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Best Poems Written by Dilara Aydin

Below are the all-time best Dilara Aydin poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Dilara Aydin Poem

Let Me Be Weak in Your Arms

{"Hands reach out to my entire entity as in response I thrash against my restraints, the ambiance I sucked in suffocated my lungs, and the smoky brume in the enclosure made me convulse rearwards and cough as far as my lungs could conceivably acquire. 
Inhale, exhale, the polluted magnitude replenished my insides as the atrociousness crept up to me, the culmination fresh against my cranium as the adrenaline scampered into my arteries and demanded me to bring back the dead; the deceased inside of me. 
The stamina surplus dignified when my touch aversion commenced to proceed itself into motion, hysteria filled me with a sense of urgency; I desired to let out a riot yet frivolity came out. 
Hands were trekking all over me like a connotation of a city; an intentional attempt to tranquilize me and make me powerless against them. 
My back was open and callous; they initiated their procedure, humiliating me, and demoralizing me, to them it was enthralling and mesmerizing; a masterpiece they fed themselves was human fear. 
I felt the malady amplify and ricochet into my abdomen, 
trapped, 
trapped, 
trapped inside of my own body. The hands were creeping towards my inlet as they shrouded around, and sucked my whiff out; into the void, nothingness. On that winter night; we cried, we bled, we yearned, we perished, we died, and something inside went extinct. 
The revolt against our own selves made us die, a hundred times, a thousand times, hurt spurred inside, the coldness brewed and cremated against our flesh. 
Rotting and Decaying; our lowdowns were eternally exposed to the world and we couldn’t haul back; nobody would take us earnestly. 
One two three, I count the steps to my expiration. 
Four five Six, the picture radiating through my dome was that of my preadolescence, I would run, we would fly as we once did, as far as our steps took us, and we would never look heretofore. 
Seven eight nine, it’s time.
Ten, grant the permission and allow me to bring back the dead inside of me, allow me to revolt against society, allow me to rebel and grant us our sovereignty, our freedom. Death demands me to bring back the dead. Let us be free from our restraints, let us flow scarcely through the air as we once did in our childhood, let us not be ashamed when we shed our incisions, let us be powerless, don’t throw it in my face when I…
Please, let me be weak in your arms and break down before you."}

Details | Dilara Aydin Poem

You Will Burn and You Will Burn Out

{"I have launched myself through the fields that descend towards an endless rampage, 
Of my soul, 
We draw ourselves into it hand in hand, 
We ignore the flames igniting in its pedestal, the darkness grants our free entryway into the bottom, endless pits of hell. 
The sentiments are ferocious and they once allowed you to die, burn to the core. The severity of the things that you utter about, on and on without a stop sign for you to just end it all, your lies keep on incarcerating my soul, a slash with every feverous act. 
You are a wily individual who is sophisticated in the fine arts of control, gaining control above me. The sun set above us when we were running around as kids, the other rivalries would be there, present to make us miserable, and their laughs would breech me to no end. 
We would want the ground to swallow us up a whole. 
My empathy only goes so long, and they break whatever inside of you is leftover, famished though tarnished thoughts keep us awake till morning. When it was finally time to start the day all over again, I lay dead in my covers with my arms crossed to prevent hysteria. I watch you from afar at times, my deplorable mania suffocates me mentally, and emotionally drained from being so lost all the time,
 I cannot track the path back to my home, or there is no home after all, it has been replenished and permanently erased, the house, or shall I say houses which my childhood went through, almost as a river, guiding me to the shores. It secured me safely as that fastened seatbelt pressed against my abdomen in an attempt to prevent serious injuries upon death. Miraculous, the invention was, but I entered my teen years and forgot to buckle up, click it into place, and be safe. 
Or perhaps, we did not forget to buckle up, death called us from the voyages, and we responded by this inaction. 
The rivers have guided us until 18, and after this, we will be tarnished on the streets with the feeling in our hearts diminishing and hindering away into the shallowness of the seas we look upon. 
Why have I felt so numb and void, my fingers prick and pinch my flesh in an attempt and effort to feel something, anything…let the shallow river guide me through the shallowness of the water, but we lost our traces of it, and the river has decreased its attention in protecting us. 
A hand that was on our shoulders, guiding us has left when we turned away from our youth, what guided us now did not come through the connection, they numbed us so we could not get hurt but the only enveloping part that hasn’t cease to exist, 
I shout up into the clouds even though nobody is listening expect for God, because, nobody knows you are alive. 
Not even yourself, this was partially an inaction of, violets and lavender gracing my presence. To decrease my trepidation, to lie on the moon or imagine it twinkling against, my hues. 
This was the last time I had ever felt, the Xanax wasn’t enough, and the sentiments would get all too much but now? 
The numbness was making me drown, 
the void, 
was a bottomless pit from which I couldn’t grant myself freedom, 
there was not a hand for my guidance myself, bristling on my shoulder blades, 
whispering, with reassurance coating multiple layers against its words, that every night will come to an end, and the rays of the sun, 
will be your resurrection, and bring you back to life, and every grief, will come to an end, 
Then, 
Why do I feel as if I’m drowning in the sea that once guided me?"}

Details | Dilara Aydin Poem

Cross My Heart and Hope To Die

{Three o'clock on a December afternoon,
the sky is opaque as my nature has stood out, the rain drizzles down my windows and I am distinctly reminded how it once drizzled down my back; the lacquers of a reflection of thyself.
I confiscate and hold back the urge to delineate my finger along its taken shape, my fingertips would collide with the chilliness shrouding it.
I yank myself back from quiescence and take a seat on a beanbag settled in the norm of the room; a vague manifestation of my repressed preadolescent remembrances, and spirit. My lips part and exhale the caffeine into my body; the one that lacks vitamins, vitamin depletion but I had not known caffeine was the origin that sucked the life out of me yet cured the emptiness protruding from the resonant chasms within.
I illusion the shallow surface seizing me inside;
My heart does a backflip at the thunder; though it shan’t scare me; or frighten me anymore for I am not a child; though those rumbles that sprain the vulnerable remind me of bashing screams that ignite through the flimsy cardboard barricades of the West, hysterical and agitated shrieking and lamentation at the ones who claim to love each other till the remarkable end;
they’d die for each other; they had once vowed.
Though promises remain bedraggled, throw them away as litter and do not allow them to resurface.
My conjectures perform a disparity circus, they paddle away on the diminutive tricycle almost as a child would taunt me and bully me in my youth; haunting. I despair at the attempts to believe in love again; the bouquet of wet trees and soil sheathes me as I unhinge the window from its closed wares. All at once, The breeze clasped my hair and I let it saturate me for I was already, falling from the veneer of my existence; I still waver between the screaming fits downstairs of my hand-me-down apartment; the neighbors would eventually dial 911; that I am sure of.
Authorities whom vowed to protect the country would cruise on the crime backdrop yet they would be blinded by the shattered and busted plates to even spare a glance at my destroyed crux; my flesh robbed into pieces. They ignore nor acknowledge me as I flee from the bungalow of horrors who have embezzled, my youth. We recite in bed with my sibling every nightfall before spawning our eyes to go into an alternative dreamland. Shutting off our nightlights for whom kindled a flame of shelter we have forgotten of; one day, this will all be over, and the childhood stolen from us would be regarded as the influence of the ghastliness,
To love.
The doctors of our minds interrogate us upon our beliefs, and we are left bedazzled as they are, they yearn to diagnose us with an astonishing case; open the folders and find the slight representation of our lives that lie deceased in chronology; they diagnose us finally.
Cognitive dissonance, they dwindle and write down the prescriptions and remind us to grow addicted to it, even though they do not serve an utterance upon that respective nominee, but stupid isn’t shafted against our foreheads. We foresee the outcome but swallow it dry anyway in a poor attempt to premeditate our expiration and to suffer inadequately.
My whole body pivots frozen in and out and my gapes take in the sequestration of the chamber that incarcerated the tears of a child; for it would not kindle with subdued equilibrium no longer.
We do not believe in love, for the vocalists in our heads remind us that it is indeed a bogey; the magnificence that portrays it is a work of fiction and fantasy. With no opening; nor getaway with our cars;
We drift through the highways and pray to not be caught amidst our juvenile endeavors.
We do not believe in it. We swear to you, cross our hearts, and hope to die, stick a needle in our eyes. We do not accept such an atrocity. So what does it all come down to? We are the outcomes of heartbreaks from an early age;
to truly love is to inevitably suffer."}

Details | Dilara Aydin Poem

This Is Not A Love Poem

{“The day I loved you was my homicide.
The day I loved you I was petrified, the day I loved you I was humiliated of myself that I was indeed capable of it, the day I loved you the satellites in my brain reached paradise. Or the moon, or Saturn, or Uranus with its hefty darkness of scumming rays of blue or the stars that I trace with the remainder of you.
I cannot even reiterate how many times my cranium got blocked by its sensors once the realization of you crept into my soul.
I hear the touches of laughter of the people that weren’t even there, I’m going crazy, I’m going crazy how many times I’m going to etch these words into my journal, I’m going insane through and through somebody help me get out of this Blume, And as the cackles and the giggles fill my ear, they only trigger me more with their heinous words regarding my existence.
In the bathroom stalls or everywhere I go, it is implemented into my heart and mind of how undeserving I am so I run away from your sight never to be seen again.
This isn’t a love poem, this isn’t a love poem, I regard everyone in this sentence, this paragraph, these words I say, and what I do according to my belief against all odds.
They ignore my existence and I have the lonely thought malevolently churning in the depths of my stomach, that I am undeserving and that I’ll never be enough.
Nothing I do will ever suffice, nothing I do is the norm of what society wants me to be yet you still want me and I don’t know what I did to deserve your heart.
All I did was throw a stone into the shallow lakes and waited for it to sink into the surface beneath it all, or our chemistry with people, the lightning never ignites between us two, it only pries us apart so let me be free of your arms and allow me to run away from your side up the hills and down into the city so the streams of your slight presence won’t catch up and I run as if something is on my tail ready to catch me with its claws, hinge me to a tree and leave me there to face you again.
I have been running away all my life and now it is catching up to me, I wait for your presence yet I despise it even though it’s all I’ve ever wanted for me to be, absentmindedly, without a second thought nor hesitation.
To mildly and blindly surrender into the arms of another so that a shield would succumb from the blunt force we had, I can open up to, the formation of my fears shouldn’t be my fears only to withheld, it’s going to explode,
I’m going to explode, this isn’t a love poem I repeat, of people maybe, of humanities suffering propaganda of some sort but doesn’t take this personally because I was once a human too before the world sucked it out of me and left me, meaningless, thoughtless, emptied of optimism and happiness became a stranger I couldn’t face once I turned ten.
Why I would destroy myself for this world, I don’t understand, nor would an impact or blow to my head make me comprehend so stop stabbing me in the back. I’m crying out and ready to die because of it.
I’m unworthy of love, hatred, happiness, I’m unworthy of your meekest attention, your desires, or what you see in me which is invisible to me once I face the mirror.
So I’ll love this world, for one last time, I’ll love you, this one final time. I repeat it as a metaphor, or I’ll repeat it as a reverent dream, you are invasive to all my thoughts, I’ll stream in between. I’ll love you for one final time, and maybe this will be the last act of love that I will portray towards another being the same as I, possibly highly qualified.
And if that’s not enough, again.
I’ll be ready to drop my weapons and surrender, with my white-clad flag waving in the air. Which will be my nationality for the following year, and with my final breath,
I’ll surrender.”}

Details | Dilara Aydin Poem

If I Carry My Secrets To The Grave

{"I fall into the river drenched in my own expectancy, 
The peddles inside enveloping me as a fairytale destined to be. However I knew life was far from being caressed and revived by fiction once I turned ten. 
I don’t want to inhale anybody’s pain, 
I’m already consumed by my own, and nobody could hold my hand and sing lullabies into my ear anymore in an attempt to calm me down in the middle of the night crying, drenched with perspiration something seizes against my heart.
I inhale the lavender and place it against my nose, 
I breathe it into my soul. So the tragedies of lovers and fighters are always an infinite barrier across my path, I hear the sky rumbling again, soon to be drenched in natural flames and paint. I don’t want anybody to figure out and fill in the emptiness of several puzzle pieces of what goes in or through my mind and what does not, or to withhold the insides of me and my sentiments in a moment of weakness that agitates and sets me aflame and pries me apart. 
There is a possible leakage in the pipes, that stretches and goes along to my gut, where the internal organs lie, cracked and blemished already before I die, the poison already intoxicating to the eye, I let the breeze take me along the way of my demise, so the guilt and pain would extract from my watery grave, 
I took the secrets to my watery grave in the purpose of you not following it, not prying through the darkness that rests underneath the shining refuge of sunlight across my room, a camouflage I bounded through, clasped the hinges tightly, so nobody could be confused and nobody could trace assumptions of the real me the rests and lies behind my smile lines,
I change my bedsheet and my pillow cover everyday so nobody could come upon a notice from the tear stains that is engraved and clasped into the cottony soft fabric, 
Comfortable yet agonizing because there is a voice inside of my head telling me profusely that I don’t deserve it, so I cry more with a fist against my mouth to silence my sobs. 
So that everybody cannot see nor witness the inner turmoil of me, I can summarize my life in one or two lines rather than pages to encounter in the Forrest where I have buried all of my journals, though they were never about me. 
They were all about numerous people who made me feel everything they had to offer and set me aflame with the poisonous possibility that I will never be enough, 
So I’ll take my tears to the grave as well, to never be seen again. 
The last time I had gotten the taste of love on the tip of my tongue unexpectedly sucked the life out of me and left me drowning in the middle of the river to fend for myself, so my childhood backyard will always be a sacred place, filled with mementos and memories I cannot erase, and if this life was after all a race, why would I leave the ruins of myself to your mercy? 
Though there is actually a part of me that I cannot erase or escape from, a girl around seven, with the lavenders clutched in her fist, handing them to her mum, tucking one bit of it inside of her scarf, laughing away and playing the part, and once she reaches ten, she replays it over and over, the long nights filled with her silenced cries. 
I will take that bouquet that was from my childhood to the grave, and cover the concept with lavender so that part of me could never die. And all of those people I don’t know whom I have met in the street would attend my funeral, will reiterate lies that they saw above my joker mask. 
If only had I had someone to tell my secrets to, share them, and reenact with each other laughing and playing and crying and living finally. Without another thought weighing heavily on our minds. 
They wouldn’t be such a burden to carry, in the middle of the night. 
Far too good to be true, so I won’t mind if you lie in the ruins of me."}

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I Don’t Deserve You, and You Don’t Deserve Me

{"To the ones who want to love me first, I don’t deserve you, and you don’t deserve me. It is vivid, enduring to every human, alluring at any foul play you want to scream what is right and wrong, indicators stretch high that soar up to the sky you relinquish your despondency of rambling obscenities to the ones who cannot give a lousy penny about you when you are stuck in a trench with no escapism with your breath nagging against your chest and the voices of pain inside of your head never-ending cacophony. 
Near the back garden, where trees once grew and flowers once blossomed when sticks and stone that originated from the deep sea levels never once bothered you. 
Nothing to cling to but your hope, hopeful for a miracle in the hopelessness but don’t you know those miracles only ascend and engrave their pathways, fate shakes on it as alliances with only the prophets. In another dimension possibly, My love for everybody relapsed against me, I wrote in another note in props that it wouldn’t be eventually discovered cause it would resurrect me in the grave, the soul gracing me with every human being that has somehow slammed my chest against the barricaded glass until it shattered and demolished into pieces unusable, unreliable, hence as I was though reluctant to pick up the pieces left as the hot glue gun has done its job I have done mine. I can only take enough, hurt can only be relinquished and revived on a person far enough. 
I know from an early September morning: that when every bit of me was extracted,
And there was nothing left to give but the broken parts and pieces of me for whom which never picked up again, the clouds the shapeshifter as I, hypocrisy. 
Now that I am older, I avoid familiar faces, and I find myself hiding from catastrophic events, and places with crowded hunches and bunches of people. Claustrophobia secures a lock on your feet and jams it into a place where you could never escape, even through the fire exit on the other side of the building is fond of you, unable to run towards and the walls swallow you up and all you want to do is bury yourself in your devastation of not being enough. 
Reluctant, wary of the world shrouding you with blossoming poison ivy that scars you red all over, curiosity gets the best of you until you conceal yourself in a room and avoid the detrimental consequences of speaking your mind. as I watch myself on the boat on East Coast, drops of wetness inking their way down as I’d mistake them for lather that dwindles my antagonizing life. I’m dampened with the tears of everyone who comes by me a tiny inch, wanting and yearning for me to suffer from the burns they implement on my skin. 
Because whenever they inch further, our shoulders colliding, it could never be a good sign. Either they burn me or I burn them, either I reach for the stars and lose my balance and fall and dangle from the boat into the ocean that I am intoxicated with its vigorous waves and all they do is wave goodbye,
As if I have been foolish to believe I was worthy of their love; I have said before by the graveyard of my loved ones, the ones who want to love me first,
I don’t deserve your devotion, and you don’t deserve mine. So we shall part ways even if it kills us from the inside, even if you scream for me to come back as a liability, that you will accept me for whom I am. Misery is tainted along as my body swiftly drawls out to the oceanic shore, my hands stretch as I feel the sand, the seaweed, the dew raindrops fall onto me. Even if it kills me, 
I cannot fight for you when all I do is kill myself in the end wondering why I am never worthy, we stroll along the shores, and you constantly remind me why I am not there. I am far away as I have always been, as far as they have pushed me from the ledge of that specific taxi boat and watched me get succumbed by the vigorous rain that interlopes with the sea. 
I should be bound by nothing, Nothing about me enough,
So that I could survive without killing myself at the thought of you.

Details | Dilara Aydin Poem

The Worthless Daughter

{"What’s a daughter? 
What is a daughter’s worth when a man has a son? 
Absolutely nothing. That’s what it is. 
I must admit that I grieve and envy to be anything like the son that is not a disappointment after all.
And your reminiscence of coldness spread throughout my gut and core. Whereas once they were kaleidoscopic until the shades leaked off. 
And all left from it was hollowness and darkness with no granted exit or escapism.
Just like the downpour that couldn’t collapse. 
The clouds dampened with unshed tears, I am the daughter that couldn’t ascend.
they should see me,
Every bit of leisure morality vacated within me, they should see me relinquish it right now.
They should see me lose, my sanity, until every last bit of it
vanished into thin air…"}

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We Who Allow Devotion to End us

|We Who Allow devotion to end us.

{"My stability, our integrity, transpires to be poaching down into a gap of nothingness. I would coincidentally praise myself for not ceasing to function as a new youthful adult, I documented into the coercive world with expectancies and hopes, never diminishing, soaring to the atmosphere yet all crashes down when you have absolute frivolity to hold onto. I gaped at the stars with the forlorn, lonesome perplexing notion. 
Why cannot I aviate and soar so high as the infinities of these souls
Pre Adolescence was creeping up on me like a malicious atrocity, sucking in its venom, assembling me to grieve for the past. 
Children never comprehend what they retain until it’s gone, we want to ripen but for how long? 
They say society says, You are an adult, you repeat, you shan’t be crying, you shan’t be missing. 
God bestowed your prayers, and this is what you do. 
You sob for the past that you would never accumulate heretofore, at your innocence, you weep at how pure you were until the pain of the world scorched your back and left its morsel acidic marks all over your flesh; the pigmented scars that would never vanish nor fade away; almost as if they were everlasting tattoos, even though they can be removed. 
Every time you glance in the mirror, a haunting reminder would suffice, evolve from the waters, the seas, the oceans, and ripen from the shores. 
Every time you scream into the void you have had enough. 
You would be a hypocrite because your wishes were already granted. You were immature when you starved to grow up, and currently, there is no pivoting back from it. 
If an unprecedented reminder was etched to your internal organs, to never ever trust again. 
Would you betray it, or would you follow through with fate? 
Fate who dances in a sloppy cord, a fashion that should never cease to flabbergast us, destiny comes plummeting at your fingertips as you hold the cancer stick in between your fingers joints, fiddling it as if you were a child with an enveloping curiously and mischief that remained unattainable. 
Laughter erupts and mixes in with penetrating cries that go disregarded, unseen, humanity is unseen. 
We place the stick in between our parted lips to, suffice it and make it disappear. 
Allow the prosperity and devotion for humanity, end us, 
annihilate us, 
rip our already teared-up souls asunder, 
to teensy bit shreds lying on the concrete, motionless and
dead like we are.}

Details | Dilara Aydin Poem

A Dance with Death, A Plaguing Curse

{"You’re alive,
The dagger hadn’t slashed you deep enough, to coalesce with your veins and say Goodbye to the world that wasn’t created to be for your amusement and pursuit. My parents would repeat over and over as they convinced themselves rather me.
It was assembled to anguish you; your crux, it was made to torture you, plague you. The devil whispering in your ear was made to haunt you.
And we go about, wondering why we can never be normal,
Being normal inside of our heart's dimensions would be atrocious, We decree on the fodder field in expectancies for it to tangle around us so we meddle with the ground, the soil that lingers in your core and smells earthy.
God’s Devine creation; I prodded the blade that was subsisting into my wrist nevertheless, even though I pondered about all the options scorching me from the inside out.
There was no hope for me;
nothing to live for,
nothing to die for.
I composed myself and nudged even further; in hopes to end my demise and tragedy in this world. It didn’t transpire, call it fate, call it destiny, but the rusted cores of the blade annihilated and shattered within my hands.
I bit back a scream in despair; my voice heaved in desperation.
My eyes cut to the side of the room as I went limp under the weight of my feelings. Even this I cannot do, even though the attempt to take my own life; was an unsuccessful effort. The blood was drawing and inking out from underneath my flesh, but nothing major that it would massacre. My eyes went to the back of my skull as they latched;
I recite the invocations everyone has once in their life before going to bed; ‘I want to die, take my soul out of my chest.’
my prayers went unnoticed, and neglected. ‘You still have another chance.’
I didn’t want another chance, I wanted the freedom in sauntering out of this world to scorch me, the inevitable punishment for wanting death to shroud me.
for wanting death to love me, a plaguing
curse."

Details | Dilara Aydin Poem

I Loved You With My Whole Yet You Hated Me With Your All

{"We brought it to our lips and inhaled the wavering smokiness that was stoning and exotic. Filled our senses with a manuscript of what life could be like with a fog surrounding your cranium, not cradled nor loved, we sufficed anything we could hold onto from an early age. Addiction our meditation, medication our salvation, we relinquish and ravage the objects that confine themselves to us and wait in a corner like a patient dog. 
We strain and release the pain with it, even though we inhale, we grapple with it as if eternity wasn’t there. Feasting on it, savoring all of its taste, the aftermath was inducing and painful, though we needed, and yearned to forget about the world even if the side effects were torturous. 
I salvage the rhythmic beating against his rib cage and my eyes waver and once again they wander to wash over with the presumptions that devote themselves towards me- my preadolescent youth. 
The middle of the wavering circus was nestled upon my father’s shoulders as if it were the highest viewpoint in the world where I could breach for the horizons and they would listen and advocate upon my despair. 
I salvage at my remembrance, a vice grip that I am prepared and dwelling to grapple onto because that was an affair of mine, which wasn’t full of anguish and misery, far away from otherworldly pains that envelope and wash away my organs, my eyes strain with tears as my heart would essentially cut open a measly bit of a wound, a hole, every time that occurred in my wails that were hidden and confiscated with four barricades the only witnesses adjourned. 
My heart was heavy, my mind wandering as my lips pressed into a thin line, my head cracked backward and my eyelids closed on their own when another vague memorial reappeared as a time-lapse for whom which I felt distinctively loyal to my past, my childhood. 
He and I prance along and meddle into the middle of the road before trudging towards the Oakland’s to what seemed to be a never-ending extravagance I longed towards, the whiplash of sentiments dilated in my heart and I felt the wave wash over me, my cries erupt and ignite from the depths of my throat. 
The last act of love my father would have for me, which had come to an end with all its glory once I turned into a teenager, was at my funeral, where my burial would take place and they would envy the coffin hugging and praising my frigid stance instead of them once more, a bystander they would be as I entered another phase, for whom which I maybe have belonged to- everything crosses from my mind as they drink on my lingering memories and how sensational I was. 
My sentiments annihilating once I pestered and loved you with my whole as you hated me with your all. Beg the Creator on your two knees for my resurrection, you threatened me with your death yet I prayed for the death of my own before yours so I would not have to endure my heart stripping out from my chest. 
Love, devotion, and sacrifice- you taught me, it conducted a torturous memorial, it finished your daughter to the last bone. 
Name the criminal that killed your daughter, that ended her, convict them of a first-degree murder, or a death penalty, and convey your emotions whilst I once screamed out mine to which you turned a blind eye. 
Slay and kill every part of them as they did mine.}