The Poetry Marathon

your departure

left an imprint

fragile slip of a dried flower

I keep revisiting

behind the glass of my memories

frozen in time

like your smile

blue like the submerged

ice on a glacier

goodbyes are always

deeper than they seem

layers of emotion

warped by expectation

frozen by fear and covered

by a sheen of desperation

I left and all my memories

were doused in the blue lighting

of our last hours together

a filter I would

never choose when

what we had was so warm

when what we had was

alive, vibrant, violet

like the sky above the mountains

before nightfall

like the sleeve of

your favorite hoodie

all my memories are blue, now.

turns out I learned to hate any shade of purple.

dad would make

sourdough bread

twice a week

and I’d always beg

for the hardened ends

crispy, still steaming warm

melting anything spread

on top, and I’d always

eat it plain to savor

the cloud of taste left

by the crust

nowadays dad does

not bake anymore but he

still forms atmosphere

in the house by placing the needle

on every record he

decides to play on the

vintage record player once belonging

to my grandmother

whenever the beat

gets too intense I’ll see his eyes

turn periwinkle to forget-me-not

face turn

sunflower to daisy

hands turn

lily to geranium

dad becomes common

in grief, another broken man

walking to a grave of a person

who would not have let him cry

dad knows how to make good sourdough

keep a batch of it behind

to put into the next attempt at bread

and to save spoonfuls of the next dough, also

that is how he rembers grandma

throws a spoonful of grief

into every day like it’ll make it more digestible

like he’ll be able to bake

bread from it for a long time

if only he can make it last.

I once askedy sister to play
a card game while mom was away;
but her laptop, it beckoned
and as it was jan’ry second
she blamed it on introvert day.

drowning in a city is

easy, smog covers

the scene, you

can choke

as loudly as you

want to and your

next door neighbor

will have the decency

to look surprised

when the ambulance

arrives; he does not

know you, nor you

him and that’s the

problem, or maybe

the solution to

everything

drowning in a city

is easy, stay outside

in the rain for too long

and people will assume

you plan to melt

into the sidewalk

stop breathing for

a minute

and everyone will think

your lips are blue from

the cold, look out

at the skyline and

smile because who wouldn’t

want to go with a good

view, there is always happiness

in the small things in

the city but they just

get overshadowed by the

big things so easily

there areso many big things

all around

you drown quietly

while you admire the

skyline, shadowed figure

floating in the pool

that is the feeling of

being forgettable, of being

a mere speck for those

living in the tallest building

drowning in the city is easy

and not uncommon, that’s why

no one will try to stop you here

no one will look at you

and see anything out of the ordinary

if they see you, at all.

princess, spoiled by the love

of someone so ruthless

he’d shield you from any pain

you fall, are lost without him

and maybe that was never his intention

and maybe it was, there is no telling now

but you, you need to keep going

no matter the motive, you are broken now

and have to start rebuilding

maybe not a kingdom

maybe nothing more than

a tent for now

a place so close to the stars you will not feel trapped again

a place with walls so flimsy you will never

have trouble breaking free to run

there is no greater purpose than

rebuilding yourself bit by bit

grief may be a solid foundation but it is not hope

pain may promise duration but it is not joy

learn to trust one person to learn

to trust yourself for the first time

learn to rise again

you may be developing calluses

but at least your hands don’t waver anymore

you may be wielding the very knives

he forbade you to touch for fear of injuring yourself

but at least next time the world won’t find you helpless

you make the journey from title to truth step by step

from a princess by name

to a queen by choice

you rise

there is comfort in safety in ______

coming home to find things exactly as you left them

falling into patterns, habits that

guide routines and

make you feel at home

________ is home

________ is peace, contentment

________ is looking at myself in the mirror as I walk by and not realizing this is what I look like

________ is baking a cake to share it with my flatmates

________is coming home to a made bed and an empty house

falling onto clean sheets and waiting for sleep to come

but the danger of ________ is stagnancy

the danger of ________ is slowly beginning to boil alive withput realising

there is a difference between ________ and good,

between comfort and beneficiality

between safety and suffering for the sake of stability

________ can be sleeping only three hours between work shifts and

drinking an entire thermos of coffee at work to stay awake

________ can be doing overtime every day but hiding it from your boss to make sure you don’t get in trouble

________ can be taking over your colleagues work because how else

are you ever gonna finish

________ can be slowly losing joy and not even realizing.

________ can suck without you realizing, but because it is ________,

you never deign to question it.

you keep asking for things to go back to ________ without realizing you’re actually asking for things to get better.

if you keep asking for ________, you’ll never realize you’re already there,

walking in circles,

waiting for a standard of the past

to become reality again.

there is a new measuring stick

use it, and stop waiting for things to go back to ________.

you are what laughter is

at 3 am after a long conversation

unexpected, loud, bright enough to fill

every empty crack with light

smile strong for all the hope

that is possible

stand tall for all the strength

that is potential

you are whipped cream melting

off a cake in the summer sun

are the lilting high notes of a violin

yet carry the lower registers too

looking at you blinds me and

draws me in at the same time

and I don’t even have a crush on you

all I’m saying is you carry joy like

other people carry a title

swing it through rooms like a signature

that promises not to be

inauthentic, forced

you talk of your flaws like

a jeweler trying to make a bargain

by exposing anything that might

bring the seller to drop the price

you don’t need to buy what you already own

don’t need to prove to me you are

validated in selling yourself short

I won’t believe you

I may not know all of you but I can see your glow

I may not be close enough to count your scratches

but I can tell you bring your own warmth

drowns his worries

in a bathtub,

compartmentalizing

and filling each

thought into a bottle

to pour out

shot by shot

another day

one at a time

or too many at once till he

is drunk on the confusion

swimming in what

overwhelmed feels like

there is time for

everything but worry,

worry always grabs

at the scraps of whatever

it can reach so

giving it an inch is

almost impossible

like a single shot

at a party he

doesn’t want to remember

like a single note

of a song he once

listened to on replay

what use are noise cancelling

headphones when

the voices inside

are too loud

i am haunted by humans*;

follow a trail of laughter

not my own on my way back

from work, eyes smiling

with the memory of the way

she stole my planner and

wrote ‘my birthday! ;)’ on

every wednesday except

for the one in the week of her

actual birthday, which fell

on a tuesday, of all days

i am haunted by humans

spill water down

my chin as i drink while

imagining his eyes as he

asks me how i’m doing

in my relationship with God

and i keep having to

say ‘i have a lot to work

on’ and he will tell me

‘it’s okay, it’s okay

me too’

i am haunted by humans

shoulders drawn up defensively

recalling th way she

stared at the side of my face

while scratching on the chalkboard

of my insecurities

with the sentence

‘i don’t think you are letting

yourself want this’ because i

wasn’t, still can’t let myself

dream of things it might

cost me a lot to keep

i am haunted by humans,

or better yet, how

they made me feel

how i let them in

just to push them

away when they

made me feel too much

i have only ghosts with

me, now

i have only spectres

following me around,

whispering of love behind

every corner, fata morganas

of the closeness i crave

dreaming of an oasis

is better than none at all

if i tell myself i am drowning

maybe i can forget my

sandy tongue

maybe i can forget

the thirst

*last line of ‘The Book Thief’ by Markus Zusak

There is more hope in the future than you could believe,

walking on roads that make you unsure-

but you fear falling stagant once you let yourself grieve.

You have plans taking shape and dreams you spin and weave,

intentions and ideals almost pure.

There is more hope in the future than you could believe.

You are working on letting go things you must leave,

you have to force yourself to still endure.

Survial is louder than the need to grieve

while all you look for is just some reprieve;

times for silence and rest become fewer.

There is more hope in the future than you could believe,

you keep telling yourself with every breath you heave.

Hang onto dreams though they don’t cure

the aching while you can’t let yourself grieve,

the stinging pain throbbing with every cleave;

bad coping mechanisms still lure-

but there is more hope in the future than you could believe

waiting for you once you let yourself grieve.