Take it.
The numbers, the digits, the little green glow
of whatever I'm supposed to be proud of.
Take the savings, the someday money,
the cushion I built for a fall
I no longer believe in.
She smiled,
and the whole street turned gold.
The man selling oranges is a saint.
The bus driver, a poet.
Even the pigeons look like they've been
dipped in light.
I could stand in the middle of the crosswalk
and hand out my heart like flyers,
here, take some, there's plenty,
because one curve of her mouth
and I'm a river that forgot it had banks.
People spend their lives
counting, stacking, chasing the next zero,
afraid of the day the balance runs dry.
And I'm over here
a billionaire in the only currency
that ever mattered,
the way she looks up
and the world rearranges itself around it.
So go ahead.
Empty the account.
Let the screen read nothing.
I'll still be standing here,
drunk on the sunlight in her teeth,
rich beyond arithmetic,
every number I've ever owned
bowing its head
to a smile
it could never afford.
As night approached
Pavement struggle
A Dog set alone
No shelter to sleep
No owner love to get
Observing passing car headlights
Stillness in the air
Neighborhood quite it
Night skies watch
Chill breezes
A Dog not feeling at ease
Feeling desperation
A world ignoring showing no attention.
After you left,
I found the jar on the kitchen shelf,
lid gone,
its mouth taking in the afternoon.
At four, the window
set a square of sun inside it.
For twenty minutes
the glass looked occupied.
I began keeping that hour clear.
I left the blinds half-open,
moved the chair out of its path,
turned the jar a finger-width
as the sun shifted lower.
Nothing else in the room
received such care.
Soon, I stopped asking
what the jar could keep.
It held only my attention
until the light moved on.
Still, I washed it.
Still, I returned it to the same mark
on the sill.
By winter,
clouds began arriving before I did.
The jar showed me the room
bent through its empty walls:
the table,
the cold tap,
my own hand passing behind the glass.
I put it back on the highest shelf
and stopped waiting for four.
Weeks later, at dusk,
I saw the jar again.
The room had darkened inside it
before it darkened around me.
For once,
I left it where it was
and watched nothing disappear.
Like crimson bass strings
Like roses twirling in the breeze
Like cherry blossoms
Like tendrils climbing up my knees
Like long port wine stains
Shaping a name long cast aside
Like blazing embers
Smoldering before blazing bright
Like PTSD
Like golden strings around my neck
Like the putrid yellow
After storms leave the world a wreck
I call upon a savior
But your fell voice is all that comes
Like jaundiced bile
Spewing from my torn and blackened lungs
Staring at your shadow
Long fingers reaching out like claws
To scratch straight down my back
To free my bones for you to gnaw
I've given up October
And cast poor June upon the fire
Haunted by the Reaper's chains
Shackled by the prince of liars
The scent of smoke surrounds you
The smell of family and of home
And of purple bruises
Which day to day would often roam
Pull my sleeve up higher
Hide the reminder of your kiss
Even after it fades
There was no recovering from this
Having a boyfriend or girlfriend is not love....But Having someone in your life on whom you have blind faith that even if you hurt them to the extreme they will still hold your hand and say:..."I was, I am, and I will always be yours"
That's Love......
We have seen our true form as living light,
outside time, as awareness self-aware,
dwelling in peace, lustre soft white yet bright,
fabric of consciousness, naked and bare.
Jiva as body-mind, Self as Atma,
are both us, immanent and transcendent,
birthed by light of God or Paramatma,
our innate being-ness, bliss resplendent.
The truth eternal becomes apparent,
when concepts we hold onto are released,
that as vaporised presence transparent,
the veil is pierced when thought ripples have ceased.
With cessation as our meditation ~
We become the flame, the bliss pulsation
THAT WHICH SHOULD NOT BE
A long forgotten kiss
Lies bitter on my tongue
Like salt and copper pitch
Blood, and secrets none
A wind worn sail
Hangs loose across my arms
A lash, the Devil's tail
Breaks the morning calm
Dreams of touching you
Breathes fire to my wounds
Ridicule and ruin
Burn, like falling stars
That which should not be
A shell, the desert Sun
Driftwood in the sand
Water, there is none
A reputation like mine
Ain't born in the afternoon
It crawls out of the alleys
Where whispers sharpen
Themselves
Into pocket-knives.
I walk through rumors
The way old gods walk
Through storms-
Unbothered,
Unmoved,
Already knowing the wind
Never had the final say.
They throw accusations
Like stones at a monument
They different build.
But I'm carved from a truth
That remembers every strike
And still stands upright.
Integrity is the currency
You can't Counterfeit
Noise is cheap.
And when they try to rewrite
My name
With their shaky little stories,
My reputation answers
In a voice older than their
Shawdows:
I was built to outlive
Your version of me.
After you left
It was never the same
No one seemed to understand
That You Weren't Coming Back
I tried calling you
On the first day
You said
Nothing
You didn't pick up
I tried again
Still
Nothing
I began to realize that
You wouldn't
Ever
Answer
But I
Didn't
Give
Up
On your birthday,
I called
Waited
Cried for the rest of the day
On Christmas Eve,
I called
Waited
You don't have anyone else to be with
On Valentines Day,
I called
Waited
Sent you a box of chocolates
Three days later,
It came back
With your handwriting,
Return to Sender
I
Cry
and
Cry
Why
Did
You
Leave?
Yet another quote on the internet that i read
"If the person you love the most puts a gun to your head, what would be your last words?"
"It's okay, it's not your first time" I'd say
The sword you've twisted in me, again and again
My flesh healed long before, but it remembers the wounds it held
Your twisted and beautiful smile faded out deep beneath the folds of your face
But this is your doing, isn't it?
"Don't worry, it's not my first demise from the hands i hold dear"
No tears left to fall, no scars to hide
I have succumbed to the darkness i once thought was the light
Yet another quote on the internet that i read
My heart pulled out of my chest
Am a mess of your worse intentions
And now, am just dead.
Gets tougher and tougher
They powdered your buffer
And buffered your puffer
When found that you suffer...
Mental Metro Central-
Residential Rental-
Open Dystopian-
Anti-Utopian-
Fallopian Syndrome
SHES A RIVER
Her life is like that of a river,
persistent and unpredictable.
She carved her life in the California mountain peeks
following the creeks,
creating her own current at just fifteen—
forge on
she dammed fears and tears that tore at her spirit
childish emotions raged inside
Forge on
once she would fall
many came to see the wonder of it all
but eventually a comfortable place called home.
was the place she felt most alone
forge on
All that trapped her today would eventually be torn away
resurfacing through the cracks of where she had been,
forge on
She smiled glistening to see the sun, her old friend
to be united with something so bright and warm again
then fog crept in to elude her
and the sun crept out to remind her
Forge on
And at the fork of her life’s journey,
a paradise awaits—
one worthy of envy.
Forge on
To our dying breath
If what leads on up
Her's, mine, our shared outlooks through
Darkens, grievous, o'er
As much will you, Earth
Admire as adore.
And with a bending
Bloom to smell weakness!
Worshippers, same! Dazed pilgrims!
For with each trek made
As bright will yet, Earth
Shrine-like be outlayed.
THAT OTHER WORLD
When morning falls upon your cheek
And dawn's last breath has fallen, weak
Your eyes still closed, that other world
In curled pose, unknown, you seek
Unshared, uncared, all those who need
Like I, alone
I watch you sleep
Bare minimum?
Yes, I somehow learned to settle for it.
But woe to the debt of sorries I owe to myself.
Woe to the promises I tore up with my own hands.
What a love, so full of sorrow and despair!
Oh, what am I still doing
in a house once filled with love,
now empty?
The love has gone,
but resentment has moved in.
-LilitaWaliWrites??
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