Dust Mote

•July 18, 2014 • Leave a Comment

Thats how you make me feel.
Flaunting your grandiose excellence
Eloquent critique but of no relevance
You desire to inhabit the level of skies
Us rooted trees grow but we dare not fly
Humility abandoned will result in regress
Skipping steps fragments the ladder of success
Lack of morals will propagate your comatose
Since you aren’t corrigible by poem or prose.


Thats what you make me believe
Your confidence a consumer of my insecurity
However I doubt the strength of your integrity
Lonely people , we’re less lonely than we think
Than those surrounded till a spill at the brink
We can dance the rivalry of the repartee
You crave an audience , essence of a celebrity
Placed yourself on a pedestal , its clear
The reality underneath your feet , you fear.


Thats what you think I am
You got the world believing you’re what they want
Little do they know , its all an inglorious front
Think out of the box so you make yours bigger
I incinerate mine , whose life is meager ?
Glitter is achieved even by fool’s gold
Instant gratification can make anyone bold
Give me a ray of sunshine and maybe
Ill let my dust motes show you beauty.

Body of Stars

•July 13, 2014 • 3 Comments

Based on Picture it and Write ! Check Ermilias blog at http://ermiliablog.wordpress.com/category/picture-it-write/

Must we covet superficial beauty
They’re soul wrappers , dear girl
Don’t let society tell you otherwise
Appearances are irrelevant
when you are created from star dust.


Know that your body and soul
May be amalgamated
They are not the same moiety
We do not owe the world our bodies
Then why catabolize our souls ?


We are not personified fruit baskets
Dont be an apple, a pear, an orange
Be a woman throughout
BMI is just numbers , since when
did we become such devotees of Math ?


Too flat , too curvy , too skinny , too fat
National Geography doesn’t want you back
Cause you’re not a plateau , a mountain or a plain
Thigh gaps and beach bellies
are for Barbies and Kens.


Next time people tell you to lose weight
Tell them ,”Lose your character”
Your body’s just asking for your acceptance
Neither do you need silicon breasts
nor your face a botox uplift.


We aren’t only skin and bones
We have a miniature core of stars
Our minds, magical mysteries ,so the world
picks on the physical flaws
Because it cant handle our souls perfection.

Bleeding ink

•July 6, 2014 • 2 Comments

Us writers , we bleed ink
It pours through our fingertips
Staining our nails , imprinting your minds
Call us incongruous , label us cowards
Unable to put forth our voices
So we exploit our vocabulary
To minimize the supremacy
Of unthought spoken words.


Call it therapy if you must
Our anger in contemptuous epilogues
Contentment in the simplest rhymes
Affection among corky metaphors
Wrist cuts equal sad synonyms
Tears unpredictable like free verses
Our language a collection of conflicting emotions.


Words are cheap and so are we
If we underestimate those who can write
Infuriate us and we can expose you
Destroy you with your personal demons
Or worse , compress letters to reveal the real you
You won’t be able to escape yourself
When your mind is inhabited by someone else .


We cannot begin to explain the possibilites in our worlds
Unravel our thoughts , imagination unfurls
Notions blow like crackers on the 4th of July
Can you try to understand what our heads must be like ?
We are not examples of an individual
We are an aggregation of fragmented people
Stitched together to portray
What social network conversations cannot say .


Us writers , we bleed like everybody else
Coping mechanism
Unlike the wine on your shelf
The pills on your bed
Or the razor blade on your sink
We’re bleeding ink
And even when we bleed
We make sure its beautiful.

This is Wonderland

•June 29, 2014 • Leave a Comment

Alice is a metaphor , poster girl of escapism

Aggrandize other worlds , we step over altruism

Consume us rabbit holes , free us from decadence

Bring forth a heaven , instigate in us reverence

Catabolize stoic walls , filter us from false emotion

Guillotine the fear , root us with pure devotion

Life is chaotic caprice , a beauty so bittersweet

Cheshire cat the sun , Jabberwocky its UV heat

Humanity has been marred , happiness is selective

Satisfaction comes to those , who modify their perspective

Imagination and reality , intertwine in our minds

Paradoxes would agree , they flourish when combined

This could be Wonderland , wallpapered by mundane feel

We dont conform into Alices , thus magic ceases to be real .


Selfie Killed the Smile

•May 24, 2014 • Leave a Comment

Look !
Is it art ?
Is it photography ?
No !
Its -

A vapid force of the mouth towards an east-west direction
Straight ahead too , call it ‘duck reincarnation ‘

A twitch between eyebrows to advertise confusion
Clasps tight of a pursed lip , avoid intrusion

A suction of cheeks to invent temporary contours
Twenty-five a day , name it self-imposed encore

An uplift at the lips edge to be an intellectual nerd
A day without make-up , hashtagpettywords

An excuse to use Quality-Street-wrapper like filters
Almost bad hair day , world’s out of kilter

A big bad wolf brooding to create shady ambiance
Executing a joke instead , accidental ambivalence

Ketchup stained lips to elevate being classic
Or unicorns with cotton candy glitter chap stick

A facial oxymoron of a corporeal tradition
A photo-shopped face ,  day-to-day celebration

- definitely not a smile.


•May 9, 2014 • 1 Comment

Among the chaos of paraphernalia
Hand crafted antiques of regalia
On splattered walls and intricate carpets
In a leftover salad and cheese baguette
Beneath the low light of liquor lamps
Printed on rich notes and international stamps
I see you.

Split cerebral hemispheres on grunge guitar
Wishing on glow in the dark stars
Interpreting the jumble of complicated lyrics
Without being a one-dimensional critic
Creaks and groans of our apartment so frail
Between the melodic words of a raspy alpha male
I hear you.

While angels weep at the abundance of gravestones
I stare at the grass growing above your bones.
I miss you.

2 AM

•April 27, 2014 • Leave a Comment

“It was the possibility of darkness that made the day seem so bright.” – Stephen King,

2 AM

Polluted black introduces melancholy
Absence of a starry night
Disintegrates  masks , neon secrets
We can’t but hope that isolation
shares this moment with us.
Our lives revealed
We will not be able to fluster your minds
With our condescending rhymes .
You wouldn’t believe
The lies we unfurl amidst our insomniac nights
Either suffering or reminiscing
What had been , what could have been
Yet never what will be.
Will we overcome the regret
tucking us in , drinking possibilities
like Arabic coffee under desert tents
Slow dance on crestfallen solos
Late night talks shall be the death of us
Like trees are we
Rooted to the past while birds migrate as they wish
Realities build our mausoleums
We lie still and give them permission
Bury us alive oh torturous night
At 2 am
We abuse our minds.


St Georgia & boo

musings on motherhood and other things


This wordpress is about Poems


It was all fun and games, until the fisticuffs and shenanigans... -Deutschmarc

A Journey to Light

A personal grasp for humanity.

Gingersnap Theater

I know it doesn't make sense.


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