Author: Anisah Hamid

Escapism

Original Poetry

Silence deafens me,
but at the same time,
all I can hear is your voice.
You’re everywhere and nowhere
with intense destructive capabilities.
I cannot escape you,
nor do I wish to.

Leaders Of The Wolf-Pack

Original Poetry

Tongue-tied
on the sunrise.
He was going to kiss me,
but it didn’t feel real.
His hands on my back,
we were leaders of the wolf-pack.
When his lips met mine,
we knew we’d got it right.

– Maggie Stiefvater

Literature

“Don’t tell me that. I’ve lived in hell for the past thousand years. I spent a thousand years wishing I’d never been born. She’s the only thing that’s made my life worth living and if that’s all I get, a few months with her- a few days, it’s more than I’ve ever hoped for. Do you really think God would forgive me for the blood on my hands, even if my soul was free? I’m going to hell no matter what happens. Let me have my pathetic hopeless love while I can. Just- let me pretend it will turn out alright.”

Lament

Predator and Prey

Original Poetry

The setting sun,
the shining stars;
I wouldn’t have it any other way.
A hand on my back,
A stroke of the neck,
A love affair between predator and prey.

What I Think Of, When I Think Of Him

Original Writing

When I think of him, the first thing that comes to mind is the intoxicating sensation of being high. High on life, on love, on him. His lips are something I crave at 8am and at 11.30pm. His touch is something I miss the most in the sun-dazzled haze of a lazy summer’s afternoon. The soft caress of seduction brushing across my lips over and over again, a hand tracing its fingertips up my leg, a smile through the kiss. When I think of his eyes, I think of a soft summer sunset married with hues of honey.  I’m subconsciously aware that I might drown in the ocean of his being, yet I’ll readily dive into the deep despite not quite knowing how to swim. During the day, I want to rip my heart into shreds and watch the little pieces float around me as I look on in despair; at night, I want to put all of those pieces back together, taking no notice of the blood on my hands and the stains on the hem of my skirt. The sweet, dulcet tones of our incessant need for closeness fill the air when he nears me.

This is what I think of when I think of him.

Symphonies

Original Writing

The ocean finally calmed and you came out with scars coughing up memories. The branches you clung to while you were being tossed through oblivion had thorns, leaving gashes in your hands while you clung for life, scared to go too far under. And blood and water caressed your lips, like the taste of his kisses when they came from a mouth that shot bullets disguised as words. But you survived. You survived the hands pulling you under and the currents pulling you every which way.

Honey-Dipped Eyes

Original Poetry

When sadness was the sea, you taught me how to swim.
Waves and waves of you now crash into me.
Yet, somehow,
serenity can only be defined by
living in your honey-dipped eyes.
Serenity can only be described
as you.