@/akratiisalive

transcript and taglist under the cut (send an ask to be added or removed):

Likes and REBLOGS are more than appreciated!

Home- wrecker

home-wrecker! your devoid/ awaits my freedom./ seventeen and sucking the dirt/ out of your newspapers:/ annihilating a mother’s only successor.// the aftertaste of your/ sweet breakfast: there/ is another political argument/ i do not want to fight./ your lips so unsealed,/ i almost divide.// the khaki pants,/ the leather chappals;/ in your dreamland,/ i am burrowing the glass dirt./ in your dreamland,/ you are excavating the cause’s birth.// i see your fingers placed/ evenly on the knife,/ a firm grip on the pink onion,/ too tight sometimes./ the stretch of the thumb/ is eluding the blade;/ the blade so clear/ we prick each other’s face. // an apple pudding,/ a national plight,/ i heard you singing/ in the shower tonight,/ i heard you escaping/ from the waters tonight. // i unmake your bed before/ the bell chimes 8./ your silver- worn hands/ hold me at a caressing stake./ the dreams,/ if not forgotten,/ hold a near distant reality:/ i am holding your breath in my wake.

taglist

@ruins-of-heart @a-moonlit-poet @rottensummerlove @it-is-what-it-it-iss @kajukatliontop @nochampagneonlyproblems @champagnesrush @mydogisgaytoo @lilhappylilsad @ch3rryblo55oms @jules-hazard @eveesque @wigilda @theazurepoet @star-dust-2317 @catguin-the-kitty-cat @kittywritesmistress @a-smart-dumbass( not working?)

I turn towards the ocean When they turn towards me; They do it out of pity, I for being a liability. - @akratiisalive

should i like post a poem im not very proud of but has some stuff that i think i have never written like or wait to have a mentally deranged absolutely soul crushing experience and then write about it and post its watered down version?

transcript and taglist under the cut-

a mother’s defying, a mother’s demise.

most days,/ he doesn't swim in his grief. he sleeps on it,/ only to wake up with misery underneath him,/ hugging his torso, grasping his neck./ he says, clenching his hands to the bark of the neem tree,/ "my mother has left me in the backyard to sleep with no place to bury her"/ so, he is carrying her around on his tongue/ between the words he swallows and/ the food he spits out.// on the road are children throwing rocks at trains,/ a man hiding his guilt from the view, not letting it drift away/ as he cups his hands to light a cigarette./ holstering himself to the kitchen window, / the boy longs for the freedom of the man./ a rush of noise, he longs to scream:/ an act of expressing where he needn't pick a language.// her bed is made before he calls it a night./ he finds the same next day at 7./ most days,/ it feels as if she hasn't abandoned the walls./ the water in the taps still runs its course through the right drain./ it's as if she intended for him to suffocate in the mundane.// so, he tugs under her quilt she left to dry in the backyard/ the boy sleeps with the sound of crickets/ canceling the occasional unrest from the train tracks,/ canceling the occasional unrest from her mother's dreams.

tag list:

@ruins-of-heart @some-broken-words @rottensummerlove @floralbeast @kajukatliontop @nochampagneonlyproblems @riskanothergoodbye13 @hoeliterature @it-is-what-it-it-iss @mydogisgaytoo @lilhappylilsad (still not working????????)

transcript and tag-list under the cut!

still in these streets, water doesn’t wash up/ the clothes on the clotheslines/ the denial in sun’s warmth is visible at noon/ when it’s invisible in its own light/ the language of all is hurling to their/ destination’s child. // still in these streets the girl runs around/ in the brisk of moonlight/ the helium in her brother’s balloons/ comes at the cost of God’s shrilling cries./ all her lovers hop away from her/ favourite rhymes.// still in these streets the dogs pet/ their parents with a wry smile/ cigarettes fall in the grass after hushing the conversations of lovers around midnight/ films reel at the town hall/ haunting the elder’s sight. // still in these streets the clouds/ don’t hold back tears when the young dies/ still the the general store doesn’t open all night/ still in these streets, my parents walk alike.

taglist: @ruins-of-heart @a-moonlit-poet @bedfordhealyx @it-is-what-it-it-iss @kajukatliontop @nochampagneonlyproblems @sifaaarish @mydogisgaytoo @lilhappylilsad @cherryblossom @parihumay @jules-hazard @eveesque @wigilda @theazurepoet @cloudlessnightssleeplessfight @catguinstudies @a-smart-dumbass @anarchist-therapist @sweetbutwhateverbaby

please feel free to send an ask to be added or removed!<3

hey there! 💙💜 i like your poetry immensely, could you add me to your taglist? :)

omg hi!! i love your work too ur blog seems such a safe space. thank you so much it’d be my pleasure to add u<333

One poem that’s all i read of yours ….” Home wrecker “

how-

is-

how is it possible someone writes so damn awesome

hands down just ugh *chef kisses*

so good

i'm so glad u liked it <333

the faces on cardboard stand so still, so stubborn;

some crooked, grinning, others flushed, skinny.

they perch so distinct yet so similar. so alive in the moment, dead soon after.

what do they say about the bodies they are attached to?

how spontaneous but motionless, such misdirects they create!

some jaws clenched, some eyes flashing red;

they froze the moment but fabricating the abstract sense.

after some sixteen nights,

the bodies live vicariously through the stationary smirks,

touching each other’s arms, rejoicing in

the nihilistic environment they concocted once.

its been several years since they faced the flash,

they have propagated the boards, one for each soul.

now the memory serves only when one roams about the storeroom.

so they do, if roam not often, but once a month.

“the cardboard emits different reflections”, each mutters.

time changed their vision and their power to resist what it brought-

faces on cardboards stand so still, so stubborn,

some crooked, grinning, flushing fiendish forms.

- @akratiisalive