love, betrayal, poetry

Welcome to my gallery displaying my mind's pandemonium. Here you will find poetry written by me.

My name— Violet

She/her

A false narrative,

A forced emotion,

Acting, if you must name this charade,

But I beg of you to defer.

A lump in my throat,

A clot in my heart,

Fatal but I live through it.

Ask my elegies, diaries, pens about it

And if they find a guileless moment they'll confess.

But oh only if it were so simple, I'd be with you,

In this precocious moment,

Fleeting ever so quickly.

Not alone,

Wrapped in this fabric of a wistful memory, reciting my misery to anyone

The knowing smiles,

The fresh air blowing in my face so gently,

The rays of happiness in my hazel eyes?

This love I accept now,

Without the voices in my head,

Reverberating through my anxious decisions,

All of my hope and trust coming to fruition,

Will it stay?

My happiness,

Like a filter over me

Hiding the scars of melancholy

I once held so dear and near.

Will it stay?

My joy waking up each day to the honey sun,

The cooing of birds melodious,

Will it stay?

All of the charcoal of my past,

I use everyday,

Marking me,

Contrasting this peace shimmering like a lake at sunset

Lies a beautiful object of artifice.

An emotion or deception?

Who is to know?

It lies dormant

Till nights with melodic moonlight come to unlock the prison of my heart

And see it for what it is

A veil of lies

But in my mind I have a clue

I have an image of this room

Beyond that door life exists

As it was when I was six

Uncomplicated, simple

Not filled with hidden soliloquies only visible to me.

The key of that door

I have it

The sun went into hiding,

Snow came and melted,

But I'm still there

In that snapshot of a life

I dreamed up.

A life I could've lived.

But it withered before

I could grasp onto it.

I search for you in the daffodils,

I search for you in the hills

The peeks high and low,

I search for you in the grass and grasshoppers in between them

In the spots on the ladybug,

In the stripes on the zebra.

I long for you all day

—Oh my north star,

How you shine

Like the glimmer in the gaze of two lovers

Holding each other,

Guide me all my life

And one day you'll see how tall I've grown from when you first saw me

In the clouds high up

I saw a face,

A face so far

And yet one I could touch.

A smile I shared

But not the innocent twinkle in the eye.

So distant and so close

I could find it in a mirror

But its never the same—

Too old

Too regretful

Too pained

Its never enough

No matter how hard I try

The face belongs to someone else

On the outside—

Trying and failing.

Atleast thats something it shares

This January I'm no longer someone you know

But last January I remember how you thought the flowers bloomed because of me

I remember the "I love you" and "I'm sorry",

A billion, but I still do

Like how I still remember your coffee order

Too much coffee

I told you

But you wouldn't listen

—I found it in our time capsule,

You probably forgot about it.

I didn't,

Marked the date.

Waited around the year.

Now the day came,

And so I lunged for my past hopes—

Like fireflies put in water,

They were pretty but never possible.

Writing that letter,

It was like seeing a star knowing I was too late;

Seeing the light of a now dead star's past.

It hurt to see a ray of sunshine in that dark ink—

I knew it wouldn't last but delusion gripped me,

Held my hand through it all.

A moth once warned me of the dangers of an open flame,

It told me this story—

"I was in the park,

Flying towards some light,

When i noticed

Light emanating from a distance.

I went towards it

Found a light so bright it made my little heart leap

I flew closer and closer to it

It was warm

But once I was close it scorched me,

Now I'm all burnt.

All I wanted was warmth and light

But instead I received fire and a light so bright it made my head dizzy."

And so I continued my walk home,

Pondering upon it,

And told everyone

"The warmth that you so longed would wrap around you,

The same light you wished would guide you,

Lit your path,

Where does it hurt?

In my heart which beats and pumps anxiety

Or my lungs collapsing with fear?

Where does it hurt?

In my knees

Weak from running away;

The demons still chasing me

Or in my shoulders hurting from the wax wings I bore?

Where's the hurt?

In my mind when the expectations shattered inside

I'm everyone's favourite diary to write in.

Every new white page smooth and ready to be written on.

The last one with impressions of heavy hearts.

I only wake to be written in

Sleep to have enough of me

To be given away.

Tell me I'm the only one they're telling this to

I listen all day long

For years and years on.

Do they remember I can hear it all?

Why is it that I only find time

To listen to this clockwork heart of mine

In the hours shaded from daily life?

The ticking of my heart continues

Keeps me up and I won't complain

For in the singing of early birds

All's a miss for the favourite diary.

I exist but in writing of others.

Shredded paper in the trash bin

I fell in love with myself when I was five,

—Frolicking around with no worries in my favourite dress.

I fell in love with myself when I tried to tell a story and found joy and comfort.

I fell in love with myself when I was eight,

Completing all my school work neatly

A star I proudly had on my hand.

I fell in love with myself when I was ten,

Always finding the good in everything.

I stayed in love with myself when the thunderstorm struck me down to a new sapling again.

I stayed in love with myself when I let the fire within me explode.

That thing I refuse to acknowledge,

Stands and stares at me.

That cracked conscience

I refuse to even glance at for a second.

—Its hands are bleeding,

Eyes with tears slipping down to the lifeless cheeks,

Its body clearly malnourished

—A thin frame barely there.

You'd think it'd be easy to miss

But its ghastly appearance forces my eyes to it

But I resist

I force my eyes away

Not focusing on it for even a millisecond.

My eyes, like a butterfly,

Never settling on a thing for more than a second

The conscience, like the hands of a child,

Struggling to grab me.

I cripple at the mere sense of it being anywhere near me.

I dispose the memory of its existence

Every day

Throw myself at things

But the thing never leaves.

So I named it

Instead of wishing for it to disappear

I cling to it like it did to me even before

hope not even death separates us

As I've now felt abandonment myself.

Do I have it in me to free myself from this horrid place or

Of the fear of how life is when you're not held back by past memories?

What do you do when the fear

of freedom itself baffles you

In another life I would take your birthday,

Have the same features as you.

Like your eyes ocean-honey,

Your innocent smile.

Your outspoken-ness.

I would take form of you.

In another life,

Beyond your grave—

The matter and energy

That once made you

Would wander

And find my mind,

Its thoughts and rudimentary rhythms

And adopt both into a single sentient being.

From the womb to the grave,

To the stars,