Hey everyone, hope you guys are keeping safe during the coronavirus. I know it can be a hard time and all. Well, today I would like to share some of my favorite poems that I wrote this year. It’s been a big time of growth for me, and I am so thankful for that. So without further ado, let’s get into it.
The Colors of Our Soul
Grey spills into our throats.
We gargle, spitting it out,
but the taste prolongs.
It’s plain salt, moldy bread,
to our creaking bones.
Liquid orange is what we dream.
It’s what we want trickling
down the vines of our veins.
It’s what we want to engulf.
Yellow mornings spill into our
guts, only occasionally
conversing sloppily with grey.
Making yellow decay in our lungs.
Our heart is filled with pink
azaleas smelling of sweets.
The pink sparkling brightly,
and making sunsets with orange.
Still, grey washes out the colors,
it introduces black absence
who shakes our bodies into a pool
of nothingness.
We want yellow, we want orange, but
we have been given black and grey.
And so, we will sit, our breaths
coming out in small coughs of death.
Waiting for the brightness to spill
back into our breadbasket.
Natural Remedies
Maple syrup and tea spill
down into my esophagus.
I give a swallow, but recoil
in the disgust of it all.
It makes me think of the brittle
bark on the beauty outside of here.
Perhaps, this was her stripped into
a syrupy piece of nothingness.
She’s been laid out for all to see
ooey, gooey, taken advantage of.
No one asking if she would be okay
after being left completely empty.
I float to the depths of her trunk,
thanking her for the gifts she has
bestowed upon humans like us,
who just take and take and take.
She smiles down upon me,
placing warmth into my body.
Wiping away my sorrowful tears,
with the unfilled roots of her maple.
I nuzzle up to her wooden bosom,
feeling the greatest sense of comfort,
but salty water clouds my sight once again,
for I know my love will be taken advantage of
over and over again.
Bipolar Disorder: more than a stigma
Grey liquid seeps from my soul.
Pupils dilating to see what’s behind.
Never getting any answers, but
seeing the damage that has been done.
Grasping at the black void of my mind.
Searching for answers no one can find.
My body clenching under the weight,
getting so tense that I feel nothing but,
an endless fiery abyss of rage building.
Not being able to build the dam fast enough,
Screaming, cursing, ruining relationships.
Thinking that this is all I am now.
Trapped between the highs and lows that
never let up for me to finally breathe.
Choking on the fumes of long gone dopamine.
Wondering who I am underneath all of
the waves that I am forced to ride out.
Being a prisoner in the body that is me.
Finding out that the negative assumptions
the majority have about my ‘annoying habits’
are not what defines who I am as a person.
Taking the steps to find who I am underneath
the trauma, the imbalances, and internal hate.
Finally finding joy in the beauty that is me.
-Maple
I am so grateful to have more poetry content from you (*confetti* since I have no emojis). I like all of these poems; they are indescribably you. I remember reading these, but it is nice to have time to sit down and reflect upon their words. I am feeling the first poem right now. Color is an important element of creation and life itself for me, and often existence seems like a battle of grey/black vs orange/yellow. Anyway, your poems are definitely…savory…if that makes sense, and I love their feel. The second one has interesting textures (“ooey, gooey, taken advantage of”) that make me think of pecan pie (?). I think way too much about food. Anyway, your poetry feels organic yet precise like a pile of raked fall leaves. 10/10 (these are compliments)