https://www.instagram.com/immywrites_/ When I was a child, I saw God I saw Him, but it wasn't through my eyes I heard Him. but His voice never entered my ears I touched Him but never by my skin I was forlorn, but I always felt Him beside me Though He never left my heart I make Him roam into my mind Though He's not just a thought He's mightier than everything, yet He lives in my heart He's not in time, but I see Him timely Though He's angry with me but He's the best thing that's ever happened to me I don't love Him the way He does and I curse myself for that I pray that He will help me with it and Forgive my miss conduct in our friendship I have lost Him, and I beg Him to come back

My collection encourages those to love the pain endured by heartbreak and explores the journey from a personal perspective/ The night you left I remember the night it happened I don't even think you realized I remember the banging of a shelf The walls were like paper. I remember the smashing of your blackberry The letters were faded. I remember the screaming I remember shoving on my tiny wedges at midnight Walking up that hill I walk up everyday I don't hold the railing anymore. I remember an empty flat The kitchen barren apart from tiger juice and cherry Bakewell's I don't eat those anymore. I remember curling up, frightened And as 6 year old me lied in that bed with my lamb blanket Wrapped around me, teary eyed, I knew my life would never be the same. Pink wedges The following months after that night were hell You'd bang on my mothers front door begging for forgiveness I'd slip my wedges on holding my mothers hand As she dragged me and my sister to the local Nisa You'd honk in your car sticking up your middle finger 'd weep No one would listen I'd sulk on the way home the sugar melting off my jelly tots I'd go to bed, eyes sore Lump in my throat And you'd go to work After you left I struggled to cope with you leaving I'd grown silent, weary I learned to stay out of my mother's way One night she'd ask me to come downstairs I'd stubbed my toe on the way down and blew my cheeks out like a puffer fish I couldn't cry. She laid there in her velvet tracksuit and asked me to sit on her lap She phoned you and told me not to bottle it all up did The tv glared as I spoke, lies dripping from my mouth Later you banged on the door I lay in my bed silently waiting for the war But then you knocked. A mamma mia CD was placed on my bed I watched it on repeat Eyes drooping closed cautiously. Why weren't my tears wiped? School wasn't much better back then I remember running around the playground alone Evervone had someone. Except me. I used to speak to the care taker I'd stand next to him at break eating my raisins When it rained I'd always ask him why it didn't sting my eyes He'd say it's because it's water There wasn't much to say to him But he was someone. Ring around the Rosie I had two friends once at your old flat. One much younger than me, an African boy Another much older, her name was Charlotte I believe Them and my sister and I would have picnics on the weekend There wasn't much food but we'd sit on the shared garden Eating different flavors of custard creams The little boy would bring chocolate dippers Charlotte ham sandwiches Those were the times I didn't feel so lonely. Loving you Time I miss the days we used to dream The days when the future was what's and if's I miss when the week-long bloom of tulips seemed like forever When the difference between summer and winter felt like different vears I miss the then. You My heart throbs with the familiar ache Staring into the distance thinking about the coming pain And then it comes A waft of blue and white dictates my eyes Guarded by the door it looks at me A tear brims in the corner of a pupil Threatening to fall Ruining it all The stern look and unwavering frown Unwillingly mellows my soul Compulsively taking it all Later I take a turn down the path of hope I see it again This time stalking towards me For a second my lids are flowing with passion But that is soaked up when you look through me You know me Don't you? That glimmer of passion disappears Instead replaced by an unfulfilled empty smile Given to the kind gentle man that passes Milking me into a puddle of regret The solemn feeling of being alone That everybody fawns over Disappears when the mouth goes dry And eventually loneliness captures you and i But to me Loneliness and the sun create an ethereal eclipse Now the only thing we fawn over is the sun spilling in Summer kisses I dream of a valley Where the soft summer wind plays with our wisps of hair The water trickling under the blazing heat Radiating onto our browning backs Whilst our smiles never crack Our grins dominate the evergreen trees And all the flowers that beam Budding pure excellence Felling our dreams The laps of lush green grass wrap around us Sweaty sunglasses guide our eyes Meanwhile the soft lull of our favourite band soothes our ears Sending our hearts into a slow steady rhythm Drying our tears and all the memories with them But I'll keep dreaming of those lazy sunny days Melted ice cream's dribbling down our deliciously red blistering cheeks And I'll soon learn to block out their screams Regrettably, with love In a world where hope seems scarce, I promise to thread the few and fine dustings of my love in your palms, When trust is greedy and selfish, I promise my hands are safe for your heart to melt in, If loneliness threatens to consume you, I promise to fill the hollow of your core with the scraps of my soul. In a world that tries to batter your entity, I promise to give you my all: now, forever and always. But I don't think I could tell you that, Not even if I tried. Peace Id never dared to dream about love But something about the mellow of his soul The chips of jade in his eyes It beaconed something within me Whether it was the strips of sun in his hair The hoarse of his voice Or his callous heart begging to be softened It stirred hope in the cracks of my soul It sewed light into the corners of my head, heart and being. You did. After you What do I do? The feathered laces of my Converse were too much for you. The bleach stain on my bed sheet chased you away The frizz of my hair sliced through your hand, They were agape for more. The baring of my teeth was oxymoronic to you How can someone so sad be happy? I turn back to my sadness, my longing And you learned to be loud in the stillness The darkest side of you You told me I was like breathing in carbon But I always viewed you as the silt that lines The bottom of the sea. The fine particles of it, some from centuries ago Rub on the bellies of mackerels as they glide Through the harbour, from above looking like chips of silver rolling across the banking Bellies grazing the salt trodden water Although the silt is sunken beneath the sea We mackerel soar upwards lying our eggs You silt hide them for us unwillinglv We leave, pacing down the harbour in streaks Leaving you with our burden But after all; I'm like breathing in carbon. Nomads land The silence is battering sometimes It makes me feel dirty I try and trap myself in my mind for protection But it's still there It may stop for a second as you craft your own world It may seem wavering when you try and leave But as soon as you close your eyes And the pale glint of the moon bores through your soul The drop in your chest can't be ignored The sweat on your palms that feels like blood peeking with the abundance of no one The pounding of you heart you wish would stop But that would mean you'd die That would mean leaving a world that gave you nothing but gaping wounds and rigid frowns And you start to wonder if that's such a bad thing anymore It doesn't seem so scary when you're alone. Forbidden fruit Girls like me don't curl up into a ball in the darkness of their bedroom begging a god to take them away, using a knife as a shrine, no. girls like me laugh as though freedom wraps around them in a sickening abundance. Girls like me don't try to drown themselves in bathtubs or hold their breath until the beating of their heart slows, no. girls like me discuss latest makeup products with their friends and gallivant through the halls as though they own them Girls like me don't write their own eulogies and memoirs to mourn not the life they have, but the life they wished they had the chance to live, no girls like me beg for the day to etch on longer, rejoicing in the life they have, the life they are so blessed to live Girls like me don't cry in school cubicles or feel so depressed the familiarity of it becomes wallowing to them, something they can't live without, no. girls like me look forward to cozy weekends in bed, girls like me ignore how littered their hearts have become Girls like me will never be helped because we're so unbelievably happy girls like me never need help. Drown Sometimes I feel as though I'm in an ocean. No bubbles or boats Everything is still. The water corrodes my head with a million thoughts my loneliness steals my life jacket As I bob my sullen head above the surface I hate the stillness. Saturday rituals I wake up heart beating like a chorus Back aching from the sofa I slept on My belly feels like hot dripping tar Waiting to harden as the postman comes He knocks twice as I rub the sandman's presence from my eyes and acknowledge him Next, my nose melts at the smell of crackling bacon, ears rising at the pads of paw steps The great mound of fluff trods towards me, Metallic saliva absolving me of all sadness Until I hear footsteps thud downstairs and suddenly the bacon smells like a death wish Suddenly the postman becomes a saviour, a getaway from the thud of his feet All hell breaks lose: the boom of his voice the callous of his tongue the stench of his breath Now the bacon smells like my flesh and I don't know what to do The postman waves goodbye, my chance of escape narrows and Saturday traps me Lady of sorrows She tried to lie in the silence Tried to marvel in its' supposed beauty The candid moments it brought to others But it frightened her. Gave her time to bask in the lonely, empty void that surrounded her Gave her time to scratch her skin raw in need for someone Anyone. As tears spilt down the familiar route of her rosy cheeks Then trickled across her stinging lip As she tasted the salty liquid of her displeasure Allowing it to travel down her burning throat Pleading for someone to drag her out of this gnawing silence Anyone. But no one ever came to Dolores

I met her during an overwhelming winter The gloom of Demeter exhibited With frigid frosted ground And unsparing winter wind Yet her eyes gleaming and mellow Causing my admiration to spurt out And when she gabbed of white butterflies Flapping superimposed on each other On the foot of maple trees On the birth of spring I secretly slipped my roots into her flesh I grabbed her heart to compensate for my beating I felt her pulse in my veins And her heart throbbing in my chest And tar pumped into my organs And my inside icy and wilting That is when I ran away Disproving her existence in my head But my roots Still dunked deep into her

This poem is a response to Ocean Vuong's Telemachus & there my father stayed out of reach for a decade, unlike Little Dog, I didn't have the chance to sink deeper with him, for I am all ready to drown and be still: the way century-past forgotten rocks dwell with the forthcoming waves. for whatever water he may be in rafting alone I might not be able to come aboard nothing but paper receipts every month; it's the closest, solely, I was ever to be with him. and I have no other face to wear even of my mother's I can't and will not for there is but antipodal faces ready not to be attached for only maternal [could be paternal] dolorous things happen. I've become a Kami, pa, folded, crafted, ready to float, in hopes of being harbored near him, near where the after-wet storm could be released not forcefully but gracefully as sliding honeysuckle- & I am ready to be tugged Out of the waters, to be tended.

Does death scare you? No. Life scares me. This constant fear of living but not loving, loving but not being loved, being loved but not accepting the reality, accepting the reality, but it hurts. Families, friends, colleagues, teachers - all these relationships generated by the social construct can't protect us from being alone, dying alone, or vanishing away from memories. Do I wish to be remembered after I am gone? Would it even matter? Or am I too scared to walk out of this mechanism of fear instilled in me? Life is too short? No, I wish it was shorter. Short enough to skip these thoughts, short enough to forgive others, short enough to step outside and breathe fresh air, short enough to genuinely live and love. While I sit on my balcony Gazing at these people- Living another solid sunset As I lose my glamour behind. These little souls full of life Burning with zeal infinite- Willingness to heal And hurt at the same time; The old ladies in their balconies Mulling over the sky- Cursing their present or reminiscing past... Or maybe they are happy with who they are; I see these cars, bikes, and rickshaws And random passer-bys. I keep looking, Looking and looking Until the sun finally says goodbye. The home's been blank, Like sheets of paper, these past few days. So again, I choose to sit on the balcony To learn what the world does to survive. Watching these people day by day, Watching these lunars go by, As my body stops growing But not growing old... My home - still blank, So I can't help but ask myself Who would sit at my grave? Could I ask these birds To keep me company, And sing when I feel down? Will these children spare some time To share their jokes with me? Will these women leave their homes And share their stories When I want to sleep but am lying awake? A sudden relief hit me as I realized I won't have a grave. I would simply be washed away into infinity And beyond the reach of humans Just like my thoughts As I watch the sunset.

Society’s favorite day is the hardest. Saturday’s endless miles. Saturday socials. Saturday shifts at the booth of spoonfed friendship and stagnant smiles. Characterized by rest rest rest, Saturdays stress my mind, body, heart-- until I collapse, wallowing in the guilts of extroversion, delving into the lonely comfort of a pillow. Saturdays continue as I stumble in the bliss of routine, my Wednesday and Thursday highs tumbling down the calendar’s hill. I can’t compete in the popularity ploys of Saturday’s raceway. My comforts cling to a Tuesday afternoon, covered in dread and Saturday sorrow.

instagram.com/hayden.officiall "Poetic Makeup" is meant to show who I am behind the poems I write and the internal struggles of being a poet/literary artist. Get me loose, catch me fresh- Cuz as soon as the evening wind humms This world is scratched beneath my rugged breasts. There's adventure on the voyage of psalms, There's beauty in a senseless mind. Senseful taste in a fruity tongue- that is the poet. Open your eyes, see my words walk down the street, See the hate- feel the busts of blood on a city gate. I'm a woman on so many levels, But beneath the Xeroderma and antidepressants, I'm a daughter. I am the daughter of the silenced poet. Pull on my wild strings. I'm just a sound mind. I work two jobs but I can't rhyme a line. There's a glide in my stance. There's pride in my eyes. A symposium of music in my heart. But no open seats for love on my side. You see, that's the way of the poet. The lonely, Deserted possession. It's the art of freedom, the craft of soulful expression. But in the closet of my deepest soul it can feel so soulless. Just like a cradled gunshot wound It creates my poetic makeup.