Éloa

Tag: me

  • but colorless. Colorless

    I avoid mirrors at all costs. I cannot stand the sight of her, the way she looks. Those ghastly hips and foul teeth, sunken lids with irises the color of contaminated mold. She writhes and speaks such nonsensical things, I do not understand her. She does not understand her. A twenty five year old placenta,…

  • seventeen

    Twenty five years and what have you done?  You are still just a little girl, a little girl  afraid of the world. Terrified of being lost, invisible   to the world that already doesn’t know who you are.  You do not exist to them, and it’s so pitiful you think so.    When I see you- …

  • day births

        The prospect of time always teases me around this period of the year. Another age is becoming of me, it’s never exciting. There are bonds in these little numbers that hold our life together, a prisoner to these fates. Even when I was younger it never made me smile, why is that? Why…

  • musing.

      I’ve been working on getting my book together lately, I don’t know who it’s for anymore. If it’s for you or for me. These doubts keep constantly piling up in my mind. One would think after this long I’d grow fond of my own poetry, but it seems my mind is a trivial thing. She…

  • musings//

        I like when you are blooming  when you’re first aching, bonded and begging- your body thrumming with release   Your petals clinging and latching onto futile leaves   It leaves you breathless- I know it does   It has my skin stinging and burning, darling I can’t speak I’m practically  dripping for release…

  • 125

                 I find that flowers under a cloudy sky are absolutely beautiful; enthralling really. The colors clash together, grey skies, dazzling blossoms, the pungent smell of nectar and rain. It calms my soul, calms me in a way that maybe it shouldn’t, but the stark juxtaposition rattles me. It shakes…

  • petals

    I always found there was something absolutely beautiful about raindrops on flowers. How they look dolloped on the petals, a drink for them. These pictures are taken one minute apart, a feat I didn’t realize until now. It only took me 4 days to notice. As I was walking from my mailbox back to my…

  • stealing petals

      That green swallows up those blossoms heavy lidded and full of intention There wasn’t even enough time for me to miss them- the way you came and ate away at those petals

  • you,prisoner

        I often think of my inspirations, or my lack thereof, and I wonder why I keep coming back to this place. You are no longer a safe haven for me, you remind me of things they have forgotten about, you keep me trapped. I have been confined by these lines for more than…

  • blanketed

        Violin strings must have been embedded into your bones darling he could fine tune you better than any musician strip you down until nothing but raw strings were left just dust and termites leftover in your body

  • falling

        Pink blush settles on my sun melting roses on the rise if only I could be one of those fallen petals

  • stuttered reflections

        I do it just to feel something just to feel some type some type of pain but the words go through me they bleed through me you would have that I was made up of cellophane

  • Beginning to End

        These stanzas give me a form of outlet. They protect me- these little letters stare back at me, and they know how exhausted I am. Know how much I love them. Hate myself. They are aware that their very existence is based off of you, and they are not kind to me because…

  • echo

        I was in denial of the fact that I wanted you I wanted you so badly   I could vividly picture the format of your lips making out my name   The shape every creasing and padding of your fingertips   Almost as if I created you myself almost as if you created…

  • chronos, give away your time

        Dear December, all somber in your tone. I will miss you, miss the feeling of you holding me back; it was only a quest you could attain. I will miss you and those smothered marks you left over me. Bruised after three hundred sixty four days, fickle hours, I was built on swallowing minutes.…