Slightly Off Poetry

You can call me Eclipse 🙃 I write poetry in my free time, I’d love to share a bit of my mind with anyone who wants to read. I’ve been writing for around five years, and it’s one of my favorite hobbies. I’ve recently felt like sharing the things I’ve been working on, so without further ado— Enjoy!

[marzipanacademy]

i wish you’d walk over me, physically

mix my body with dirt and concrete

witness me taking my last breath,

be the owner of my last heartbeat

bury me, burn me, eat me

make me nonexistent

let me go, let me finally be free

decide my fate, be my death’s assistant

erase me from this world and every other

be the last one to remember

a memory so sweet,

sweet like the smell of my rotting body

the body that was once so tender

[slightlyoff-poetry]

Housebroken

Leave me on the shelf,

With collectible toys—

Dust collecting me.

Irreplaceable.

despicable.

Just grab me by the collar,

And throw me down the stairs.

But I don’t wanna be free

Trying to be free

Is like

jumping through fiery rings—

I was never trained for this,

And now

I’ve bit too hard this time.

So,

Put me down

Like the dogs that were left outside.

©slightlyoff-poetry

(Photo from Pinterest)

[slightlyoff-poetry]

From beneath

Among consuming shadows,

Maybe somewhere in between,

A fire burns fiercely,

As oxygen depletes.

Still the fire burns, defiant,

And still it grits its teeth;

Flame rises from collapse—

Life rises from beneath.

It never burned quite bright

Enough to fill a room,

But now it’s learning how to shine,

And broken foundations

Become fuel.

©slightlyoff-poetry

(Photo from Pinterest)

[slightlyoff-poetry]

Hidden in the sand

Always within reach—

Never within view,

All the lovely things within me,

Wish you saw me too.

I’ve held my hands out wide—

But you kept slipping through,

I’ve tried to catch a waterfall,

In a heart that was too true.

I want within my arms to cradle,

Little flecks of sun,

To warm the part you’ll never notice,

And melt through what has begun.

Loving,

Breaking,

Heartfelt,

Aching,

All hidden in the sand—

I wish to scoop it in my arms,

And hold it in my hands.

But the ocean rushes in again—

Cold hands on my skin,

Filling all the cracks in me,

Where yearning once had been.

The clock within my heart keeps ticking,

What once was there subdued—

Yet, all the lovely things within me

Still wish you saw me too.

©slightlyoff-poetry

(Photo from Pinterest)

[slightlyoff-poetry]

Resurgence

Rising rising

From the earth

Ever falling

from the hearth

Twisting Turning

Into flames

Ever burning

Ever changed

Give me life

Take it away

Yet see my hunger—

Shaped by rain

Rising rising—

Still I’ll fall

Ever breaking

Never small.

©slightlyoff-poetry

(Photo from Pinterest)

[slightlyoff-poetry]

Where the Wind Won’t Even Go

Here lies my dignity—

Wasted and twisted

Crushed beneath

Hands not my own

Here lies my integrity—

Under stone, granite, dirt, and dust

Resting in the graveyard

Where the wind wont even go

Couldn’t resist

Dragging me through

The core of the earth

And I let out a cry—

dry

sticking to my throat

My eyes

My lips

Til my lungs are vacuumed shut

and my stomach caves in

©slightlyoff-poetry

(Photo from Pinterest)

[quaintobsessions]

when the gods were young

Bare bookshelves drip with vines that weave empty spaces green yielding to purple and red, because in their overgrowth the branches remember

having once been wild. In this emerald umbrage, this slippery strain of foliage, I rewrite us word for word as if we never burned down –

our fall-tinted underworld, where your smallest gesture went into another universe tilting on veins in skin, breath going in, held fast and growing faster.

Cresting crowned in fire you grew halos out of imaginings darker than the present reality and I in your hold became a vessel not for words

but for a time before words that, animal, lives in the bones of us – this sensation I remake and I am not silent,

I have never been silent.

[aprilfoolfrog]

Hibernate

I want to put on my favorite oversized shirt and lay down in the rain.

I want to lay in the long wet grass.

You can engulf me if you like.

I’ll join the fallen leaves.

Bury me in piles of snow-

I will arise in the spring.

Written by AprilFool

[slightlyoff-poetry]

How to be Nothing

Don't eat too much

Don't sleep too much

Please be perfect all the time

Eat some more

Sleep some more

Live your life in a straight line

Don't detest

Don't confess

Don't upset

Don't regress

Don't Insist

Don't resist

Don't be human

Don't exist.

©slightlyoff-poetry

(Photo from Pinterest)

[slightlyoff-poetry]

Sit By Me

I wonder if you’ll sit by my grave when I’m gone,

Reading tear-stained letters

That I swore were only poetry.

When you see a dove,

I beg you not cry.

They were supposed to mean hope—

Until the little one fell,

And the ground became sky.

I’m not sure if I’ll fall when I’m gone.

Maybe I’ll grow wings—

Maybe I’ll finally fly.

I always wanted to fly.

©slightlyoff-poetry

(Photo from Pinterest)

[slightlyoff-poetry]

Weeds and Wildflowers

The flowers blooming,

So suddenly uprooted,

Regretfully, weeds

Regardless of doubt—

From the cracks in the pavement,

Wildflowers grow

©slightlyoff-poetry

(Photo from Pinterest)

[slightlyoff-poetry]

When Saints Burn

Your stained glass lips,

Are pressed against,

My rotting, golden, heart

And the glass is stained—

because if it’s not,

The mural falls apart.

That’s what you’d say—

things don’t make sense,

Like how these lines don’t write themselves,

Like the lines within my rotting brain—

That you wrote with a spell.

And every single shattered piece reflects another lie—

Realizing only took refracting through

The sunlight in my eyes.

And God, I thought you were a saint;

But your hands were laced with sin,

And it only took a sinner’s touch,

To take something within—

And you crushed it into fine gold bits,

Fed me through pursed lips.

Thinking stone won’t even notice—

Thinking stone would never flinch.

Did you think I’d met Medusa?

Me and her would be good friends,

But stone doesn’t have a heart that beats.

That it has to sew and mend.

So I’ve finally wiped my eyes,

and gotten off the burial mound,

And now notice your cathedral

has burned slowly to the ground.

I see now what I couldn’t;

Your stained glass wasn’t rose,

But brown like wilted grass,

And red—like bloodied nose

© slightlyoff-poetry

(Photo from Pinterest)

[slightlyoff-poetry]

Slightly scented

I am but a candle,

Brilliantly bright,

I’ll let myself burn down—

So you may have a little light.

And when the light has simmered down—

And my wax has melted low,

Let it dribble warmly down cold fingers,

And fall into unknown

© slightlyoff-poetry

(Photo from Pinterest)

[slightlyoff-poetry]

I just love this one, probably my favorite of my recent poems 😭

[slightlyoff-poetry]

The Moth and The Moon

chasing chasing,

never finding

reaching, reaching,

never touching

flying, flying—

ever falling

glimmering, glowing—

life’s the light above.

the moth in love with the moon.

©slightlyoff-poetry

(Photo from Pinterest)

[archivevaughn]

I write, I write.

I rot, I rot.

I win, I lose.

I lose, I gain.

Some days are heavy,

some days are light.

It doesn’t matter,

I must maintain.

[slightlyoff-poetry]

Polarity

(Three poems)

©slightlyoff-poetry

[slightlyoff-poetry]

Mirrored Eyes

The reflective mirror of your eyes

I see myself within—

In the little flecks of sunlight

That dance across your skin.

A beauty I had never know

Never thought I could—

To love myself as you love me,

I think one day I would.

And I hope I’ll do the same for you;

Let me take your hands in mine,

And show you all the worth I see

Reflected in your hazel eyes

© slightlyoff-poetry

(Photo from Pinterest)