Poetry – Page 2 – Da Capo al Poetry

3 a.m.

Here we go again,
Here we go.
3 a.m. Lying in my freshly changed sheets,
Just as I thought I was done staining them.
Here we go,
I don’t even know why anymore.

How is it that I was
Self-conscious
Before I was even
Self-aware?
But I guess that’s how I am: backwards everything doing;
Changing the sheets to stain them,
Knowing the passing fully fledged shadows on the sidewalk
Before acknowledging my aching silhouette lying there in a fetal position,
Yet to be born.

Here we go again,
I’ve stopped asking questions quite a while ago,
When the tears first stained my pillowcase.
Just roll with it,
It’s not like anything is going to change.
Except for the sheets.

And, while crying away
The known, the unknown,
The times I’ve felt like a stranger in my own body,
The times I’ve wanted to read the map of my soul and realised my eyes and fingertips were blind,
The times I’ve longed for everlasting togetherness to the point where I felt my ribs crushing my sore heart,
The times I’ve wished for my existential dread to turn into jumping in puddles on a serendipitous rainy day,
The little voice in my head notices:

Why are tears salty?

and everything goes quiet

– Patricia

Little Red

Through the long-forgotten forest
Hide and seek let’s go and play.
I’ll be Little Red and you’ll be
The Big Bad Wolf. Come, let us play! | Fine

No one has to know our secret,
It’s a little game we play.
And the big, forgotten forest’s
Just the right place, like always.

Count to ten and I’ll start running,
But don’t peek or else I’ll pout!
I’ll make sure to let you win but
I want to put up a fight.

I will hide among the mushrooms
And you’ll pass by me unfazed
By the red caps and the white dots
Camouflaging me for now.

Then I’ll sneak behind your back and
Hop towards my nana’s house
With my basket full of goodies
That you—famished—want to steal.

And I’ll hop among the green ferns
Covering my body whole.
You won’t see me but you’ll pick up
My vague scent and follow it.

I will hear your famished howl
And will hurry along the path.
I’ll make sure to find a stone to
Clumsily trip over and fall.

While I cry over my scraped knees,
You will show your big white teeth.
I’ll forget my now-spilled basket
And hide in my nana’s arms.

You’ll come pound on our locked door and
Growl how it’s all unfair,
While we’re safe between our four walls,
Sighing relieved that I’ve won.

Oh, don’t worry, there’s a next time!
Promise, I will let you win!
One day. But for now, I want to
Live to see another day.

Come, come, our little game is
Lots of fun, don’t you agree?
I let you catch up to me and
Make the chase be worth the wait.

That way, when you’ll finally catch me,
All your horrid pent-up rage
Will ensure that I won’t suffer
For too long. It’s only fair.

Come now, daddy, you will win soon!
There’s no huntsman with a gun
To protect us from your big arms,
Your big ears and eyes and teeth!

Come now, daddy, I’ll make sure to
Let you win when nana’s gone
Just like mommy. You won’t have to
See her in me every day.

But for now, I’ll just be selfish
For a little while more.
I still want to play tomorrow,
So let’s play when I come home!

Da Capo al Fine

– Patricia

Scoliosis

Sat in Silence

She quietly slumped on the muddy floor,
Defeated.
Countless needles pierced her ghostly skin,
Scalpels tearing at her lovely veins.
She sat in silence.

She spit out viscous tar,
Suffocating.
Burnt esophagus,
Acid-like saliva,
Blurred vision,
Stripped of lungs.
She’s nothing.

Consumed by pitch-black poison,
Succumbing to the chilling embrace
Of her handmade straitjacket,
She was bent on letting it all spill out
To neutralize her hatred-filled cadaver.

She sat in silence.

– Patricia

Blue Blood

He sat down near the lifeless body,
The stained blade boasting justice.
“What say you now?”—his vengeful scream
Was met with utmost silence,
The corpse defying him even now
With eyes as empty as his carcass.

His hardened gaze then fell upon
His trembling hands. He smirked.
“Look what you’ve made me do. Am I
Finally worthy?”—Silence.
He stood tall, pacing endlessly,
His footsteps ever condemning.

The marble floor, the white-tiled walls
All seemed to shrink and trap him.
He fought off claustrophobic thoughts,
Adrenaline still pumping
Through crimson blood—his real fault.
He knew then: “I’m still lacking.”

He came to a halt as sudden as
His urge from moments earlier,
When he had plunged the silver blade
Into the tender flesh of
The one who’d deemed him not enough,
Not now and never has been.

He turned to grab the mocking corpse,
Wanting to wipe off its proud smile,
The proof that he was lacking.
“Shut up!” he roared. The small, grey eyes
As cold as ever. He was sure:
Even in death he had disowned him.

“What use your noble blue blood now?”
He kicked the lifeless limbs. Silence.
“You bleed like commoners. Like me.”
He dipped his fingers in the crimson blood
Of the unmoving figure on the ground.
He let out a defeated laugh:
“You’ve won again, Father.”

– Patricia

Gone are the Days

gone are the days when I’d welcome meteorites
with an open heart
so that
they could warm it for a while
for they have gathered and gathered
on
top
of
each
other
and now
all I have are rocks
d
..r
….a
……g
……..g
……….i
…………n
…………..g
…………….me
down.

and I gasp for air.
but…?
nothing
seems to ease my mind
I have specks of polluted rocks
on my brain
help.

falling stars, indeed
I lose control
my body falls to the ground
dragged by an
eviscerated heart.

there goes my
hope I
am cold
shivers go down
my spine
who knew
this is what
escapism
brings along.

don’t go hugging meteorites. they’re cold.

August

Bright red poppies, liberation,

Golden fields, murmurous springs,

Barefoot, daydreaming, reflection,

Books to read, moments to seize.

By myself, freedom, green forests,

Hiking, whispers in the wind,

Dark soils, teal skies, music,

Endless possibilities.

Riding on the water’s surface,

Touching blades of wild grass,

Sunset, sunrise—peachy, dreamlike,

Wildflowers and soft green moss.

Lively cities, friendly people:

Sonder. Sun. And wanderlust.

Crickets chirping and birds trilling,

Golden sand and azure seas…

This is August. This is home.

July

I lie down in the summer meadow,
Hearing its endless calling.
Blue daisies dance in the refreshing breeze
Of summer winds. The music
Of countless locusts soothes me whole,
Their chirping—so surreal.

The scent of emerald blades of grass
Invites me to stay for a while…
The cowbells of the grazing cows
Fading away on distant hills,
The burning sun, the golden corn,
This is my home forever…

– Patricia

Depleted

The restless city knew no sleep,
For it had known a three-month slumber,
And now its people wanted to feel
Alive. But with no sense of wonder.

Only the very few who’d learned
What it had meant to have less freedom
Had come to cherish each new day
With all its sunsets and beginnings.

And thus, the busy, crowded streets
Were no place for the tiny beings.
No, they were to be found up there,
On slender telephone lines, dreaming.

Dangling their feet above concrete,
Their eyes glued to the pearlescent symbol
Of Hope amidst the worst of times,
Eyes glued to one celestial being.

The crescent moon was their escape
From endless suffering and trials.
When nightfall came, they hopped up there
On slender telephone lines, sighing.

Fixing their gaze upon their Hope,
They wished the sand would stop its trickling…
For one night only… Maybe more…
The hectic world had left them weary…

How fine would then be everything…!
If they could dream and drink in magic…
If they could have the time to breathe
And get back to their truest selves and…

For now, one night was just enough…
The tiny people kept on gazing.
The chirping crickets, the linden trees…
Oh, it was June! And they kept on dreaming…

– Patricia

May

Oh, May has been so good to me:
The sun, the freedom, serenity,
The rain, the fresh smell of the soil,
The chirping birds… Yet mortal coil,
Yet there was turmoil, endless pain,
Yet down fell tears on my face…
Though May was wonderful, it hurt
To experience it as myself.

The vibrant cyan sky filled my eyes
With gleams of hope and paradise…
The moments when I stopped, breathed in
Brought mindfulness. Escape from me.
But I am constant in my pain:
I feel relief, then I regain
The burdens I carry. Linden May…
It hurt to experience it as myself.

– Patricia