June 16/16 (Petals)

your mind is a sprouting flower;
bliss moments of learning how to open up.

my heart are thorns dripping scarlet;
always pricking those who hold close.

I guess this is why skin is delicate,
for this is how we speak wound.

tongue tied romance riddles can only mean
this cold heart is tiresome of shivering.

yet winter is all that is known

as frozen kingdoms remain still.

the silence perpetuates hollow verses
sung by sad violinists and melancholic orchestras

of gospels pleading for the sun to shine;
yet all we understand is the chorus of hurt.

my favourite colour is the one that stings the most,
as graveyards are familiar to this haunting.

the matter at heart is nothing more
than closed caskets with numerous tombstones.

for every literature etched as an epitaph
is seemingly another grave for the same body.

why must I romanticize those who cannot be held?
I bite a bitter tongue, and listen to chaos and s**t mistaken as handsome silence.

forgiveness is a foreign concept,
and I am still learning to speak in prayer,

but I can read the bible well. I mimic passionately,
yet writings in the mirror always terrify me.

palms shaking under a dirty faucet,
and I cannot bring these eyes to witness reflection.

these love letters will always be for strangers,
for I always hurt those that know me best.

a broken mind, a cherished promise to few,
an artist with trembling canvases;

for an open mouth and crooked smile
will always disguise honesty's fragility.

scattered sentences soar through blue winds
trailing a petal into a river rising into a tsunami;

all I wish is for winds to carry rose petals far away
as brush meets mountains turning ragged slopes crimson

Reviews

[j.c. lomeli]

I loved it. keep up the great work and i'll check out more of your writing.