4: A HAIKU

DYING

It has been a while

Oh I crave to feel alive,

To feel with my eyes

X

I doubt any of my readers from 2016 will still be here. But if by chance you are, hello. I am at my lowest point so I have returned to my first love.

I hope whosoever is reading this heals’ the same way I hope to heal.

See you on the other side xo

Purest Form

You ought to understand that I love you

That I crave the moments where we argue

Because that shows me who you are in your purest form

And I think that is magical

Yes, I’m a bit cynical

But you take my breath away in your purest form

The feel of your lips

Your hands on my hips 

You love me in my purest form

How privileged I am to have known you in your purest form. 

ECSTASY Pt. 1

I imagine my ecstasy as a cold winter night

The freezing cold, nothing but our bodies to keep us warm

Our words translate into mists that float from out breaths into the atmosphere, yelling the world if our love

Lips, though chalked, re-moist themselves in an entangled bliss of kisses

Eyes, though misty, see nothing but a euphoric future in clear sight

Hands, oh the hands! Yes, the cold froze the hands but they still search and wander and knead skin with such grace, such want….such raw need

“Touch me”

“Keep me warm”

“Promise we’ll always be cold”

We’re shaking and the wind is only getting worse

We have no choice but to be closer

We can’t fight this war. No, not tonight

The winter won’t have it

“What now?”

We entangle ourselves in the curse that is love, in the euphoria of the moment, in the nostalgia that is to come, in the winter that is the ecstasy that I dream of…fantasize about…want

x

ME

Aida, ain’t she something
This is me

I am a Queen

Who’s lyrically bruised

I search for rhymes unseen

In my world, my muse

To be great, I am keen

But they refuse to accept my views

I’m a lil bit of that and a lil bit of this

An exiled Royal living in her bliss

This is my journal, this is me

A life of living and a bit of poetry

A life of the confused and mislead

A path to self so rarely tread 

Welcome to my personal and creative blog, my world, my viille. I used to write ALOT growing up. The older I got, the better I was at expressing myself. Then, 3 years ago, I stopped. I don’t know what happened and I really don’t want to know. Now, when I try to write, it ends up looking and sounding like shit. Words just put together for the sake of it. Recently I came across a sestina written by a poet on Instagram (eMinor). I fell in love with it. I wanted to write one of my own. I commented on one of her pictures saying I wanted to write one. I didn’t know she would reply. She dm-ed me the next day with a beautifully written message asking me to pick my six words so we could write the sestina together. I was surprised. I replied her with six words I came across and almost immediately she replied with her first stanza (this was 2-3 days ago). I have basically been having a mental and lyrical breakdown ever since because everything I come up with sounds like rubbish to me. My sole purpose of this blog is to document my journey to getting it all back. It’s in here, I just have to find it again. 

x