Memory is flawed.
It dredges up only the best and the worst of things, and never the uneventful and mundane. I’m sure we’ve had a lot more memories, yet I can’t remember mornings that were as simple as making a cup of coffee or just us sitting beside you in silence. I’m sure there were days where we fought just so we could passionately make up, and nights that ended blissfully, but they are buried deep beneath the darkness of the cracks that ended us.
I am sorry if the latter is all I can remember. Our legacy deserves better, but memory is flawed, and I have nothing.
*For Day 29, Our Poetry Journey Contest
January’s theme: abc’s Revenge
It’s ok not to be a rose. You may not be the pretty one or the crowd favorite, but that’s because you’re one of the wild ones. You blossom and grow in unexpected proportions. And when people finally notice you, they won’t recognize you or know your name, but damn they will feel you. They will fall in love with your uniqueness and finally see the beautiful ambiguity that you are.
Continue reading “Identity”
Let my pale, skin be the paper, let your
hands be the pen, engrave sins on my
body like it was made for your fingertips.
Continue reading “Sin”
I am dreaming again of the
cracks that ripped us apart.
No boundary, no religion,
no wall, no distance, no disguise
can cause the dissolution
of how we felt.
Continue reading “Dissolution”
There is a cruel irony in cemeteries.
You’d see tombstones standing tall,
strong and erect, with the epitaph
ready to last 100 years, as if they can
halt their inevitable decay. When my Continue reading “Epitaph”
If all the world were to burn
in ashes i can still discern
the curve of your cheekbone
and your lips alone.
Continue reading “Ashes”
Revenge need not be loud or flashy.
The best way to get even?
Be the silent revelation.
Be the surprise.
Continue reading “Revenge”