Poetic Stories

When you finally fall in the realisation,

Of the mistake you made,

When you decided to let me go,

For my arms will always be open for you...

©️fallencalliope

pillow memories

fill my tired eyes

fuzzy thought clouds

spill into an empty sky

streaming screaming

about today's arrival

hungry for yesterday

fighting for survival

grappling with tomorrow

impending changes

instigate internal sorrow

tears soak comfort foam

feelings cannot be erased

uncontrollable emotions

an impressionistic poem

words fall into lines

sequences into stanzas

life tends to rearrange

dreams become nightmares

your side of the bed

so cold and dead

pull the covers over my head

attempt to forget

every syllable you said

yet pillows talk

never to be misled

they remember everything

stories about us

each whispered wish

dancing in the sheets

the glory of forever love

togetherness we keep

nested in pillow dreams

☆☆☆☆☆

CW: intense depression

I'm twitching

on the edge of a world

that I forgot

when I remembered

how to give eulogies

instead of sighs

and I'm shedding the rainbows

that formed after storms

of wrinkled rain

and sour snow;

I replace them

with the gray matter that falls

from my eyes and tongue

after another morning

wishing the night

would devour

every umbilical cord

and the happy songs

"It's better to burn out than to fade away." -- Kurt Cobain

Such a sixteen-year-old,

barely shaving, pale-fleshed

larval way of thinking.

Words so diamond bright and

diamond sharp, cleaving the light

into gemstone rainbows. Casting

that same colored light on the

bleeding corpse of your youth

and naming it "art".

Time breathes in tides,

smoothing the sharp rocks,

fattening calfs and knitting

coats for the new sheep.

Your work ripens as apples

in the trees, blushing sweet

with age.

Allow yourself to grow.

To know your child. Cast away

your sparkling platitudes.

There is comfort in softness,

in wool, milk, apples, and

I became a rainbow by becoming soft,

by becoming hard.

Learning how to diffract like water

and transform darkness into iridescent light.

​I watched the storm bring me a seed of stone,

and took it not as death, but as a birth.

That day, I vowed to choose acceptance, healing, and forgiveness;

the wound would become a pearl

coated in a thousand layers of my own heart.

In the quiet, unseen depths of the ache,

I did not cast the sharp edges away.

Instead, I dressed them in devotion,

remembering patience and resilience, layer by layer.

​And so, I discovered how to turn wounds into something beautiful—

to wrap them in strength and grace, in wisdom and growth.

I built a sanctuary out of my scars,

not to perpetuate the pain,

but to show it its way through:

to teach the grief how to dissolve into grace,

and let the shadow give way to the dawn.

The world craves the iridescent glow of a beauty divine,

but there is no luster without the labor,

no shine without the shattering.

Yet few know how to pay the price

with the soft but unyielding faith that is love.

Few know that to truly shine,

you must first be willing to hold your own broken pieces,

and coat them with love.

and the evil in me

you are the tide crashing

over my head, the stitched

lips leaving words unsaid

a bright hue turned ashen

the quiet wood’s passion

soothing song of the dead

you are the wisp of smoke

to my soft hearted choke

and the ache in my thighs

the darkest black of night

every dream i awoke, my

only thought to provoke

you are a gossamer line

a needful way to unwind

an every path to the future

the every past left to suture

amidst a lacemaker mind

when i was in fifth grade, (and

again in tenth), i had to memorize

the Preamble of the Constitution.

(we the people, of the united states...)

do kids still do that? do they still sit

in dusty classrooms without enough

books, in homes with no heat, no ac,

no food and read the words written

in the last quarter of the 18th century,

by dead white men who held pens in

one hand, bloody whips in the other?

are they still taught those self-evident

truths from that hoary old parchment,

do they see it born of an abattoir, inked

with words -- breathing, living, document.

the fruit of the tree of liberty, watered

with the blood of the poor? or are they

still taught the pyrite gleam of life,

liberty, and the pursuit of happiness?

Not understanding what I have done,

To deserve all that you have done to me,

Praying each day that God will allow me to survive,

To not be poisoned by your cruelty,

Ensuring that I live to see another day,

For it took everything within me to not end it all...

©️fallencalliope

Watch the sunset into the sea

By the ocean

On the beach.

Lost in each other's eyes

In the golden rays

falling on the skins.

Hold my waist

I'll hold your neck

Time stands still

For our love's sake.

Let me rest my head

on your shoulder,

My safe place

The eighth wonder.

Fingers tangled

Unbreakable faith

Coming back in every life

Like the ocean waves.

Growing old with you

My secret wish

Can't help falling in love

It's a magical bliss.

Planets

There, there, little Planet,

that is,

how little time so deemed,

away your frozen tears

how prideful, to be

and be

Queers,

queer folk,

that is,

othered and strange

eccentric in vivid ways

in the gravity of savage taste

The eccentric orbit of Pluto, so far

away in the dark, skipping gayly

past Neptune’s trident, sharp,

that is,

a pilgrim on his way

to taste a lick of Sun

oh,

you're one of

those characters

i met long ago in a book,

when i was much younger

impressionable, i dare say

still grasping at straws

regarding being

and who i would be...

but i recognize you now,

in all of your lack

and questionable morals,

values, and character...

i didn't like you back then

or maybe i just knew

i never wanted

to be like you

back then...

and i still don't want

to be like you,

today

.

sayonara sucker,

~ @pocketfullofpoesies