Submissions by Abruvanamedsly
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
Procrastinator masquerading as productive
SELF POEM
Published
6th Sep 2020 3:51pm
6th Sep 2020 3:51pm
(RE)Turning
I miss the warmth
of my mother's womb;
amniotic memories
are a muthafuca
when life has you drowning.
I wish someone would have
engraved:
LIFE PRESERVER NOT INCLUDED
into my skin while
I was being born
or
DON'T LET FEAR EAT YOUR FUTURE
or
LOVE SAVES & SLAUGHTERS.
I think my heart
enjoys being a lost
artifact buried in some
distant land under
immovable sands.
The present bludgeoning
bones and enticing me to
flirt with...
of my mother's womb;
amniotic memories
are a muthafuca
when life has you drowning.
I wish someone would have
engraved:
LIFE PRESERVER NOT INCLUDED
into my skin while
I was being born
or
DON'T LET FEAR EAT YOUR FUTURE
or
LOVE SAVES & SLAUGHTERS.
I think my heart
enjoys being a lost
artifact buried in some
distant land under
immovable sands.
The present bludgeoning
bones and enticing me to
flirt with...
#love
#birth
#childhood
#technology
#death
330 reads
1 Comment
EROTIC POEM
Published
25th Jun 2020 1:50pm
25th Jun 2020 1:50pm
Epoch Zero (Shudder)
The
infatuation
was insane;
chocolate cocaine
the color of
Veuve Clicquot
and noir.
We became
Love Hangover
sung with conviction
the sound of bodies
starting a rebellion
against clothing
nectarine scented napalm
sticky with each other
savoring moments
like awestuck historians
in possession of a stolen
TARDIS.
infatuation
was insane;
chocolate cocaine
the color of
Veuve Clicquot
and noir.
We became
Love Hangover
sung with conviction
the sound of bodies
starting a rebellion
against clothing
nectarine scented napalm
sticky with each other
savoring moments
like awestuck historians
in possession of a stolen
TARDIS.
#lust
#sex
#lover
#temptation
#obsession
495 reads
1 Comment
DARK POEM
Published
9th Jun 2020 1:20pm
9th Jun 2020 1:20pm
Love Notes
Their relationship was romantic rage,
his punches, love notes to her face;
blood, the ink dripping from the page,
lines she wish could be secretly erased.
Cursive and italics all over her body,
ribs usually highlighted in bold font;
friends and family inquire like literati,
her answers are always nonchalant.
He constantly begs for her forgiveness,
making the notes sting a little less,
explosive scribblings a painful business,
especially on the inside of her chest.
Tears stain markings current and past, ...
his punches, love notes to her face;
blood, the ink dripping from the page,
lines she wish could be secretly erased.
Cursive and italics all over her body,
ribs usually highlighted in bold font;
friends and family inquire like literati,
her answers are always nonchalant.
He constantly begs for her forgiveness,
making the notes sting a little less,
explosive scribblings a painful business,
especially on the inside of her chest.
Tears stain markings current and past, ...
#anger
#relationships
#sonnet #DomesticViolence
#sonnet #DomesticViolence
676 reads
3 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
8th Jun 2020 1:07am
8th Jun 2020 1:07am
The Demise Of Imagination
My life is an unmarked grave
ignored by passersby traveling
under the spell of free will
who toil amidst grand illusions
resting over the hills of beyond
where rationale can never appear.
Condemned to appear
in an existence that is grave,
I envision a world beyond
dreams and reality, traveling
an ethereal plane, creating illusions
and fantasies at will.
I write snippets of a living will,
hoping this world may appear,
for a life lived without illusions
can lead to an early grave,
so my imagination...
ignored by passersby traveling
under the spell of free will
who toil amidst grand illusions
resting over the hills of beyond
where rationale can never appear.
Condemned to appear
in an existence that is grave,
I envision a world beyond
dreams and reality, traveling
an ethereal plane, creating illusions
and fantasies at will.
I write snippets of a living will,
hoping this world may appear,
for a life lived without illusions
can lead to an early grave,
so my imagination...
#dreams
484 reads
1 Comment
SELF POEM
Published
1st Jun 2020 2:23am
1st Jun 2020 2:23am
Ink Spots
Suffering in silence is second nature
for people wrapped in hated skin;
your life under constant siege because
you are a scourge on sight;
a blight in expensive sneakers,
a member of a caste unworthy
of empathy but if you can
somehow Dinesh D’Souza
your way through existence,
everything will be fine.
The Stanford Prison Experiment
was a glimpse of human savagery
put into a uniform;
now state sanctioned violence
continuously batters black bodies
recording at 30 frames per second;
blood sacrifices...
for people wrapped in hated skin;
your life under constant siege because
you are a scourge on sight;
a blight in expensive sneakers,
a member of a caste unworthy
of empathy but if you can
somehow Dinesh D’Souza
your way through existence,
everything will be fine.
The Stanford Prison Experiment
was a glimpse of human savagery
put into a uniform;
now state sanctioned violence
continuously batters black bodies
recording at 30 frames per second;
blood sacrifices...
#hate
#oppression
#evil
#racism
#fear
629 reads
2 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
25th May 2020 00:21am
25th May 2020 00:21am
Being Six Again
Honesty
and mischief oozed
from every pore when I was six;
playing in dirt was heaven,
touching fire was a temptation
and hearing no was a dare.
Being naked was comfortable,
gross body sounds an orchestra
and my belly button,
a secret treasure trove.
There was wonder
in most things around me,
especially girls;
some boys my age
thought of them as icky,
not me.
I stayed throwing mud
and my heart at this one girl
I liked because I couldn't
find the words to...
and mischief oozed
from every pore when I was six;
playing in dirt was heaven,
touching fire was a temptation
and hearing no was a dare.
Being naked was comfortable,
gross body sounds an orchestra
and my belly button,
a secret treasure trove.
There was wonder
in most things around me,
especially girls;
some boys my age
thought of them as icky,
not me.
I stayed throwing mud
and my heart at this one girl
I liked because I couldn't
find the words to...
#happiness
#childhood
#school
#memories
#nostalgia
385 reads
1 Comment
LOVE POEM
Published
3rd May 2020 10:50pm
3rd May 2020 10:50pm
Half-Life
We were reckless with love.
Swans dancing on a lake of fire;
unfinished art searching for the
Louvre.
Quiet & loud.
Hungry & fed.
Bones full of broken stars
and twilight;
sapiosexual
astronomers
with the temerity
to traverse galaxies
hidden between the
braille on our skin,
foolish enough to believe
desire this strong would
take a half-life to
decay.
Swans dancing on a lake of fire;
unfinished art searching for the
Louvre.
Quiet & loud.
Hungry & fed.
Bones full of broken stars
and twilight;
sapiosexual
astronomers
with the temerity
to traverse galaxies
hidden between the
braille on our skin,
foolish enough to believe
desire this strong would
take a half-life to
decay.
#love
#lust
#relationships
#breakup
#lover
552 reads
3 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
26th Apr 2020 1:59am
26th Apr 2020 1:59am
Meant To
I loved words
more than the woman
who inspired me to write them.**
Embraced
the tragic beauty
of every letter like
a sunset with no horizon;
each line becoming an
immortalized effigy
of us
our happiness
our uncertainties
our dreams.
Ink strokes mirrored
the universe in her eyes
and the thumping quasar
beneath her breast.
So obsessed
with written memories,
I squandered opportunities
to truly decipher the intricacies
of
her flesh
...
more than the woman
who inspired me to write them.**
Embraced
the tragic beauty
of every letter like
a sunset with no horizon;
each line becoming an
immortalized effigy
of us
our happiness
our uncertainties
our dreams.
Ink strokes mirrored
the universe in her eyes
and the thumping quasar
beneath her breast.
So obsessed
with written memories,
I squandered opportunities
to truly decipher the intricacies
of
her flesh
...
#sadness
#love
#regret #WritingPoetry
#regret #WritingPoetry
421 reads
1 Comment
LOVE POEM
Published
24th Apr 2020 6:23am
24th Apr 2020 6:23am
Liner Notes
Our love was an acetate affair
long playing the evening
sensual blues on purpose;
you, the vinyl
I, the needle riding your groove
warm sounds of ecstasy
coloring the mood;
plush on caramel indigo
purple velvet
crushing red corvette
pops and creaks mimicking
a slow roaring fireplace
body heat on repeat,
melting into each other.
long playing the evening
sensual blues on purpose;
you, the vinyl
I, the needle riding your groove
warm sounds of ecstasy
coloring the mood;
plush on caramel indigo
purple velvet
crushing red corvette
pops and creaks mimicking
a slow roaring fireplace
body heat on repeat,
melting into each other.
#lust
#music
#lover #passion
#lover #passion
417 reads
1 Comment
SELF POEM
Published
19th Apr 2020 2:16pm
19th Apr 2020 2:16pm
On Any Given Sunday
On
any given
Sunday,
I'll write a poem
that is not a poem;
more like a love letter
to all the summers I've wasted;
an apology to all the moments
I've hesitated to live in.
It turns into a private sermon
preached from an empty pulpit;
a soliloquy of solitude written by
an open window, framing Springtime
and Armageddon like van Gogh.
It will be riddled with
anxiety and sweetness;
a broken syrupy pancake
too close to touching
scrambled eggs sitting
on a square plate
at a 90 degree...
any given
Sunday,
I'll write a poem
that is not a poem;
more like a love letter
to all the summers I've wasted;
an apology to all the moments
I've hesitated to live in.
It turns into a private sermon
preached from an empty pulpit;
a soliloquy of solitude written by
an open window, framing Springtime
and Armageddon like van Gogh.
It will be riddled with
anxiety and sweetness;
a broken syrupy pancake
too close to touching
scrambled eggs sitting
on a square plate
at a 90 degree...
#anxiety
#LifeAsAWriter
#WritingPoetry
503 reads
2 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by Abruvanamedsly
Page:
