Maaaaan, what to write, what to write?

I’m drunk, and so you’d think I’d have more to say. Perhaps my love for her remains unchanged, or so I’d like to think.

I’ve always wanted to bring out the best in her. Make her notice my name and say it a little lovelier than last time.

I just want to hear her say it. Play it on repeat. I know I couldn’t help myself.

I’ve been murmuring baby to myself for the past year, in the depths of my longing.

I wonder how she would respond to that. If she, too, has waves pulling at her tongue, sinking down to her heart.

I’ve made stupid choices in my life, drawing me further from the shore.

Hoping her lifeboat would drift by, telling myself that it should be me, with an aching of a tearful sea.

I should’ve saved her. I should save her. I can still…

I…

Still,

I carry hope, for if there’s anything keeping me afloat, it’s her.

Even when I’ve forgotten her voice, forgotten her smile, and gone blind.

I’ll never dry up.

Not with the hold she has on my eyes, my soul.

So for now, I’ll simply go on and enjoy the rest of my beer.

Cheers. 🍻

If they opened the door, would you let her in?
Would you turn back the clock to where it all began?
Knowing what you know of the architecture of time,
Would you change the ending, rewrite the design?

She has seen a world where histories bend,
Where perceptions can shift and old narratives end.
But of all she was shown, one question remains:
Could two wounded hearts ever begin again?

If the true King stood beside her once more,
Would he offer the safety she needed before?
Plug her back into a life without fear,
Promise her peace and genuinely stay near?

Not necessarily lovers, perhaps family or friends,
For love takes many forms, and not everything ends.
The heart has no logic, no reason or rhyme,
And some connections survive the cruellest of times.

Perhaps every emotion was hers to endure,
To understand what mattered, what love could restore.
From darkness to light, and from light into night,
Two halves of a story still seeking what's right.

If you could rewind it, knowing the cost,
Would you prevent all the years that were lost?
Or would you preserve what the suffering revealed,
And finally allow those old wounds to be healed?

She has guarded her heart for most of her life,
Through betrayal, abuse and unimaginable strife.
Yet somehow the armour has fallen away,
And she wonders what all of you might have to say.

And to those little birds, still chirping away,
Admire her legs and her arse from afar, if you may!
But until someone explains how to tidy this mess,
You'll have to make do with the view, nothing less.

For two hearts once imagined as written in time
May still find their peace without reason or rhyme.
And perhaps all that matters, when everything's done,
Is whether two people can stand as one.

She hopes that the buzzing will quieten one day,
That the noise and the heartache will finally give way.
No more confusion, no unanswered pleas,
Just honesty, kindness and a little more peace.

She'll be taking some time to organise her flight,
To rediscover her laughter, her freedom, her light.
The door isn't locked, but the choice must be free;
No love should require someone to surrender their peace.

So, if you could change it, would you begin?
Would you offer your hand and finally let her in?
Not to erase every lesson or pretend nothing's true,
But to write something kinder for her and for you.

She'll leave you that question and step out of sight,
With a heart that still hopes and a future to write.
The birds may keep singing; she'll check in someday.

Until then, take care.
She's got a life to reclaim.

These legs were made for dancing as you have all seen.

🌹🕊️🦋✨

​

When my heart was hollow,

And my body filled with sorrow.

Heard your voice so sweet like the chirps of a sparrow,

And when I saw you, I was struck by cupid's arrow.

You should be in an art gallery for your beauty,

Or rather in a temple, worshiped as a deity.

I wish I were born as one of the dragonflies,

To see your beauty, I need more than two of my eyes.

I would want to be the light,

To reflect off you and bless the world with your sight.

I searched all books in the library,

And all words from a dictionary.

But there was nothing I could find,

To describe what was in my mind,

When I found you in that white dress,

Felt a sharp pain in my chest.

Knew that you were the one in my life,

Can I take you home as my wife.

mr hedgehog
are you muddling home?
but you’re caught between rubber and road
mr hedgehog
are you being missed?
my what short life you lived
mr hedgehog
i’m going to go now

If you could see inside my mind,
the places that we go,
the little dreams I have of us
and things you'll never know.

I'd pull you close and kiss your lips,
and hold you for a while,
I'd whisper all the things I feel
and melt beneath your smile.

I'd spend my mornings next to you,
my evenings in your arms,
and fall asleep beside you,
so safe and loved and warm.

And sometimes when I close my eyes,
I almost feel you near,
close enough to make me smile,
then wish that you were here.

But until dreams become our days,
and all our wishes come true,
I'll keep on dreaming every night
of waking up with you.

Winter is coming
The sting of wind against your face
The sound of it whispering as it runs over your ears
Biting
The leaves fall victim to the wind
Their corpses carried away
Blood red leaves
Bruise yellow leaves
They fall, twisting in the wind
Mornings are darker
The leaves cover the light
When the light finally comes, it shows frost coating the grass
Suffocating and freezing
The frost devours the land
It kills the fresh, beautiful tomatoes
They pop open, the frost stretching their skin to its breaking point
“Crack”
Tomato on the ground
The frost eats it
The frost eats everything
The frost will eat my corpse once I die
The frost will turn to snow, thick fluffy mounds of it
Winter will come
We cannot stop it
The wind whispers this to me.
But.
Winter punishes earth, but earth lives on
It keeps going, even through being frozen and broken
I will keep going, as does the earth I walk upon
I will continue
The frost won’t eat me yet
I mourn my red tomato, but their life has come to its natural ending
I will resist the frost.
For my tomato.

Não me toque, disse a flor a João.
- Mas eu quero te tocar.
- Mas se me tocar você vai se ferir.
- Olhe, eu tenho espinhos.
- Eu não ligo que você tenha espinhos. Eu te quero.
- Você não me quer, você quer me colher.
- Não é o mesmo?
- Claro que não. Um você me tem pra si, no outro, a gente se tem.

Six feet under, thought I finally paid the price,
Till a grave robber digs me up just to kill me twice.
Peeled off my skin, tore the bone from my corpse,
Made a lamp out the loot—what a sick, terrible sport.
Bro, I’m dead already! A lifeless trophy inside his room,
Ed Gein with his craft, designer decor made of doom.
Dimming light on his desk while he’s taking a power nap,
Still unloved as a house fixture , stuck in an endless trap.
Never gotten a chance to ask if he’d love me as a lamp,
He flips my switch: ON/OFF; joystick button in his hand
My spirit absorbs in horror-dumb, mute cold and damp.

if only you had waited a little longer

maybe your family would ask you for a favor

maybe they needed help, maybe you could solve it

maybe you could solve everything

your friend would call you, saying they have a surprise

maybe they bought a new house, maybe they married, maybe they won the lottery... but it would all come crashing down

maybe you were a glance away from meeting the love of your life, having kids, taking care of them, maybe you could be grandparents... but you missed out on it. you couldn't hold on

maybe the tiniest hope that you're clinging to would soon allow you to reach your dreams... maybe you wanted a palace, maybe you wanted calm and balance... maybe that hope would solve all your problems...

maybe, just maybe, the "maybe's" you once considered would become real. maybe the years of work you did wouldn't be in vain... maybe, you wouldn't leave everyone loving you behind when you heard the big news you would get a few hours later.

it is too unfortunate, if only you had waited a little longer, the garden of life would spring, and you'd see it flower

Does anyone know of any poetry book competitions? Drop a reply below

You have been successfully detached from my mind but I still plant the same flowers in my garden.

Anisfield-Wolf Book Award contestee here!!

Wish me luck!!

www.phrenicphude.com

Don't trust knots,

Especially the belly button,

They rebuke with isolation,

And joint filing taxes,

Marriage liabilities aren’t free,

And two become one,

Now we can be lonely!

Between the Watch and the Silence

A poem of two dreams

I. The Watch Shop
I went to church to meet my friends,
A place I thought I knew,
But half walked out through unfamiliar doors,
And half went wandering through.

A watch shop stood where faith should be,
With glass and gold displayed,
And I walked in with empty feet,
In hole-worn socks arrayed.

The people who can buy these things,
I thought, don’t look the type.
As though the wealth behind the glass
Were some elaborate lie.

My friends had wandered further on,
So I devised a way
To move between the desks by hand,
And shuffle through the day.

They laughed at me. I caught a glimpse
Of myself within a mirror—
A neck like Haaland’s, stretched absurd,
My silhouette no clearer.

And yet I laughed along with them;
The fool was me, it’s true.
There was no shame in looking strange
Beneath that gilded view.

Then, on a whim, I tried a flip,
Expecting to descend—
But gravity forgot its work,
And would not let me end.

I hung suspended in the air,
No landing, no reply.
I couldn’t understand the rules
Of staying in the sky.

We left the shop. The dream withdrew.
The waking world grew near.
The room was hot, the night was done—
And nothing brought me clear.

II. The Foam Stick
Somewhere else, a distant place,
A trip beneath strange skies,
Two teachers kept their watch on us,
Two pairs of judging eyes.

And there she was, the girl I’d learned
To keep a space between;
A history I could not change,
A silence in the scene.

A telephone call broke her calm.
She wept, then came to me,
And wrapped her arms around my back
As though I were the key.

I held her, not knowing what
The moment asked me to do.
Then pointed towards the watching teacher
— You saw her come here too.

But she mistook the gesture’s aim,
And read a cruel intent.
The girl released me, turned away,
And wept at what she’d sensed.

I tried to speak. The words were there.
They crowded at the door.
But every time I reached for them,
The teacher spoke once more.

I turned to one, then turned again,
Convinced that one might hear;
But neither gave my words a place,
And neither let me clear.

A soft foam stick lay in my hand,
A ridiculous defence.
I struck it out against the air,
Against their indifference.

It touched their heads; they barely moved.
No anger, no surprise.
I brought it to the other one,
Still searching for her eyes.

I poked, I struck, I tried again—
A child against a wall.
The stick could make no difference;
It changed nothing at all.

For what could force an ear to hear?
What blow could make words true?
What use is knowing what you meant
If none will listen to you?

The girl was gone. The teachers stayed.
My explanation, lost.
I stood amid the wreckage of
A truth that had no cost—

Except the price of being judged
Before the case was heard,
Of having every gesture weighed
But never one clear word.

III. Between the Dreams
One night, I laughed at being strange,
And floated without knowing why.
The next, I fought to make things clear,
And could not make them try.

In one, the world forgot its laws;
In one, it would not bend.
In one, I rose without a cause;
In one, I could not reach the end.

Perhaps the mirror asks me this:
What matters when we’re seen?
The foolish shape we show the world,
Or what we truly mean?

Perhaps the sky can hold a man
Who doesn’t know he’s flown.
Perhaps the hardest fall is not
The one we take alone.

But somewhere past the glass and gold,
Past judgement, noise and fear,
There waits a place where I can speak—
And someone chooses to hear.

Daisy

I bloom, I sway to stay awake
I wither slow, the seasons pass,
Just a flower with nothing at stake
Caught in the wind, rooted within the grass

I am no rose,
They’re picked and plucked and stuffed in a bunch
They’re shown for love, they’re all anyone knows
I bloom all year, im just not wanted enough

Im out of tune, im not in the mood
My petals decay, now I bend, I break, I watch them fade
The wind blows me around, I follow still searching for sound

Lillypad of the Mind

I see her face in my minds eye,
She smiles at me, reaching her small arms out,
I feel waves of emotion inside.

We embrace and I feel like she’s given me her warm rainbow,
It moves like the ocean waves do, but only for me,
A new feeling, like a pulsing nirvana.

She is only a memory of a daughter I never had,
A gift my mind gave to me, to feel the primal version of love,
An experience of true happiness.

I will always remember everything about her,
The moment will play like an ouroboros in my mind,
She hugs me and whispers,

it’s not too late.

“Why have You forsaken me?”

Psalm 22:1.

“My God, my God, why have You forsaken me?”

Matthew 27:46.

“Why have You forsaken me?”

Chop Suey — System Of A Down.

Mm.

A recurring motif, no?

Both religiously and sacrilegiously.

Curious.

(Selah.)

I suppose I could cry at the thought of an angel

deserving to die.

Ah, always so self-righteous.

Never once quite slipped for over half of your life.

Could you be that angel?

Because you… you’ve always been so good.

And then, you fell.

You were so high, though, your fall was rather like witnessing death.

So impeccable.

What for, really?

You wanted to please everyone, but so early on, the rage beneath couldn’t stay buried for long.

You pleased everyone. At the expense of your life.

(Selah.)

It’s rather fascinating, I’ll admit, 

realizing how the ultimate expression of 

human abandonment hasn’t changed in the slightest in over two millennia.

Does anyone really take the time to realize that “pleasing everyone” becomes almost indistinguishable from self-erasure?

Given the data… I’d suppose not.

The angel remained impeccable because the angel was willing to sacrifice itself.

And eventually there was nothing left to sacrifice—except itself.

I mean…

If the highest, purest creation can fall, what chance did a human trying to be flawless ever have?

(Selah.)

Oh, don’t mind me—nor mistake me for trying to play the “devil’s advocate.”

By now, I’ll suppose you’re used to my willingness to play with imagery.

But…

Yes.

The angel can have rage.

The angel can fall.

The angel can fail.

The angel can even be responsible for some of its own destruction.

But still—

why was it forsaken?

That question remains unanswered.

Was it forsaken at all?

Given the data… it’s a plausible possibility.

Was it forsaken even before it fell?

Because otherwise… why would it have fallen?

How could it?

One was impeccable. The other was flawless.

You gave away your life to please others—

until the only piece left to burn on the altar was your actual identity.

Does that count as a Sunday testimony?

(Selah.)

Did it fall?

Did it want to fall?

Was it pushed?

Was it—for a millisecond—relieved it’d been pushed?

Because then, the façade could’ve been gone.

But no—life never makes it easy like that.

You’re living on the edge.

You so wish to die. But you haven’t.

Neither of you has.

Your earlier supposition that you could cry at the thought of an angel deserving to die is being proven consistent.

Do you think, though, you’re deserving of such punishment?

If death is supposed to be a punishment, anyway.

(Selah.)

You were sitting at that pew.

Hours ago.

Half of you… wishing to believe.

Half of you, as always, already gone.

And the only question returning to your mind was…

Why have You forsaken me?

I trusted You.

I believed in You.

I defended You.

I placed my faith in You.

So why…

Without apparent remorse…

Without an apparent coming around…

Without an apparent “I’m still here” whisper…

Mercilessly…

When did I fail you?

Was it when I fell in love?

Was it when I failed others as well, for merely

discovering I had my own wills—and they didn’t always align with Yours, nor necessarily please You?

Was it when I was overzealous about Your Word, and so consumed by my hunger for knowledge and wisdom that I might’ve become a little arrogant—and imprudent, like Solomon?

I wonder.

And if any of those—

or all of them—are true…

I would still presume to ask:

Why have You forsaken me, Father?

— Crownless.

Discrepancy Is Key

When you're fucking with Psycho,

I'm hypothetical.

Selective and diabolical,

I'm chronological.

And dialectical,

Cynical,

And ferocious.

I'll leave you in a state

Of hemoptysis.

I'm hypnosis

And loud.

Trans, I am proud.

Imprisoned in the misery,

Incessantly so,

Hypothetically.

On the low,

Scientific.

I'm terrific

And sadistic.

Imprisoned and explicit,

Heterosis,

And bodacious,

Delicious.

And perceptive,

Somewhat protective.

I'm critical,

I'm hypocritical.

Cynical

And seductive.

Calm, but I'll erupt

Like a volcano.

I'll interrupt the flow,

Intrinsic,

And forensic.

Elusive and conducive.

Subliminal,

Subsonic,

Hypnotic

And chronic.

I'm a recovered alcoholic,

Symbolic.

Symphony

Or destiny,

Neurologic

And nostalgic.

​

Also truly dangerous,

Something between pride and greed.

Envy is the birth of reason for which these two sins exist...

Immortal in its own being,

Envy is like wrath,

Fueled by its own beginning.

He wants what you have.

Children better parents,

isn't that the saying?

In this case, the kids

are sins of pride, wrath, and greed.

He will see all that you have,

And all the things you don't,

And if he decides it so,

They'll become his own.

He will see the crown you wear,

And he'll want one too,

And if he can't have his own,

He will just transform.

Sometimes darkest things we do

Are not some random acts,

Instead, they're just transformance

Of things we've done in past.

Envy sees the crown and wants it,

Pride wants better one,

Greed wants to have more than that,

And wrath wants you to burn...

See the difference?

Yes.
I feel horrible.
I feel disgusted, and initially,
I felt embarrassed.

I was not smiling,
yet,
I was,
now what I have identified:
Grateful.

Imagine that?
No.
I suppose not.

A tumour diagnosis.
3 weeks,
from the day we knew.

Nothing happened as expected.
I didn’t understand.
In that moment.
What I was witnessing.

The severity.

So I stroked you gently, then—unsure.
Now,
Guilt.
Each night,
kisses me goodnight.

My gentle soul.
How do I let you go?

I anticipate your anxiety on that day.
A room, in my arms, in a place that is not ours.
A brave face in that moment, I will hold.
You will see me smiling.

And please hear me again whisper:
“Mom will never leave you. Remember?”

An extract from a prior poem.

I failed you,
that is how I feel.

I was a coward.
I was frightened.
I was losing my mind.
Everything, for the first time,
when pertaining to you;
I felt useless.

At first, your past was why.
Bearing witness
to your growth in trust and love –
Your sister can hold her own.
You
I wanted to shelter from the world.

You did,
what I could not.
You lifted the weight
I had promised
was mine alone to carry:
when to say goodbye.

You decided for me.
Forever, I am in your debt.

A blood clot.
The results of such, then playing out.
You did not deserve that.

I cannot reverse that.
There is nothing for me to yell at.

Along with this pain,
is gratitude.

You allowed me to breathe,
and in turn,
you took your last breath.

My Rebel Rose.
My Rebel pebble.
My silly billy.

I think I can still hear you.

“Mom’s most prettiest girl in the whole wide world.”

unlike belief , curses are not placed upon
one is born with a curse , unable to be withdrawn

they are not to be treated with fear or anguish
because once born , a curse cannot vanquish

they differ in purpose, reason and being
all in natures favor and it's intent of decreeing

they come in all forms of intent
one grants paths , one brings torment

i myself was born with the latter
my curse painting my life in dark matter

too late have i discovered the fact ,
whatever tormenting me rather abstract

from times existence i thought it was love
the feeling towards me , people were free of

whereas love was a thing i always adored ,
and my mind absorbed such impossible chord

and only too late , i was illuminated
my mind drowned in loath , and so i was baited

my curse was not my existence a matter of loath
my curse was reversed , enforcing an oath