poetryblogger

– William Shakespeare

Literature

These violent delights have violent ends
And in their triumph die, like fire and powder
Which, as they kiss, consume.

Romeo and Juliet

Oh, My Love

Original Poetry

Oh, my love,
if ever you feel like stars do not quite
shine bright enough,
or the sea is too deep for you,
or you are suffocating in
the silence around you,
remember me.
For I will risk all I have
to rescue you.
I will paint the moon into the sky,
just to see her reflected in your eyes.
I will help you swim, and I will
keep you afloat even when you tire.
Oh, my love,
remember me.
Remember that.

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.

Chipped Nails and Claw Marks

Original Poetry

Chipped nails and claw marks on my heart,
raw wounds cracking as the light turns to dark.
He whispered “I love you” softly into my ear,
I shuddered to think what he had in store for me here.
His touch dripped with venom onto my skin.
I was forced to stand there and watch the end begin.
As the distance (between us) grew,
long gone were the “I adore you”‘s
just
that girl, who is she?
YOU MAKE ME WANT TO SCREAM
The heavens, they cry out,
the love of their distressed creations now cast in doubt.
With my head on his chest,
we sobbed – “We tried our very best.”

I Am Me, at Eighteen

Original Writing

Likes boost our self-confidence and naked pictures prove our love and desire for one another. We accept a love we think we deserve – perks of being a wallflower, no? Girls follow the intense beauty rituals of a wealthy, sickly sweet inspirational figure in an attempt to look good, no matter the cost. Boys will follow vigorous exercise rituals in an attempt to achieve that perfect body. But who defines ‘perfect’? There is no such thing as perfection and there is no stopping us once we reach our goal, because we are driven by obsession.

The art of communication is lost because we’re too busy looking at our phones instead of each other. Facial expressions are replaced by emojis. Love letters replaced by sexts. As our generation develops and progresses on, we lose the values and virtues of the previous ones, the ones we ought to hold most dear.

I miss being a child, do you know why? I didn’t know what pressure was. I didn’t have to look good for him or her. I didn’t have to adopt a certain character to fit in, nor did I have to conform to anyone or anything. The only stresses I experienced were deciding what game to play with my dolls that evening. Although I am incredibly proud of the person I’ve become, the writer I’ve become and, hopefully, the future poet I will become, I miss being in touch with my naivety and youthful happiness/negligence. Mental health issues were a myth to me. Love only existed in fairytales, and heartbreak was non-existent.

Growing up is tough, and I can admit that still, at the age of 18. But luckily I can also say that, at the age of 18, I have already made it. I have accomplished what I never thought possible.

I am exactly who I want to be. And I am not a product of my time or society’s offspring.

I am me. Anisah. 18. Somewhere between an artist and a writer. And a poet.