and I try to ease my loneliness by weaving all of the love I have to give into every corner of every notebook I can find; but nothing can ever ease the ache that fills me when I realize I have a thousand notebooks with a million stories of love and hope and beauty and not a single person to share them with. -The Awkward Poet
make me a goddess
shaped out of pure divinity
mold my features so that they appear to kiss the setting sun
search my soul with eyes full of lust, love and wondering
so sweetly set me on your pedestal
displaying my celestial substance for all of the mortal beings to gaze upon
I'm not afraid of death
I am afraid of the minutes before it
When my bed of steel nails
Grow into roses
If petals could talk
They would whisper in pity
By their words, I'll bloody up my hands
With the wounds the size of torn rags
And I'll tear away the civilization I made
Count every grain falling through an hour glass
Till goodbyes erode away
Mountains stand short
Bring forth my old rivers
Drain them of glory
Count every grain falling through an hour glass
Till molten corpses fall from the sky
Bells A-ringing in chaotic serenity
Doves turn to face the weeping nights
To wish my old constellations goodbye
By their words, I'll bloody up my hands
Throw away my world, let it leave my grasp
If the petals could talk
They would whisper in pity
By their words I'll wash up my hands
Lay in my lush foggy blankets
Till my eyes flutter shut
And peppered kisses, end at the hands of my crumbling world
Divide my soul and body with bleach
I'll drink it until my body is pure and free
From sins I committed at their word
following a prophecy and commiting a sin,
is how religion is born, with its birth
Comes timed demise
I'm not afraid of death
I am afraid of the minutes before it
When cold blooded sins turn dove like, gentle
If petals could talk
They would whisper in pity,
"What a fool she was, to follow a prophecy to create belief. What a fool she was, to burn dynasties for their words. What a fool she was, what a fool she was"
(Repent for your sins to make those after you believe in rules, repent for your sins to turn unity into society, Repent for your sins to look at your hands to see the monster you've become, repent for your sins, repent for your sins)
i’ve dreamed of death countless times
oh how i wish to not have woken up in the last moments before my demise
the sweet seconds before a forever peace are whispering to me
taunting me to stumble into deaths eternal embrace
i really wish i hadn’t charmed my therapist
maybe i wouldn’t be sitting in the position if i had
i wanted her approval just as much as anyone else’s
so i lied and cried at the right parts
reeling her in until-
snatch.
“this is not your fault”
but you see sarah,
it is.
all of it is.
but if i reveal my tactic of manipulation
my whole facade will come crumbling down
and you’ll begin to realize that i am not the victim of my own story
i’ve been pulling the right strings and moving the right pawns
but again, here i am
wishing i didn’t have to lie to you
because right now. i need you.
-sundayafternoonsedentary
Pain is the price of creation
Thoughts on Poetry/Having a Womb That Bleeds Every Month | @rose-resplendent
i’m sitting here in the peace of midnight
just trying to reciprocate the terrible feelings i’ve felt
never will i be able to comprehend how i felt with you
and nothing will be said about how my heart shattered when you left
all i have left is the darkness welcoming like an old friend
i’ve witnessed the cavities slither their way into his brain
etching out the desire to get out of bed
rotting teeth were never so beautifully maddening
the poor man didn’t stand a chance against the decay in his mouth
-sundayafternoonsedentary
i spend hours upon hours lying sedentary within my porcelain throne
filled to the brim with the tears of my past lovers
soaking in the glory of being alone again
~sundayafternoonsedentary
well, that's one way to test how you feel about someone:
drive them away and see if it hurts.
if it feels like your heart is imploding,
maybe you really did love them.
but then - my heart has a habit of tricking me,
of conspiring with my sense of lust
knowing I won't spot the difference for a while.
but are they so different, really? am I really that blind?
it was easier to sleep amidst clouds of smoke
that carried any potential dreams far away.
if I dream now, what will I see?
I don't think I want to know...
not yet.
I keep my eyes open and listen
to the soft rain tapping on my window
reminding me the world hasn't stopped at all, really.
will you turn my brittle body into poetry
when the cold kiss of death finally reaches my solitary corpse
will you interpret the path i skipped along
writing brilliant words of how my spirit dances in the wind
or will i be forgotten?
just to become a feast for the life that lives under the surface
scribbled lines in the once lively flesh
it was never pen ink that cherished me so
if my name has not been lost
and you happen to graze upon my initials in a history book
run to my tombstone
letting it be known that it wasn’t all for nothing
recite to my grave lovely words
soothing my wandering soul
remove my past from the chain around my ankle
let my image seep into the setting sun
allow all that is left of me to be the stanzas of a lifetime
an exhibit of beautiful words bleeding from a lifeless body
permit the future to forget the configuration of my skeletal being
but to devote their time to decipher the words you have strung together to recall my existence
please oh please let me be poetry
- sundayafternoonsedentary