Caged

heart-rib-cage

Worn on sleeves,
exposed to hurt,
told to never give away.

Through pain
it beats;
through love,
it beats.

Torn,
broken,
ripped.

It never misses rhythm,
sheds a tear,
or finds a reason
to beat no more

 

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She Goes

girlwhitedress
Credit: Monika Luniak

She dresses in see-through.
She’s opaque and clarity, fiction and reality;
she’s perfection.

She would never look my way.
She knows my flaws; I know she knows.
I can’t compliment her the way she deserves it.
I best express my spoken words
in creative, nonsensical poetry.

Before she walks away,
maybe I’ll keep my
ten seconds of doubt

I’ll approach her,
tell her she’s beautiful,
grab her by the hand,
put my finger on her lips
before she can respond.

All before she goes,
I go, and my illusory mind
wanders off, again.

Risqué

art_girl_by_ale3andra_chan-d7vuduj
Credit: Ale3andra Chan

We live buried in fiction books,
fairy tales, far-fetched dreams.

We’re tempted by the devil
guided by an angel, and walk
a line catering to both.

Call me dangerous, call me
risqué, or any word seem fit.

I’m made of
hopes and dreams,
unharmonious lust and desires
walking in a world of
sinless white dresses
and glorified Cinderellas.

I want what is wrong.
I shun what is right.
Color me with black;
call me risqué.

Uncensored

 

tumblr_ns18b31jaA1r4f866o1_1280
Credit: Giuseppe Cristiano

 

Never would I dumb down my words,
take off their clothing,
add double-layered context, hidden messages,
and poetic flow on top of their naked beauty.

Love, flowers and smiles
are fiction, readers enjoy them.
Blood, pain and desire
is non-fiction, readers shy away.

So go ahead, criticize me
for my pure emotions and opinions;
honestly, I don’t mind.

I write reckless.
I edit nothing.
I am uncensored, raw, me