never ending worries
gust of snow flurries
thinking of rhyming words
stumble upon nouns and verbs
penning down my feeling
oh, so healing
words put together
it feels like a feather
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Second Quarter of 2023. [June]
art works and poetry, chronological order.
please don’t judge my art...i’m not exactly a Bob Ross descendant.
Bereft Soul - June 7
10:25 - 10:30am
No longer jittery,
She resigned herself in misery.
All that's left
Is a soul bereft.
She's had enough
And is tired to be tough.
It's a slumber so deep,
Days and days to be asleep.
That's all she wants
And hope someone grants.
Cross Roads - June 8
8:22 - 8:23pm
Just when I was feeling defeated and close to letting go,
The in between comes, leading me to crossroads.
Just when I thought my journey was ending...
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The first person needed. The last person considered.
- An autobiography.
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UNSOCIAL
.
.Is it just me
Or do you feel it too
The erosion of connection.
An unneed to know anyone from close
Because there are maggots in
the wounds.
And none really want to heal.
They have learned to live with
Stench
Of rotting conscience
And wilting flesh.
I tried, oh I tried
To find some good
But they hide it so well
Behind toothy smiles
Posed so readily
And hugs that tumble
Out in spates.
And it would have been fine
To let them, in pieces,
Into my world
If they hadn't turned their
Sourness on me.
Their putrid venom
Trying to find my veins.
It would have been fine
If they hadn't tried
To knife me down in half.
Or smear me with stains.
I see, I see too well
Their incapacity, to go in.
Their reluctance to face a mirror
And the inability to reflect.
I rue the day I let myself
Change me
To fit into their distorted world.
To become someone unrecognisable,
When I lay down with myself in my bed.
I am beginning to shed now
People from under my skin.
My hundred avatars
I did not want to become.
And layer by layer
I see my skin peel.
I feel better as I claim myself back.
I like the face that is emerging
I recognise its beauty and will
I feel peace in knowing
Inspite of all that came to mar me
I do love myself still.
.
.
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Oh, I wonder if I'm the first person you think of when you hear the word traitor.
I deserve that name and reputation; I call myself that too in front of the mirror.
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Why do i have so many thoughts, they are driving me crazy.
Why am i always going anywhere, instead of somewhere?
I don't want to be demure or respectable by Mary Oliver
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Things left unsaid,
Haunt us when we’re dead.~
.
Don’t hold back.
~hMc~
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Yuanfen
Anarchistic atheist, you don’t believe
in anything,
Yet you still suck the poison juice
from your Agent Orange tree.
Devotion stains your fickle fingers green
with wax wedding rings,
From gum ball machines pulsating
with a purple putty sheen.
Waves of canned laughter surfing the red rustling sea
never cling,
To wild blueberry barrens
that whisper in the autumn breeze.
Hot pink jingling ice cream trucks begin to flee
from school crossings,
As guards guide children into cages
where they long to be free.
Yellow school buses like great white sharks seethe
and swarm while circling
This hurricane rage swirling
and surging inside my daydreams.
Summer solstice has turned her back on me,
sans solace, leaving
Cracked crystal spiders on windshields
from frenzied fists of fury.
Lost like stray dogs on Praia da Luz Beach,
we’re cross waves rippling
That forever roam with ghosts
of missing girls along the sea.
I never bought train tickets for this tragedy
on hope’s wings –
A passenger in this parade
I never wanted to be.
Poised to jump into a blackhole fantasy
we’re barreling
Toward a land where smoke and mirrors
are what your false prophets see.
Chasing rainbows, your pheromones lure me
back to us, I sing –
O’ Yuanfen! My faith in you
will become the death of me!
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A blank sheet of paper is a fabric of metamorphosis
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Lust
Oh you exquisite thing!
A dainty rose; petals so tender.
Wandering every square inch of you,
I pry open like a hungry thing.
Tracing my lips over the length of your tongue,
I hold you close.
Feasting on you,
my heart flutters and flutters.
I relinquish with joy,
to yell out your name
over and over.
Oh you fine little human,
A goddess; shaped perfect.
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Pitong Buwan
[old poems - 2022 edition]
Pitong buwan na rin ang nakalipas
nang mistula ako ay naging karakter
sa isang kwento pangbata.
Ngunit ang karakter ay di pansin,
O tila isang napadaan lamang sa kalye.
Hindi tulad ng darating na akda,
Kung saan para ba'y naging espanyol
sa isang lupalop na dati rati
ay aking napapanuod lang din.
9:31 - 9:34pm
December 9
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"PAINKILLERS"
She showed him her fangs;
Blood drenched they were;
She danced around the campfire;
Singing old witch tails;
She made him feel;
No more of the devil's pills;
No summer time chills;
For this love he could kill;
Heartbeat chilled;
The devil's deals;
Souls descending from hills;
No more pills.
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The entrance
I turned around and saw it
The first time, I felt I had imagined it
It felt as if the sky had lit up into flames
And threw a new building in front of me
But there it was
I paused and listened to the tantalising sounds
Of chirps of birds and playful amusements from squirrels
I felt my heart beat through my chest
Aching to open the gate
Loosened my grip, I walked to the entrance
The golden gate awaited
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She glides
Disseminating
Star seeds
From her
Hessian bag
They float
Sparkle and glitter
Lighting up
The sky
For her kin
To appreciate
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And now as we watch the sun burn into the night
You kiss forever into my lips
And I whisper
I’ll forever love you like this
- Ruby Winters
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Going “home” to places i used to roam.
I miss you more every day.
I hope this time you’ll stay.~
~hMc~
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