imagination

The Elephant in My Cell

You came at a bad time.

A terribly, terribly bad time.

You showed up the moment I couldn’t stand to touch you.

I was afraid you were never going to come.

I should have been glad you came, but why am I not relieved?

Is it that crippling fear that the moment I touch you, you fade away like a ghost?

Is it that you might be a whistleblower looking for an insecurity to use against me later?

Or is it that you are trying to distract me from tending to my garden before it dies of thirst?

 

I want to shout, “Why didn’t you come sooner?!”

I want to shout, “Where were you when I needed you most?!”

I want to yell at the top of my lungs, “Would it kill you to tell me what’s driving you away from me?!!”

But I am too nice. Too kind and gentle to scream and point to the elephant in the room.

The very elephant that a sorcerer pulled out of his hat and crippled both of my limbs.

 

I never wanted to call for help because it reinforces the notion that I should still be in high school.

I’ve crawled around all year avoiding the other teenage drama queens that worship dragons.

Seems like they forgot that dragons like to steal our fortunes and our hearts. Before they eat them.

 

Spending time with my open-minded little brother has planted a seed of doubt in my head.

A seed that gets me thinking that all love does to me is waste my time experimenting with false hope.

 

My imaginary nights with a fallen angel goes along the lines of;

“Yes, yes, honey, shower me with hugs and kisses. Oh, my love, how I yearn for you.

Pleasure me with your lust until the water in your veins runs out and you become a raisin.

Only then, will I toss you in the sun and wonder why the hell I’ve never gotten lucky.”

When will the water cycle end for the both of us?

What compels Venus to bewitch me to make bad choices?

Why else do you think independent seekers with degrees in hand avoid commitment?

Our grandparents and parents are more patient than our generation is now

Because compared to us, they tended to their gardens and their raisins.

You did a bang-up job tending to me by showering me with promises you can’t keep,

With complex wisdom about human nature, stories of your struggle to get your education over with,

And the snuggles and touches that I wished were real more than the chains I dream of shattering.

 

You’ve made this game look so easy, you know?

All that had impressed me about you lately is how you’ve lured me into your arms,

Only to neglect me without warning when the sun was at its hottest.

Part of me does not wish to see you go because I tolerate the pain that your absence has left behind.

You scarcely have time on your hands, but would you care to join me for a cup of jasmine tea?

It won’t take long. What I want to know next is what else is new that you have yet to tell me?

The Beast Inside...

The beast inside…

© 2017 SachikoMochiko " Sachi Ruaya

 

What’s worse than killing someone? Leaving them suffering alive. Now, whether or not they suffer is up to them…

 

Cracks…that’s how the light comes in.

 

You found that someone,

Who you deem; is the last piece of you

O’ but that one…that other one just "

How long will your grip hold?

 

 

It’s a dark feeling; jealousy

Where green, grey and black swirls weave your heart

Like steel, poison ivy 

 

 

As your blood curdles and boils,

your red-laced eyes eyeball

That one who touched your precious

 

 

Your precious gem that you admire from afar.

Your precious one, who births a hazy warm chest.

Your precious half…the other fading half of you.

 

 

But you refrain from killing

And instead of making arrangements to prey,

You keep that one alive  but suffering from your fangs

 

Your inner beast lurks inside,

already devoured half of you and yourself.

Its true form will not feast unless you do

 

 

Your fangs…its fangs bite, drawing thick, oozy blood

Of the one you hold captive in your prison

All for that one precious one, you shed blood

 

 

Your bite…your torture…your beast

Is a reflection of the steel, poison ivy

Is a being born from your selfishness…your jealousy

 

 

But you continue to feast even when you know

Know that this beast will soon consume your flesh, Bone-clean

Because pleasure will come from ones’ suffering

 

 

You are blinded by the beast; your scarlet eyes see no more,

the beauty of your precious gem…

BlurryVivid. Pitch-black.

 

 

You have lost sight of your intentions,

And your precious gem’s light is no more

Now, you know: You. Are. Devoured.

 

 

You sit there on the bottom of the beast’s stomach

Living with the pure darkness of your own

Alone. With your crackling, dry heart -unable to love

 

 

After all, you were just blind.

Destined to lurk in darkness.

 

 

Emptiness. Your skin slowly peels off from the dry darkness

Slowly…painfully, in this prison, the veil is ripped

Revealing something undeniably powerful

 

You.

 

 

The bleeding wounds of which the skin is peeled

Thus, shunned the lies and unveils the truth

The truth of you embedded inside -within the beast

 

The light suppresses the dry darkness 

With your passion, memories, joy and love

You slice through the belly…striving for freedom once more!

 

 

Author’s Note: 

 

This is one of the small fragments to ready one of my upcoming masterpiece. I will write more poems like this (having the same motivational force). WORRY is next.



 
 

© 2017 SachikoMochiko

Author's Notes/Comments: 
This is one of the "practice" poems so I can produce a higher quality work for a special someone of mine:)

Gosh...my punctuation is bad. Just like any other poems I post here, it ain't finished. Still more reviewing to be done. But overall, I hope you enjoy XD

=

Jealousy, eh? Just a quick note, any poem I write is nearly always based off of my true feelings and recent events/emotions. 
"I thought it was good but felt it would be better if it was a story...it feels like your using a lot of words which is good but feel it would make an amazing story if it had a bit more body in it... not sure what type of criticism you wanted. I think you would be amazing at writing stories I’m not being negative I agree with what the person below said just think it’s more story like xx" - Simba
"Raw and honest.Outstanding imagery in words and visuals. I can picture you in my head, shouting these words at the person this story is intended for. My only little critique is that there are more than a few harsh words used that I would have replaced with something different. He's not returning your love but you can't force someone to do so. Other than that brilliant as always I look forward to the rest of the story " Thedeus Hobbs

The Art of Writing...

The Art of Writing

@SachikoMochiko


 


Writing...
Humanity's engraved history,
on the tips of our fingers,
on the tip of the mind

It's a beautiful art, isn't it?
How someone's soul,
personality,
beliefs,
style,
Is expressed with a language
The art of writing

Of course, I do not
I do not limit
Limit to words...

Body language is the writing of the body
Music is the writing to decorate time
Facial Expression is the art of writing and interpreting...from the crust of a soul
Speech writes the base of language

Writing is not what you just think it is
...
It. Is. Pure. Art.


============


Now reading back on this poem, I have found my reason to write.


 


This thing called Writing. It's woven into our nature. As stated above, I consider things such as body language, facial expression, and music as "writing". 


 


 It's our own mind that limits us. Writing is not limited to words. After all, it is a way to express. Our ability to express is already woven in us from birth (for instance, when we cry, we express from the wails written, by our voice, in the air)...


 


And maybe I am mistaken...


 


When you kick when you were in your mother's womb, you may definitely express and inform something hehe...


 


 So really, it's my nature...our nature...to write.


 


Don't let yourself be the one who limits your potential! - SachikoMochiko :)

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Just another quick poem...

Based on Jonathan Chiu's post: "5 Reasons you should write"

See it here: http://www.writerscafe.org/writing/youngteenwriterz/1982150/#comments

Figment of my Imagination

Figment of my Imagination

By JFarrell

 

I am just a figment of your imagination

I don’t exist

The grumbling of a piece of cheese

Eaten too late at night

 

A shadow stirred by a

Tap-tap-tapping on your door

Memories awakened by

A howling on the wind

 

The breath on your neck

Of “Spring-Heeled” Jack

The knife at your throat

In Whitechapel

 

A ghost, a wisp

A vivid dream

Already forgotten

As you wake

 

The flea bites me

Then bites the arm of God

And I am nothing, forever

Just a figment, an echo

 

Author's Notes/Comments: 

i'm i my imagination or yours?

Clouds

Clouds

By JFarrell

 

Like a film reel

The pictures flow before me

One by one

 

A majestic bird, an eagle,

Spreads it wings and takes flight;

A steam barge,

Chugging it’s way upriver;

A juggling clown,

Putting on his mask, to hide his tears;

Another man in a mask,

Highwayman, to take your gold at gunpoint;

This one shows the sun breaking,

Over a lovely, sleeping town;

This one shows the sun setting,

Over the smouldering, blackened ruins of a bombed village;

This one shows the beginning of all time,

That one shows the end of all time.

 

Clouds are beautiful and wondrous,

And such an inspiration,

For the imagination.

 

Look up,

You might too

See the beginning

And the end

Of everything.

 

Author's Notes/Comments: 

clouds are beautiful

View suicideslug's Full Portfolio

Imagine Everything Is Backwards

I just want to be

With the night.

 

Quietly write.

 

Just float in space,

And feel misplaced.

 

Weightlessly fly.

 

Gather letters and words,

Sounds that taste like rain.

 

Voicelessly sing.

 

Carefully calculate

Senselessness.

 

Condense the expansion.

 

Melt it into an ice cube

And swallow it whole.

 

Shut in the out.

 

Turn on the dark,

Greet each subtle whimsy,

As I dangle from the edge

Of a crescent moon.

 

...and swoon

 

I want to be with the night.

Alright?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Imagining anything I want is backwards. 

View nightlight1220's Full Portfolio

Let's pretend

Let's, for a minute, pretend. That reality is a figment of our imaginations, and a nightmare in which people choose to live in... let's pretend that it's only us and the stars, the clouds, the dusk... well, let's focus on us.

I know it's irrational to move away from the grasps of the inevitable reality in which this world forces us to feel emotional and doubt who we are and what we feel... but let's just pretend and be happy, even though we know it's not real...

 

In this place we call a "dream," let's be together and do everything that reality prevents us from doing... Let's fall in love and have hope and be just fine with no anxiety and smile about all the great things we could do together...

Let's just pretend...? Only for a moment..

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Literally all of my emotions, carefully canvassed onto a blank though from the deep thoughts that flow through my fingertips..

View notbroken_newlybuilt's Full Portfolio

Imagination's Longevity

Imagination's Longevity

                       by Odin Roark

 

If no father takes my hand,
I'll make Care my father.
If no mother wipes my tears
I'll embrace Order.

 

If no friend stands beside me,
I'll make Quiet my friend.
If no enemy presents lessons
I'll welcome Other shadowless light.

 

If a roof is not for me,
I'll make Audacity my shelter.
If my eyes fail to see,
I'll Listen.
No ears,
I'll Think.
No thought,
I'll Wait.

 

If no Fortune comes my way,
my Means will make me rich.
If no Love furthers smiling,
I'll court Sleep to imagine.

 

Tomorrow,
and tomorrow's tomorrow,

is but a sunrise away.

 

I'll remain of Hope,
knowing dreams are often

one’s Imagined rewards…


meaning to happen.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

In a world that seems to take so much, and often gives little back, there is one thing we all possess and never abandon, willingly.  How restorative our childhood innocence. (Image by Jeanette Wolzik)

View odinroark's Full Portfolio

Luck

I didn’t believe in luck.  It was five long years ago.

 I was working down below  and next

thing I know, the mines started collapsing. 

 I fortunately made it out alive.  Only with some

bruises and a broken arm.  I do now believe

in luck.  The broken arm got me out of the

mines for good.  Weeks after the accident, I

opened my bar. Life above the ground is

not always easy.   It was all luck, but I don’t

yet understand it.  Why me? Why I am here?

I like to think that I’m here for the wounded,

the lost, and the confused.  I serve miners for free

because I understand them.  I understand

the life of being in hell, in heaven, and in grey

but, I don’t understand luck.

View walt15's Full Portfolio