POETRY COLLECTIONSinked by weuneigh
the losses I cannot mourn
nine poems for the ones I cherished that I now lost
the line between hollow and obscure
ten poems that maybe make sense, maybe not
The Rules Change Every Day
twenty-one poems oozing catharsis
what's a poetry collection?answer: kinda like anthologies, which is basically a compilation of poems that share the same theme or are connected, but without the publishing them into a physical book part because, haha, we're broke, buddy, this is the best we can do.
copyright weuneigh © all rights reserved
the losses I cannot mourn
a collection of poems
I'll ink on paper
the ones I once knew,
the ones I once adored,
and the ones I once cherished
that I now lost.
ezequielYou were Ezekiel,
an open book brimming of metaphors,
and I was none the wiser.
How I wish I could read you once more,
But you disappeared
in the sea of bookshelves,
and I never knew your genre.
saplingsWe were two saplings next to each other
with a promise that our roots will intertwine
once we grow out of our pots.
But like our pots, our oath was temporary.
Replanted so far away from each other,
we were careless to think our roots
could reach that far,
not that we tried, did we?
rollercoasterLife is a theme park
and you
were a rollercoaster ride.
My first thrill, my first goosebumps,
and my first regret.
Maybe I shouldn't have closed my eyes,
because there's now a million people in line
and I'm better off on a carousel.
pixelsI grew attached to
the pixels that shaped you,
that shaped me,
that shaped us to what we are now
and what we were before.
it's the same pixels
I come back to every time
even though you are no longer in it.
The thought of you and me
is just too blurry now.
while the line between us
grows clearer every day.
And these pixels aren't enough
to bring you back.
embersWe were that starting spark of a matchstick,
and before we knew it, we were inferno.
Who would've thought that two embers
would burn like wildfire?
And who would've thought that same flame
would dwindle down to a mere flicker?We're nothing but ashes now.
raincoatI had a raincoat,
and you, a broken umbrella.
We both weathered the same storm clouds
and hid from the same deafening thunders.
In hindsight, I should've offered
my extra raincoat to you
before you disappeared
in the mist.
fluitanshow unfortunate it was
that the sun has yet to caress your petals,
your leaves live off of the tears you shed,
and your roots had to endure the rough soil
the gardeners planted you in.you could've bloomed better
had I just known.
the losses I cannot mournBlame it as I may on miscellaneous circumstances,
it changes not that I failed to make advances.
I carelessly had them in my palms
with loose fingertips and no qualms,
and so, as they stood by the threshold,
I merely watched but the aftershock was tenfold.
They now roam my mind night and day
and they'll never leave until I decay.
any attempt of redemption is forlorn
but this is the price I pay
for the losses i cannot mourn.
fin
copyright weuneigh © all rights reserved
the line between hollow and obsure
a collection of poems
revel in my declinewill your palm remain
ever so warm
against my paling cheeks,
even when the roses that
bloom in my chest
gradually wither
under the rough blizzard
and the harsh snow?
illuminatedand maybe
the purple rain
will let up
once we learn
what this beam holds.
the orb hiding under
the sunlight, the moonlight
the dawn and the dusk.
the culmination of all there is
and all there isn't.
self depriveda reprise
for the love we couldn't have.
the perpetuator, we.
the petal of the flower
we all strove to seize
was but a faraway fantasy
that manifested
in the depths
of this ball of wrinkles.
repressing the sourthe ache has yet to depart
from this train where
their hope resides.
left uncheck, the dawn will be
another nightmare.
the very occasion
they all desired to feel
sans the trepidation.
indelible consequencebe sure to tend
to the splash of wine
before it spreads,
before it seeps,
before it clings to the fibers
that holds the dirt together,
otherwise—
utopiansbecause beneath that rainbow
that they are beholden to
is the lingering scent of rot
that eats away at
the yellow that paints
their lips
and their hearts.
derealizationbeyond this path
is an undesired reality
living in your dreams
without the consequences,
and before these stones
we cemented together,
lie the unwanted dreams
that roam your earth.
a foolish gamblein solidarity, let us tie
an unbreakable rope
all around the moon,
and let us see
if it should be
our untimely doom
or an unnecessary feat
of reaching great heightswill it take our breath away?
bound to a standstilland they’re left discombobulated
as the skies paint the pages blue
and the leaves of the fresh summer air
turned crisp upon the blinding breeze.
there was nothing left to be said
for they were forsaken by the very shade
they were beholden to back when
their tools were still wooden.
denouementthat's all she wrote
with the ink drawn from
the blood
coursing through her veins
and the pen that formed
from the bone she pulled
underneath her flesh
copyright weuneigh © all rights reserved
The Rules Change Every Day
a collection of poemsEvery letter, every word, every line; it's me, all me. Raw, real, and rough, I think?
It was the same mirrorI stare at the pair of eyes
that were there yesterday.
It was the same dark eyes,
the same pale skin,
the same button nose,
the same purple lips,
and the same thick eyebrows.
I lift my hand, and so do they.Still, I knew
everything was different.
I'm a bottle of wine in a sippy cupShe is we, I am they
The mirror in the future
is not today
You are you, and that’s not true
At some point, it’s for naught
trying to keep the water at bayFor the liquid is erratic,
unsteady,
and dramatic.
This box the earth created
will shatter,
we can’t contain itThe world rolls once more,
and so will my consciousness.
The turbulent, translucent core
is forever restless.But my flesh, my veins,
my blood, and my brains,
They’re anchored, rooted deep
All kept together
By the soles of my feet.Oh, if I could only say the same
to the commander of this system.
Picking things up, spiraling downI desire to create
something so profound,
something that is loved,
something that is questionable,
something simply detestable,
but so help me
should I create something
that pleases every heart
and every mind.I will rue the day
For that is not who I want to be known
A pleaser of the peopleI would rather die
than be recognized
for the person I try to be
than the person that I am.But there are days in which I wish
that I was not who I was,
that I was someone else,
and so I did.It’s days like those that I look in the mirror
and I feel unsure.
Another water analogyFinally, the words flow like rain
and for once, I drowned
in the waves of productivity
I went along the gushing waterfall
and dove in a raging ocean
and, fingers crossed,
tomorrow will be
a steady riveror perhaps not.
but the storm will come
sooner or later
momentarily or eventually
who can say?
most certainly not me.
Those who were, those who are, and those who willI’m plagued by the identities
and feelings
and thoughts
that were once here
but now they’re no longer there
or perhaps, there are still residues of it
but I know they no longer define
the person standing in the mirror
right now
unfortunately,
the person in the mirror
knows not
who they are either
nor do they know
if they should be
“fine”
with that
perhaps the ones that will come next
know the answer
Alice in that one sceneI am but a bottle in the ocean
or perhaps, I’m the water inside
of said bottle
either way, it is not I who decides
where I go or what I am
and in that, I find a strange comfort inThe burden of decisions is relieved
from my shoulders
I was never the best at choosing
which rock I should land my feet on
anyway.
Dawning resignationfor a fleeting moment,
I had it all together
everything
here, in my cupped palms
resting silently
peacefully even
until it brokemy fingers split apart
only to find them
locked once more
behind my backnot that it mattered anymore
it's all over the floor now,
shattered into a million pieces
and above me, a spotlight
glaring straight at my eyes
looking down, I glued my eyes shut
to block away the intrusion
alas, this changes nothingit was time to step into the light.
Can you tell I LOVE food?I’ll wolf down this plate of eggs,
this loaf of bread,
and this gallon of milk
as though I have forgotten
the feeling of consumption,
the taste of the living,
the concept of sustenance.
I hunger greatly
until I see the person in the mirror,
and the appetite evaporates.
I suppose I just have to
power through the drools and the growls
I think.
long awaited apologyI apologize for the claims
I made before
they’re no longer true
nor reliable
don’t call me out on my bluff
when they were simply
the truth of the pastthe numbers on the calendar
may be the same
but the months change
alwaysI won’t be sorry next month.
The dictionary is flawedI have given up in pursuing
the quest of defining the mirror
it was never a journey
decorated in glitter
it’s pulling teeth
trying to find the right words
leave me be and I’ll hide behind
a million metaphors
these piles of pages they stitched together
holds not the symbols that lead to winter
only to the heat full of loose sand
that leaves my tongue tasting bland.
Are the new ones here yet?there were footsteps here,
and there will be more.
never do we stick to one moniker,
for we don’t strive for consistence
not that we’re consciously spontaneous eitherWe are what we were, at least some of it
And we are what we will be, all of it
and the pieces that were once here
may fade away
or notthe colors and hues,
sounds and tunes,
beats and rhythm,
texture and feeling,they all change
but the cycle continues.
that one toxic relationship you can’t really escape from because how could you?what a tragedy it was,
to only have myself in this world.
and still, she is my enemy,
the only enemy
that I’ll love beyond words.she is the enemy that I’ll feed,
even if she refuses to open her teeth.
I’ll gladly walk her to her dreams
even as she meanders along the seams.some days, it’s an uphill battle,
come the night, I’m riddled with scars,
some days, it’s too heavy to prattle
and she may not look up, but I’ll give her the starswe’ll get somewhere someday.
Successfully inarticulateI’ve forgotten what it is that makes up “me”
and each time I’m asked to
describe
define
determine
myself,
I find that I’m at a loss for words.
I’m not quite sure if
that shows that I’ve lost sight of what
my name entails, or
words just can’t possibly convey
the child
the teen
the adult
that I’ve become
there are so much to say,
yet so little time
but then again, we have all the
time in the world
yet words fail.
Got the dart and the blindfoldSoaking today’s final reveries
to indulge in a new one.
the same one that I’ve had last week?
No, it couldn’t be
it wouldn’t matter either way.
It is what we landed on today.The fantasy about cheese
died down so quickly
it’s been months now
and all I could think about are bonesWill it be about spatulas next?
Actually, it’s about cheese again.
When will it end?Only time will tell.
Will the distortion ever really leave me be?today I can see
the curls of my hair
the curve in my lips
the glaze in my irises
and I go about my dayI walk into another day and I see
the frizz on my head
the dehydration in my lips
the asymmetrical shape of my eyelids
the roughness of my skin
the wrinkles on my forehead
the crookedness of my fingers
the burnt skin that will never pale
the chewed up fingernailsand the day is dimmer.
In the snap of a fingerthe truth will soon sink in.
things will never go back
to yesterday.
where the water goes frigid
under the nighttime breeze,
and the sun would leave
my pale skin warm and crisp.it was all different now.
the moon was dimmer,
and the river, albeit flowing,
no longer housed the fish
that once roamed from rock to rock,
one kelp to another.today was a day
brimming of trepidation,
with a scarcity of love,
of compassion,
and of sinceritystill, I drag a foot forward.
Insert placeholder hereA friend has told me a day ago
to provide a nickname
for our struggles and lows
a little moniker,
to make it easier
to take on the usual everyday blowsbut that meant I had to come up
with a new one every dayI was never the best
at coming up with names
or titles
and even placeholdersI’ll call this one Jen.
im not realwhose hands are these?
these pale white palms…
the back was burned by the sun
crooked ang gangly, these fingers
the chewed nails left
a sour taste in my mouth.
these arms
a garden of hair
I try not to stare
but I can’t help but wonder
whose they are and how they bear
with the thought that these are theirs
because they certainly aren’t mineit may be what I see
as I peer at my reflection
but I swear, it’s not me
I don’t have arms, nor hands, nor palms,
nor these crooked fingers
they’re not mine, they’re not me
it didn’t feel like mewill it ever be?
It was never for youyou are the subject
of my many a poetry
the victims of
my debilitating pedantry
I can only hope you never know
how these sour words paint you so
for I romanticized you
with so much ease
sugarcoated the lows
like it was a breeze
know that the ink
may have been from me
but you weren’t
the paper from the tree.
and while today, it may still be true,
the tides will change, that, we knew.
but believe me when I say
as I write this poem today,
it was never for you.
indecisively decisively indecisively decisively indecisive?having no recollection
of who i was yesterday
and the day before that
and the day before the day before that
and the day before all of that,
i can easily decide
who i want to be today
and tomorrow
and the day after tomorrow
and the day after the day after tomorrow
and the day after all of thatit’s too bad that I’ve always been
bad with decisions.
weuneigh, that's me?I know my name,
how it’s spelled,
the number of letters,
the pronunciation,
and the meaningor do I?
do I really?w-e-u-n-e-i-g-hThat’s me,
but it’s not… me?Maybe tomorrow
it will be.
I'm the player
in my own game
and the rules change
every day
should I keep playing?
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