Moonlit traces
Traces of the grazes
The utilized kit
A gutter that slit
The fog misted away
The signs of use stayed
Doors were held
A look too dope
To shy away from
Someone with so much insanity
Had to be met.
I felt.
I was prancing mad myself
Still am.
Unapologetically apologizing
For never loathing
The touches I detected.
Rather I perceived to vandalize myself
The erasure I did
I blitzed the signature
Yet all of it came back
–regrets with a sickle.
I may cry hence,
They will adore me
Once I perish.
This isn't a suicide note
This is awakening.
Therefore a lake was formed
From the dame's persecution,
Honing the skills
Of no man.
Hells took it to demand.
Forests wept for the reprimand.
Natheless yonder they bode
–The regrets
The memories.
I could write a memoir
Which would be yawned at
The contents could be binged.
Dahlia,Daisy,Dahara
Names created
To offer my chances of malice
Dahara I stayed till your time
Dahlia I webbed your secrets
Daisy don't come back
A woman's heart may be an ocean.
But my past is the universe.
///
One who has been used will relate. One who has once been abused will as well. One who used himself/herself should relate as well. Past often follows us around akin to our shadows. It pains us at nights. Depresses our essence. Sometimes lets us relieve ourselves from this hectic life of ours. On the brighhtttteerr siiiddee sometimes we choose to be someone that our past doesn't decide. Sometimes we let ourselves decide for ourselves. Sometimes we choose to fight to resist the labels and just be flippin human beings!
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Poesía[HIGHEST RANK #10] [HIGHEST RANK #123 in poetic hashtag] A book for poems written by me, and me only. My emotions are what a book folds My dreams, may the sky bring you to fly. My desires ain't to fly high But to dig with the palms And the broke...
