a-perplexed-entity

[a-perplexed-entity]

Pain wasn’t when my parents forbade our love, insisting he change his faith before asking for my hand. Pain was when he decided, in the end, that I was never worth the journey at all.

[a-perplexed-entity]

“It seems to me that you’re a little jealous.” >>>

[a-perplexed-entity]

"Me, jealous?" He sneered. "I envy every breath that you take that I couldn't have claimed first. Every moment your chest rises then falls is a torment, knowing that I am not the one who permits it. The very thought of your existence is suffocating enough, where it isn’t confined to my command. Every second your veins pump blood to your heart feels like an infringement on my authority, a theft of my power over you. I want to be every part of you, not just the key that unlocks your existence, but the very reason for it”

[a-perplexed-entity]

Blood and Water

Blood runs thicker than water,

But whist one is confined within the web of the living body,

The other roams freely with the power to swallow whole.

Where the red gives to life,

Naturally stained and dark,

So obvious and true.

It carries the scent of death and danger,

A warning when forced out of its roots.

The blue is in fact colourless, scentless,

Adaptive and decieving,

Concealed like its power to kill.

Despite the threats and virtues,

Both are the elements that feed the soul;

Whilst one is visible

and the other, hidden,

Both feel the same when our eyes are closed.

[a-perplexed-entity]

Will our tangents meet?

He enquired,

"Will our tangents meet?"

In response, I return a smile

That masks my vulnerability

And reveals my certainty.

"No." I uttered with dismay,

Before he could begin to question why, I say;

"Whilst you reminisce on memories past,

I create new ballads in their honour which shall last.

And whilst they glitter your contours,

My memories illuminate

Like lights in a cave,

Bright enough to refract my lines into waves.

You charge towards your desires

Stiff and straight,

endlessly with unceasing will.

And yet, I halt, as my pleasures are present.

Permitted to fluctuate, to guide my course.

As I pause to feel their thrill,

you are too far past to embrace.

Even now, our eyes meet,

Your gaze holds, and mine does not waver.

With every passing second,

Your route is at risk.

Your gaze weakens

As your tangent begins to shift in weight.

I keep mine ready,

In hopes your tangent meets mine in fate.

But naturally,

you look away,

One second before it is too late.”

[a-perplexed-entity]

Marks

Rules are deemed to be broken.

Hearts are deemed to be shattered.

Nothing stays in perfect condition.

But thats what makes them unique from each other.

They’re all severed in different directions,

In difference patterns.

Each break,

it symbolises us,

It defines us,

They don’t leave us,

But they heal,

And leave a mark…

So I’m thankful for each mark, that I receive…

Because when I receive it,

I grow.

My story evolves,

I meet new people, then they depart.

an ongoing cycle, where marks awoke.

But one day,

one heart will call to yours,

Where their marks will fit with yours to form new marks.

But these marks wouldn’t form from sealed wounds,

But from the harmony created between these fitted marks.

These marks glow a distinct, bright shine,

Dimming all the others…

deeming them unnoticeable.

The light will consume you with glee.

Marks are important.

They’re what makes us who we are.

They’re what make us what we will be.

Don’t take them for granted.

[a-perplexed-entity]

In the space between.

And when you finally learn how to tend to my fragile heart,

Meet me in the space between;

Where the guards can’t reach,

Where the mourning can’t weep,

And where my pride can’t preach.

Where forgiveness coats her diaphanous wings over our memories.

With a yearning hand,

She stretches out..

Waiting for you to come back in.

[a-perplexed-entity]

The white rose

A singular white rose nested in a bed of Thorns and vines.

Beautiful and graceful as she bathed in The gaze of the moon.

She was armoured by her friends; the Spikes, the thorns and the vines.

Made to believe her beauty was a threat To the kingdom.

That her subjects want to pluck and peel All her delicate layers.

That without her friends she was destined To wither and fall.

And with that,

She flourished.

And her majesty coated her pearly petals,

Under the beams of Luna.

She was overjoyed,

She was grateful for her friends.

She embraced them dearly in-trusting them With each and every petal.

This was what germinated her collapse..

With her whites intertwined with the Thorns and the spikes,

The vibrance she carried bled out,

She dulled, she greyed,

Like the blades on kitchen knifes.

And her stem tangled in the maze of the Vines,

Her stature depleted,

Strangled entirely over time.

She came to realise,

She was fed nothing but empty lies.

That her shelter was her carnage.

That her friends were in-fact the same subjects that were seeking her collapse.

And with that,

She ran.

She escaped the same barbed bush that she once called Home.

With only her weakened stem to support the weight of her shrivelling petals and Shrunken bulb.

She ran with every fibre of her frame.

But roses like her can’t survive long without her roots.

eventually she couldn’t keep running.

And as she rested in her final moments,

She couldn’t help but ponder…

What if she blossomed bare and exposed to Touch?

Would being plucked from her stem be more Merciful than ripped by her roots?

Would she have lived happier if she Sprouted alone?

[a-perplexed-entity]

Gaza

I hear you.

I hear each of your cries in every pitch,

I see your slaughtered scattered through the hues of every painting,

I smell your blood lingering through every musk,

I feel your terror in each goosebump .

Gaza…

I admire you,

Your youth and your elders,

Warriors mightier than the written in fiction.

Gaza…

I hear you,

So I plead when I holler,

Gaza hear me.

For I am here,

And I will carry you with pride,

Until my lungs give out,

I will fight.

I will defend.

I will honour.

I will shield.

From the bloodied river,

To the wailing sea,

Palestine will be free.

[a-perplexed-entity]

Pain?

Beauty is not in the pain we write,

But the reread when the pain departs.

Although...

Pain?

She is a good friend of mine.

She stuck with me through thick and thin.

She's loyal, you see,

More loyal than I could ever be.

I have made countless attempts to let her go,

But she persisted.

She claimed she was aware of my tendency to push people away,

So she promised to stay.

Recently,

I met with Exhaust,

He insisted I give her a chance.

So I have.

To reflect back to the beginning of my poem,

No,

The beauty is not in the pain we write,

Or the writing we reread when pain departs,

But, beauty is in trust.

Beauty is in acceptance.

You see, she is not working against,

She is working for.

To keep one aware,

Cautious,

In those who aren't as true as her.

So that her person and her,

Both hands intertwined with the pen,

Could write...

And here,

Is where true beauty is born.

[a-perplexed-entity]

Cigarettes and Honeydew

Picnics aplenty,

Our glee tainted the grass.

We embraced the aura

Every spring,

With a juice box within our clasp.

We used to clink the cardboard,

Mimicking the adults we walked past.

We saluted the day,

Sharing a Honeydew,

Our tradition we cherished to last.

Each spring for a decade,

Thats how it always set out to be.

Until the ages started to run free.

Each spring we returned,

For it was fate.

The scent of honeydew,

lingers between our space.

We returned again,

But our boxes turned to glass.

And instead of a pure, delicate rumble,

Followed the crisp ring of our cherry filled, dome shaped flasks.

We shared our Honeydew as we always had,

But with silverware to divided it.

Constricted by the etiquette of time.

As if the knife had not only sliced through the fruit,

but the scent between us.

Each spring,

Concluded by the Honeydew.

But this time,

You pulled out a cardboard box from your side.

However, it wasn’t our cherished juice-box.

It was Cigarettes that soured our Melon.

Each spring,

This was our innocent custom.

This spring,

Adulthood settled in,

So did the redolence,

Of Cigarettes and Honeydew.

What follows is what once was,

Every spring,

Where I will morn our last.

Where we continue to clink our cardboard boxes,

Mimicking the same adults that we have now become.

Nevertheless I request,

To always remember the Honeydew,

Even if tainted with Cigarettes too,

And I will learn to love our redolence,

Of Cigarettes and Honeydew.

[a-perplexed-entity]

To be, or not to be..

To write is to confess,

To bestow and to betray.

Ironic isn’t it?

Praised by those who hid us away.

With every stroke of ink,

With every click on that space-bar,

Follows terror of the unknown.

A gamble..

It settles under the power of the beholder,

A will they, wont they.

A ceremony or a wake.

So tell me dear reader,

As I redefine Shakespeare’s words with our own..

Is this a To be, or Not to be?

- A poem about the fear of creativity and the anxiety that follows with sharing ones work opening it up to the judgement and perception of others.

[a-perplexed-entity]

October

You grieve your children as they tumble to your earth,

I adore the way they stain our paths with amber.

You cry the absence of day,

I stand under your tears, arms wide open, embracing your pulchritude.

You only smile for sunrise,

I await it each time.

You only glow for her,

Whilst I glowed for you.

I sing to you,

Have you ever heard?

I've waited all year for you,

But you have yet to care.

Oh October,

You were always my favourite,

But never was I yours.

[a-perplexed-entity]

The wall

Life wasn't kind to us my dear,

Souls tied through the wall.

So until God removes our veil,

We will look for each other through the cracks and crevices between each atom in its concrete.

Merely waiting

For the impossible.

[a-perplexed-entity]

You really thought I came here to be near you?

Boy, I don’t even wanna be in the same comment section as you. Please.

[a-perplexed-entity]

If life were a book.

If life were a book,

Then you would be the title.

If life were a book,

I’d burn it to the ground.

[a-perplexed-entity]

Not as fragile as a flower,

But as fragile as a bomb.