leitheanpoetry

[leitheanpoetry]

Curriculum of the Sea

I dreamed— no, I remembered.

The sea at my feet, the water licking my ankles, the waves sighing, exhaling into sand.

Why no one spoke of the grace in crumpling— how it can feel like being caught?

Why did no one say that surrender could be this quiet?

Oh, my beautiful, brutal world— I misread you.

[leitheanpoetry]

x Mysotis x

For all that we've said

In whispers, in roars and in less

You and I knew how to digress

Like petals blooming, falling as the colors drain

But it remains my dear, the word remains

In ink, in love, in decay...

Fae ©

Prompt by @picklemafia :)

The word was "Flowers"

[leitheanpoetry]

Galaxy of me

I am not made of flesh alone— I am nebula, nova, orbit, unknown. A thousand suns burn in my bones, and silence sings where light has flown.

I carry constellations in my chest, stories stitched between ribs and rest. Comets of memory blaze through thought, trailing fire from the wars I fought.

I am gravity and grace, a black hole’s pull, a star’s embrace. Wounds swirl like Saturn’s rings— beautiful, distant, aching things.

Some nights, I collapse inward, folding like dying stars do— but even then, I birth new light, from ashes only galaxies knew.

I’m stitched from cosmic paradox— a prism born in endless dark. Every joy, a flare; every pain, a spark. I hold the infinite in a beating heart.

So do not ask me to be small— I was never meant for simple skies. I am a dance of shadows and fire, a galaxy wearing human disguise.

~~~

My try at the word prompt "galaxy" suggested by @noxnightingales. Also thank you @picklemafia for the poetry prompt idea idea! It was very fun to have a kind of guide/ prompt to work on.

[leitheanpoetry]

The Great Out There

There are things that I must do,  And words that need to be said.  The confines of the four walls Have silenced my soul to dread.  There are places I must go,  And there is love to be found.  Paint a new sky with the glow,  From the mountain of Future's past.  There is a haven over here,  But I,  I'm in search of the great out there.

[leitheanpoetry]

A Novelty Tour

Find you, find me; Find ourselves In our memory. Desire forges a path undertaken; Never leave the road once reckoned.  Find the light, find the purpose; Find what echoes deepest. Her puzzle is an unfinished tease, No piece to adorn completion. She, of crescent eyes and calming seas Holds the key to your ascension. Color the sky, fill the grey; Watch your hues pave the way. Play the melody Etched on her lips, And write of beauty stretched endless. Watch the horizon, a grey cloud looms. Despair begins to bloom.  The sky narrates a conclusion: Witness truths of your delusion. Lose the piece, lose the purpose; Lose yourself In the process. Stare into the mirror and see nothing more: Blank as a slate, a novelty tour.

[leitheanpoetry]

'This is how the dead practice living;

one part butter,

two parts longing'

@yasu-verse your writing is amazing

The ghost who bakes lemon cookies

Someone stands in the kitchen, a tray of twelve unbaked cookies before her. The air hums with lemon, sugar, and butter—a scent like her grandma’s kitchen, though no one stirs beside her now. She works alone. This recipe is hers to ruin, to alter, to claw back from failure again and again. Safe in this: no matter how they emerge—lopsided, burnt, brittle as bone—she’ll be the only tongue to judge them.

Last week’s batch hardened into bricks. She’d forgotten them in the oven, lost in the fractured space her mind occupied. Her failures catalog themselves: a ledger etched where no one reads.

The oven light flickers as she reaches inside—not a malfunction, but a recognition. Tray slid in, timer set: twenty minutes, no more, no less. Then, the ritual’s quiet sacrament: the bowl’s leftover dough, clinging to the spoon. She licks it clean. For a moment, the dead taste life.

Today, the cookies rise perfect. Golden. Unbroken.

This terrifies her.

What happened in those twenty minutes? The recipe shouldn’t yield perfection—not for hands like hers. If the lemon cookies are flawless, what excuse remains for the pages that bleed vitriol at midnight? If this works, is she done?

She leaves them on the counter overnight, praying dawn will warp them—let the cold stale their edges, let flies speckle their tops. Let them be ruined, so she may begin again.

She wants to love them. Wants to love anything the way her presence once did.

She knows she can’t.

This is how the dead practice living:

one part butter,

two parts longing,

a pinch of salt

stolen from a wound

that scabbed over

years ago.

2.7 grams—

the weight of a decision

unmade.

[leitheanpoetry]

Inspired by the pinned post by @versesbyaaliyah who mentioned @picklemafia and @noxnightingales

Elegy with a collapsing star

There are galaxies

That fit inside teacups-

The swirl of sugar

The way steam rises like memory

Too soft to hold.

I wished to hold you

one more time.

Andromeda I would sacrifice.

Cloud, dwarf—

galaxies formed by human hand.

Whirlpool, Antennae—

the universe's failed attempts

at poetry.

I would trade the Horsehead Nebula

for your shoulder

at 3 a.m.,

half-asleep,

not knowing you were being mourned

in real time.

Somewhere, a star is collapsing

because I said your name

too softly.

[leitheanpoetry]

From Words Left Unspoken

Here's to the lie you choose to live,  A hand you refuse to offer.  Here's to the notion of our love,  Love that lives only to suffer.  Withered templates are all you spawn,  Upon this path we walk along. And as I beckon for your grace,  You dance to a forsaken place.  For the sorrow you praise,  And for the warmth you fear,  Time will speak of a day I no longer appear.  But until then,  Empty pages speak What I have deemed bleak.  So here's to you,  My prim tragic-token.  And here's to me,  With words left unspoken.

[leitheanpoetry]

Until the Light Takes Us

Some days, I don't see my scars.  I stare at the reflection  And see past the projection  Some days, I don't wake myself.  But the mirror stands beside  Showing me what's true inside.

[leitheanpoetry]

i am not dramatic—i am dissolving

@kameneva

[leitheanpoetry]

Constellations

Etched into the stars,  We shine with an eternal glow. Our dreams become constellations And our hearts, the sky.  We trudge along meteors and comets,  And conquer the dark rifts.  And somewhere along the way,  Our light may seem to fade; The constellations altering themselves Into a carnival act.  But the sky will only ever turn as dark As the dark we've conquered before.

[leitheanpoetry]

Bloom

I shed these horns of false valor, They have no place in your light. Grant me the honour of your safekeep And allow me to share your burdens. Lay bare your demons So I may let mine greet yours. Reach for my hand across the emptiness, I will build us a home from the debris.

[leitheanpoetry]

Somewhere through a veil of stars somewhere out there we are

floating like dandelion seeds and lazy sunlit grins

somewhere within eternity's wispy and mellow sigh

we relearn to fly, you and I.

© Anna S. 2025

[leitheanpoetry]

Fem (Entropy #5)

Here I lay, breathless in the misty oaken shroud Sinking ever so gently into the bramble. Coral vines lull me deeper into despondence, The earth surely feels softer in this ensemble. Chanterelle floors overgrown to brittle clouds Are cast asunder from voices of ancient bark. Must I secede my self in this tranquil acre? My heart pleads for me to linger a while longer, Linger intently in the hall of life's caper. I am greeted by banshees who sing of time, with Silhouettes that glisten amidst faerie wind chime. They weave the choices of resolve or apathy, Yet, I utter death to uphold my sanity. These woods do not welcome a fruitless naysayer, They outlast the ventures of a mere soothsayer.

[leitheanpoetry]

The greatest thing I ever achieved was looking into your eyes and finally understanding why people write poetry.

[leitheanpoetry]

Grief finds its way to me like a flu I can never quite recover from. It exists in faces I've forgotten and doors I've closed. It lingers in corridors I no longer belong. I can't hold anyone's hand without recognising its certainty. Yet I hold on and allow it to ruin me once again.

[leitheanpoetry]

Lighthouse

How I long to be your Lighthouse in turbulent waters

To be what you turn to in times of darkness

To guide you from turmoil to safety

To be your shining beacon

To help you find your way when you feel lost

To do what you have done for me

How I long to return the favor, my Lighthouse in the waters

- J.Lamana

© 2025 picklemafia/J.Lamana | Reposting on this platform is permitted with proper credit. Reposting on other platforms is not allowed. No edits. All rights reserved.