told everyone

"The warmth that you so longed would wrap around you,

The same light you wished would guide you,

Lit your path,

Beware, for it may just be the cause of your burning and blinding."

[poeticaphorisms]

Where does it hurt?

Where does it hurt?

In my heart which beats and pumps anxiety

Or my lungs collapsing with fear?

Where does it hurt?

In my knees

Weak from running away;

The demons still chasing me

Or in my shoulders hurting from the wax wings I bore?

Where's the hurt?

In my mind when the expectations shattered inside

Or in my eyes when I saw the ocean below as my death, not mirror?

[poeticaphorisms]

Favourite Diary

I'm everyone's favourite diary to write in.

Every new white page smooth and ready to be written on.

The last one with impressions of heavy hearts.

I only wake to be written in

Sleep to have enough of me

To be given away.

Tell me I'm the only one they're telling this to

I listen all day long

For years and years on.

Do they remember I can hear it all?

Why is it that I only find time

To listen to this clockwork heart of mine

In the hours shaded from daily life?

The ticking of my heart continues

Keeps me up and I won't complain

For in the singing of early birds

All's a miss for the favourite diary.

I exist but in writing of others.

Shredded paper in the trash bin

No one knows what is written.

[poeticaphorisms]

Why I fell in love with myself

I fell in love with myself when I was five,

—Frolicking around with no worries in my favourite dress.

I fell in love with myself when I tried to tell a story and found joy and comfort.

I fell in love with myself when I was eight,

Completing all my school work neatly

A star I proudly had on my hand.

I fell in love with myself when I was ten,

Always finding the good in everything.

I stayed in love with myself when the thunderstorm struck me down to a new sapling again.

I stayed in love with myself when I let the fire within me explode.

I fell in love with myself again when I made my friends laugh yesterday.

[poeticaphorisms]

In the corner of the room

That thing I refuse to acknowledge,

Stands and stares at me.

That cracked conscience

I refuse to even glance at for a second.

—Its hands are bleeding,

Eyes with tears slipping down to the lifeless cheeks,

Its body clearly malnourished

—A thin frame barely there.

You'd think it'd be easy to miss

But its ghastly appearance forces my eyes to it

But I resist

I force my eyes away

Not focusing on it for even a millisecond.

My eyes, like a butterfly,

Never settling on a thing for more than a second

The conscience, like the hands of a child,

Struggling to grab me.

I cripple at the mere sense of it being anywhere near me.

I dispose the memory of its existence

Every day

Throw myself at things

But the thing never leaves.

So I named it

Instead of wishing for it to disappear

I cling to it like it did to me even before

hope not even death separates us

As I've now felt abandonment myself.

And so I caress the thin, pale cheeks of the power-hungry monster I always saw in the mirror

[poeticaphorisms]

Will I ever be freed?

Do I have it in me to free myself from this horrid place or

Of the fear of how life is when you're not held back by past memories?

What do you do when the fear

of freedom itself baffles you

to the point that you refuse to take it?

[poeticaphorisms]

In another life I would take your birthday,

Have the same features as you.

Like your eyes ocean-honey,

Your innocent smile.

Your outspoken-ness.

I would take form of you.

In another life,

Beyond your grave—

The matter and energy

That once made you

Would wander

And find my mind,

Its thoughts and rudimentary rhythms

And adopt both into a single sentient being.

From the womb to the grave,

To the stars,

And back to beating blood.

[poeticaphorisms]

I carry my grief

For memories with people that never were mine.

—A mother mourning her child,

Gone too soon.

Their faces

Always blocked by a box

A box tying my eyes to itself.

The box—

Every carving on it begging for attention

Gilded but with seven monsters in it.

I'm no Pandora,

—One who must open the box

Shielded by oblivious state of a mind

With nothing but a burning desire

For anything it wishes for

But I'm not one to never open the box either

A dreamer—

How would I resist all the charms of that petty box?

I'm no great saint

I never resist

No control

I weep endlessly

Like a widow.

This pretty box,

Gilded and carved.

Their features were the same.

Eyes that shone under the sun—

Golden.

Those fingers that warped around my throat.

Air depleting from my lungs.

I know what I did—

I did my best.

But the glass shards scraped my skin

Dawn and dusk

The clocks hovering over yesterday's numbers

I waxed and waned with the moon

Everything came back

But not my everything.

[poeticaphorisms]

So tell me dear,

Did the alignment of the stars

Burn bright enough to light you up again

Or did they scathe you like me?

[poeticaphorisms]

I'll take another one

To collect and store in my wooden heart.

I am but a human.

My emotions like acid

Scalding me.

Screeching in my head

Gently kept in,

I cradle them like a child,

Born but never alive.

I grieve solemnly,

Collecting more and more,

Till my breath strikes midnight—

Nothing left in my lungs aside from grief

All visible around turns to an illusion in my mind

[poeticaphorisms]

The light oozing out of the cracks of the floorboards

The cracks where you hid your love for me

Hits my face differently than all the other rays I've ever felt

Below the floorboards that were shut forcefully

Memories held by the ground

Fallen as far low as they could

Not deep enough

I still recall it all in the silence between my fast heart beats

I reach deep down for everything

Even your low self esteem

Bringing our love from the skies

Blue ribbons

Down to the ground

In mud

Buried forever

Atleast forever

If not us

Then atleast the death of us.

[fearlesstorturedpoet]

Pic from @rinvzha on pinterest

I let the lamp burn too long,

Waiting, hoping,

Somewhere in me I thought was a shard of knowing that you'd come back

But you never did

The lamp started a fire throughout

Scathing all that I had and knew,

I was forced to retreat into my sights

With no one left to believe them I turned them into folklore

Waiting ardently for you

Thinking that one day,

Maybe you'd return

You'd have remembered and grab my hand

Pledge that you always had and will love me

And that the storm that brisked you away was brief and short-lived

I kept waiting

Reciting my folklore repeatedly

I thought I would recite to you my life

You'd tilt your head and laugh

Misunderstand my aphorisms

But you never did any of it.

Never came back.

The doorsteps keep squealing about you,

Your name echoing through the burnt house,

But you never came home.

[fearlesstorturedpoet]

Sailor lost at sea you were,

And I was the lighthouse keeper

On the desolute tower.

Your eyes were blue as the oceans,

Treacherous, ever-changing.

Mine were the woods,

—calm and serene.

A love born because of the waves

Had to die when they passed away.

I showed you the light but you were enchanted,

Lost to the sea,

I could never hamper you back to the shore.