poetrie

[poetrie]

“Words, he decided, were inadequate at best, impossible at worst. They meant too many things. Or they meant nothing at all.”

— Patricia A. McKillip, In the Forests of Serre

[poetrie]

i wanted to say:

maybe i want to love and be loved, to take care of someone and be taken care of, to share a lifetime with someone who understands. maybe i don't want to be alone. i want to have someone by my side. this doesn't necessarily equate to not knowing how to love oneself. i have loved myself and will continue to do so but, perhaps, life would mean a lot more to me if i have someone to share this warmth with.

i wanted to ask:

is there someone out there who understands the longing?

– Samantha M.

[poetrie]

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[poetrie]

every time / i find myself coming back to the same place / tugging at shadows / hiding behind broken walls / wondering / wondering which dreams were once sleeping between the posts / how much courage was needed to create this beautiful wreckage 
Photo and words by Samantha M.

#poetry #poetrycommunity #writingcommunity #writing #poeticthoughts #poeticsoul #poetrylovers #poetryisnotdead #poetryporn #writings #writer #writeaway #writersnetwork #writeups #poems #poemoftheday #poemsociety #poetryrise #writerscorner #writersconnection #proses #prosepoetry #proseandopoesia #poesía #writerscreed #spilledink #poetryriot #writerscreedchallenge #tuggingatshadows #napowrimo

[poetrie]

#poetry #poetsofinstagram #poetrycommunity #writersofinstagram #writingcommunity #writing #poeticjustice #poetisa #poeticthoughts #poeticsoul #poetrylovers #poetryisnotdead #poetryporn #writings #writer #writersofig #writeaway #writersnetwork #writeups #poems #poemsofinstagram #poemoftheday #poemsociety #poetryrise #writerscorner #writersconnection #proses #prosepoetry #proseandopoesia #poesía

[poetrie]

When it felt like I was your world,

perhaps, I was just like the earth

to the universe: a tiny speck of mass

in your memory, orbiting in this tiny

space you’ve made of me; night and

day, curious about how vast and vague

your mind could be; how many other

celestial bodies feed your complex

fantasies, while I look at you, thinking

that you are the only one sustaining me.

I could have said that you were my

universe. I wanted to explore the spaces

between your palms, the different

constellation of thoughts in your head,

the black holes that swallow you whole,

and the magnitude of gravity that held me

in place. But I found it hard to get a hold

of you as you outgrew my love and you

continued to expand to such vastness

no one can ever imagine. And that’s

how I learned that nothing was ever mine;

the universe cannot be mine,

as I am but a pygmy dweller

in your constantly changing reality.

– Your Universe, Samantha M.

#writerscreed #poetry #napowrimo #napowrimo2021 #spilled ink #thoughts #have a great day #writing

[poetrie]

On nights I struggle to sleep, I visit the graveyards of people who have already gone and left me. The dead doesn’t always have to be those who no longer breathe. Sometimes, I see them at places my memories have kept alive; laughing breathlessly, singing to unfamiliar melodies, continuously living. Jealousy creeps in every time I see them smile and if I try to do the same, frustration only fills my lungs as they’ll never turn their head towards me and see that I, too, can be happy without them. Perhaps, I’m just like who they are to me – dead; or worse, I am just someone who thought have once lived in their lives. Perhaps, I never did.

– You may be dead to me, but have I ever lived in your memory? | Samantha M.

#spilled ink #spilled thoughts #spilled words #writers on tumblr #spilled writing #writer #poetry #poem #poetryriot #spilled poetry #writerscreed #poeticstuff

[poetrie]

When you express yourself on

paper, it’s so easy for others to

change it, erase it, crumple it,

burn it to ashes, bury it underneath,

that sometimes, the truth you’ve

known so well becomes a mere

stranger in a crowd of unknown

faces; that when people come

searching for it, they have to look

at a number of pairs of eyes before

they’re able to see the ones that truly

show who you are or have been.

When you express yourself on

paper, maybe leaving it on the

pages isn’t enough, that you

have to express it on all parts

of your body, on the way you walk,

on the languages you speak,

on things and lives that you touch,

on all the days you spend alive,

so that the truth expresses itself

and that no one can ever bury it

because you’re no longer alone in

living, but also is the truth about you.

– Expression Doesn’t End in Writing, Samantha M.

#spilled ink #poetry #spilled thoughts #spilled words #writers on tumblr #spilled writing #writer #poem #poetryriot #spilled poetry #writerscreed #poeticstories #new post #new poem #poetryisnotdead #literature #expression #writing #alt lit

[poetrie]

I sit on a trench where deep

below lies the silenced thoughts

of a once articulate mind, debating

with oneself whether to dive down

or wait for its creatures to float up

just like how the summer sun does

at 5:45 am, swarmed by sky lovers

while the majority hasn’t risen

from bed yet; I look down and see

the distance between I and my mind;

as to how a person lives without its

thoughts and dreams and aspirations,

an answer can be so hard to formulate,

and as to when the notions in my head

will take shape again – patience, perhaps,

coupled with faith, shall be the key.

– On the Lookout of a Missing Identity, Samantha M.

#spilled ink #poetry #spilled thoughts #spilled words #writers on tumblr #spilled writing #writer #poem #poetryriot #spilled poetry #writerscreed

[poetrie]

If the ocean, with its vastness and uncertainty, can learn to still itself, then, maybe I can try, too.

– Samantha M.

#spilled ink #poetry #spilled thoughts #spilled words #writers on tumblr #spilled writing #writer #poem #poetryriot #spilled poetry #writerscreed #quote #quoteoftheday

[poetrie]

I am a lost human in a way

that I don’t know where

exactly starts the beginning

and where does it truly end.

I traverse these paths with

a compass – a keepsake

passed from generations to

generations – with trembling

knees but unshaken will as

I carry along a dream that’s

been passed on from

generations to generations;

I look at what’s behind me

and what is it that’s ahead,

feeling my breaths in between,

looking at the direction the

compass needle points at, because

as long as it still wavers, I’m

assured that, somehow, I’m directed

to a path that I may not know of yet

and that it’ll soon make me see

that everything happened for me

to reach someplace.

— Unshaken, Samantha M.

#spilled ink #poetry #spilled thoughts #spilled words #writers on tumblr #spilled writing #writer #poem #poetryriot #spilled poetry #writerscreed #filipino writer #new poem

[poetrie]

At about 4am, I was awakened by the sound of thunder. The sky was screaming

and I thought, I wish I could, too.

My eyes felt heavy and the next thing I know, it was morning and the sun was shining, blindingly, but beautifully. I wondered what made the sky lit up this bright

and I thought, I wish I could, too.

Just before half of the day went by, the sun has worn out its patience. The weather was gloomy and the sky went grey. Soon enough, rain came with frequent grumbles from the sky. It’s as if the heavens can’t decide whether to be sad or angry, so it cried.

And so, I thought, indeed, I am not alone, pacing back and forth with this fluctuating and unstable emotions.

– The Temperamental Weather, Samantha M.

#spilled ink #quarantine thoughts #mental health #spilled in words #writing #poetic #writerscreed #poetryriot

[poetrie]

I made way through the jam-packed subway headed straight to the booth "one ticket please" to a city that echoes your name; my watch told me there are four minutes left before the train arrives and four minutes felt like four hours and four hours on the train felt like four years for me.

Life, for sure, is uncertain and seeing you was the same but we know life gives us hope sometimes, too blinding for us to actually see its cruelty; I stepped out of the train but the walls are not the same the smell of rain is fresh on the pavement and I can only hear you from whispers of the wind.

You're gone and I've gone this far; nothing can ever go back to where and what and how everything used to be.

- One-Way Ticket Journey, Samantha M.

#one-way ticket #poetry prompt #spilledink #writerscreedchallenge

[poetrie]

When I was a child, about the age of nine, I was threatened with a knife hush, be silent and you’ll be just fine say nothing, everything’s going to be alright When I fell in love, about the age of losing my mind, I was threatened with his life hush, please don’t let go i can’t live without you just hug me tight and i’ll decide not to die tonight

- Open Wounds, Samantha M.

#poetry #forself

[poetrie]

If you have to leave me one day, please don’t leave with silence. Stomp your feet loudly as you walk away. Let the truth ring in my ears so that I can’t hear the footsteps that you take. The echoing painful honesty is always better than the hollowness of not knowing.

– Samantha M.

[poetrie]

At 3pm, I could still see children playing right outside our house, all laughter and playful screams, as if they know nothing about this horrible pandemic, as if today was just another ordinary summer day. They would run as fast as they can, chasing the others, feet burning against the hot pavement of the unfinished road in the village.

At almost 6pm, the scene outside our window by the dining area becomes a painting. The sun is slowly setting low behind the old nameless tree standing on an empty lot beside our house. If it could say a few words, it would say I’m done for today. I constantly think about how the sun was always too kind to show me beauty before it vanishes for the day.

I may be in solitary inside my room but outside my window, some things remain unchanged, even unbothered by the mishaps surrounding everywhere.

– Outside My Window, Samantha M.

#spilled thougts #when will this pandemic end #random

[poetrie]

The writer scanned through

her mailbox and found out a

letter with no words.

– How does is it feel to be remembered, Samantha M.