The Fall

He looks like Autumn
Not like Spring with her
Blooming gardens no
Not like Spring at all
But Autumn with his wilt
Autumn with his hues
A vibrancy unlike his sister
With her enticing allure no
He a candidly vivid presence
Beguiles the race with his misery
Effortlessly

His scent is that of Autumn too
Like wind and rain
The Earth must breathe through his skin
And cry from his eyes
Because he smells like his Mother
Natural
Sweet and pure
Yet promising of thunder

He feels like Autumn as well
Like the departure of Summer
And the proximity of Winter
Radiating with the warmth that remains
Of sun that once kissed his flesh
Seducing the cold
A yearner for his Autumn
Not Summer nor Winter
But Autumn with his enigma
Textured with tales of fortitude
And hope

Everything is Autumn about him
And maybe that is why I keep falling
Like a leaf constantly caught
In his season

Undressed

Clothed,
Strip me down
Touch me bare
Your warmth on my chest
Let me sense you on my left
Caress the heart distressed
Make me yearn
For a romance,
Dressed.

Empty Words

And she is eating their words on an empty stomach, glorifying the taste out of desperation, but she knows, oh she knows. That an empty stomach accepts anything edible, and that the satisfaction she feels is nothing special. Just a space filler. A mind fucker. She knows, oh she knows there is better. But she has never known patience when it came to hunger.

Unhandy Love

But you, you fell in love with my hands first. Said a punch from me would be incredible, because you would get to feel my fingers on your face, my rings in your flesh. You paid close attention to my nails too, and made sure to tell me what colours you liked painted on them. You always said that bright colours suited me most, because the dull did not belong to a girl like me. You fell in love with my hands and maybe they loved you back. Maybe that is why I break everything that I touch, because my hands cannot make sense of anything without you. Maybe they never will.

Finite

Let us not love
But be

Let us not be infinite
But feel infinity
Feel flames feel flowers
Burn these hours
Like time is a lie

Feel flowers feel flames
Bring light to these days
Like the sun is powerless

Let us not love
Let us be
The flame and its fierceness
The flower and its fluidity

Let us blaze and bloom

And crumble when we must

Analogy

I was going through my poetry and I came across a poem I wrote quite a while ago. I hated it, the way it sat on the page, too comfortable, too proud. The way it spoke to me, all a little too carefully, like I was glass that broke at the touch. But there was one line that I absolutely loved. It held truth, a genuineness the other lines lacked. It was as if the entire poem was encapsulated in those few words, and maybe that’s why they felt so heavy on my tongue as I read them aloud. That line was impeccable, so I couldn’t discard the poem, although I hated it. I couldn’t let go, the same way I still can’t let you go.

Rose

And if you wish to be blanketed by my soft petals,
you must be willing to suffer the jabs of my thorns.

You must feel them pierce your feet
as you climb the stalk that feeds off my roots,
and you must drape your virgin flesh
with the reds that construe me.

You must welcome the vividity in vulgarity,
so that once you are immersed in my petals
you are not blinded by bland vibrancy,
but celebrating intricate fragility.

Crybaby

Darling I write
like a child when
you’re not here
to
remind my fingers
how to
sing.

Give Me Something

I’ve been wanting to write about us, but every time I come to I sense a fear I’ve only just come to comprehend. You see, I thought I was afraid of creating poetry out of us, but now I realize that what I’m afraid of is not being able to create poetry out of us. I’m afraid that all this pain will not find a way to translate into something poetic. I’m afraid that all this pain will not seek home on paper and rather remain nested between my body tissue, refusing to leave. Refusing to give me something beautiful I can thank it for.

Self Loss

Don’t tell me I don’t know what loss is. I’ve lost more than you can imagine. I’ve lost so many people, people I never thought were capable of leaving a bruise. I remember watching a boy I once knew when I was young in a shopping centre. I remember wanting to talk to him and deciding not to. I remember my trembling body later that night when his name was mentioned in the caption of a picture that showed smashed metal and glass. That boy lost his life that day, and although he didn’t mean much to me I felt the loss. However I didn’t feel it as intensely as I did when the first boy I loved crushed my soul. I lost that boy then and it hurt like hell. I lost him the same way I lost the girl I once called my best friend. But all that loss is not the loss I’m referring to. I’ve lost more than people, because I’ve lost pieces of myself with every single one of them. I’ve lost more than you can imagine. I’ve lost myself. So don’t you dare tell me I have no idea what loss is, for what greater loss is there than this.