Poetic Stories

I need my days of rest,

How else would I get mad,

How else would I feel wholly hollow,

Or supremely sad?

See if work is what fulfills me,

Then the rest must all be low,

And even if that isn't true,

how good or bad is fake really?

It certainly has made things more difficult

as had to be expected

What news is real, why to lie all the time?

So many fingers steering the wheel

can never be wise

decide for yourself? - maybe

If it smells of racism, prejudice,

propaganda, you ought to be wise enough

to see through it, but - not always

and the battle of who is more clever is

getting fiercer "thanks" to artificial intelligence

what can we do?

I'd say: enjoy life and try not to panick,

just avoid obvious nonsense

that's all, for now

I've seen so many people

try to put melancholy

on a pedestal.

There is nothing romantic

about depression;

it is toxic

as the bile in the guts

of those who feel they need

to eat themselves

to stave off starvation

for a day or two.

There are indentations

on my wrists

from handcuffs and the absurd;

I am not consistent.

I am an infinite amount

of heroes,

villains,

and bystanders

that are just trying to be patient

with one another

before the world they share

decides to ride itself of them

I remember crossing the

black Volga as a little child,

a river of whispers, ghosts

dancing in the mist that rose

as from a cook pot.

Nothing like this brown beast,

the Mississippi, ghosts screaming

rage over barely seen eddies,

logs dotted with spike-shelled

turtles. Alligators waiting

below.

We crossed on a bridge made of

rust and wishes, my whimpering

prayers to whatever spirits the

Volga might spare to save her

come into the darkness

where lights shine brightest

the stars and the music align

body language does define

the dance and the jubilation

exuberant spiritual movement

pulsing passion upon the floor

everybody in the groove moving

we only come out at nighttime

hungry for those laser beams

glimmering colored rays . . . .

shimmering on the darkest days

welcome to club sanctuary

feel free to slip inside the haze

euphoric throbbing temple

electric vibes, the place is crazy

you'll be spellbound, amazed

☆☆☆☆☆

join in the frenzy

buzz of dizzying fireflies

flickering and dancing

feel your wings take flight

let the wind lift you

allow you to float amid clouds

blue upon blue on blue

infinity has no destination

only an imaginary station

living in the back of minds

the gold and poems

such, sublime finds

we dance into the lights

freedom is all of these nights

fun and hope and guidance

illuminations in the dark

what a . . . such a bright idea

we shine . . . because we can

☆☆☆☆☆

I know this is your game

Because I know you envy me

And want to dominate it

But remember one thing

God never sleeps

And everything you do to me

There will definitely be a reward as time goes by

I won't repay you

Because it's none of my business

You think I'll be sad after you do that

The queen won't cry

Neither will I

In fact, I ignore you

I don't care about you

cruelty can hit hard

always picking on somebody

to see their confusion

to drive them into exclusion

often because that is what they fear

themselves most of all

bullying is a horrifying, sophisticated

kind of cruelty

making one feel out of place

cruelty can take you by surprise

when exhausted misplaced soldiers

abuse whomever or whatever they meet

out of pure frustration

however , cruelty is not always to be seen

as rejectable

" the goal blesses the means", even if

brutal

however sad that sounds

I ask myself every time

Will I still love rain

if I've to go outside?

Maybe yes, maybe no.

Prolonged rain!

for a couple of days.

People are complaining

Problems- they are facing.

Clothes don't dry

Water gets logged

Some diseases got caught.

Waiting for the sun

to stop playing peek-a-boo

wishing the sun shines

without warm loo.

Still I'm wishing for

Prolonged rain

to wash away all the dusts

to wash away all the greys

to hide all the tears.

It'll take some time

So maybe

I am furious at the noise

from which I refuse to remove myself

and I am despondent

at the surrealism

of the razors

that I'm too scared to throw away.

Sometimes, I am the problem.

I could conquer every atom

with nothing but a cloud

to my name

but I refuse to learn

how to drift like it can

because the weight

of stasis

seems more like a cold hug

than the abstraction

On the other side longing to be the one,

If only that would be what you wanted me to be,

As I look into your eyes,

I begin to feel so small,

My legs feel like they don't want to work anymore,

For you held me up from falling,

For the longest time,

I would have followed you anywhere in the world,

But I can't go on like this,

So I am giving up on you,

I am sorry I couldn't get to you,

So here's my final goodbye...

©️fallencalliope

It kills me. The indifferent look in your eyes whenever I ask a question. The silence that never leaves. The expression that says you're exhausted by the same old conversation. The unwillingness to even try to understand what it is I'm carrying. Just as you cannot endure pain.

I know what it is to cut deep. To feel the blood run. To dress the wound and carry on as though nothing ever happened. I carry the scars. The memory of them. The courage it took to survive. I didn't even blink, baby. I carry the indifference too but mine is towards life, not you. I carry every time we almost made it. Every near-miracle. Every failure to become a mother. Some grief never leaves the body. I carry every word you've ever spoken that tore a hole through my skin. I went mad to become this calm.

I swallowed my words. Then swallowed thousands more. Just to keep the peace. Just to avoid the drama. And yet, I am drama. What an irony.

I lowered my voice until it disappeared. I've lived for years without one. I stopped using it. I stopped explaining. I learned to love the toxic peace. The routine. The neglect. The absence of care. Because I had to. Even though it is against everything I am. I'm not complaining. I'm showing you the shape of your victory.

Why call it love when everything is just another transaction? Why make plans when they collapse every single time? Why another place to feel as though I don't belong? Another chance for me to hide the tears?

That my cat will stare

Cry to pet her before she goes on to do something else

That something about the stillness is so thick that she can feel it

That something about every racing thought and emotion churning in my stomach is becoming too heavy and thick and unwanted.

The way you leave milk on the counter for too long and it curdles

Sometimes I was sweet.

Too sweet

Even honey in the wrong hands will spoil and rot

Fermentation is an intricate process

Sometimes on purpose

Sometimes accidentally found to have happened

Always a conversion that cannot be undone.

I was sweet

I became something sour and bitter

Something that rots in your mouth

Sweet doesn't last long

Not too long

Like fruit left in the sun too long

It spoils

It goes bad and loses meaning

So you smash it into the ground

Throw it in the trash or pour it down the drain

Not a second thought

Get something new

Or change your mind to something different

It's that easy right

To never think about the mistakes you made

So you glance at the new fruit rotting on the counter

Say it's fine as you walk past it

Check the date on the carton and put it back

It's fine

For now

But never pick it back up

And my stomach will spin and churn

And I'll stare blankly out the window

But the churning will slow down

It will become soft

And I will sit and smile while I watch the bees

Fly or they'll strip your wings for being too wide.

Too free.

Too ugly to be considered a pretty bird.

Fly and never return.

This wicked place eats all that stands.

They don't bother with funerals.

The ashes are like dirt to them.

Fly little crow.

For once they catch you, you'll end up buried in the ground with nothing to remember.

Fly, fly, fly.

Spread your wings into the sky and let the wind be one with you.

Don't look back.

Their torches are lit and sharp are their spears.

They're waiting to catch you off guard.

Fly fly fly.

Never return to this haunted place.

They don't love you here.

They just want your flesh.