2. Poems

195 15 6

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ Fingerprints Don't HaveAn Address

Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.

Fingerprints Don't Have
An Address

You are not my home,
can't you see?

My home is the one
I made inside myself,
full of leaks
and dark shadows
haunting me
during the night.

My home is where
the electricity is strangely intact
but I never bother
to turn on the light.

Is Sad, Bad?

The truth is,
I like being sad.

I'm at a point in my life where
nothing can be wholly felt.

Happiness is temporary,
anger short-lived
and fear ever present in small amounts.

Sadness is the only emotion
passionate enough to move me, motivate me, inspire me.

There is more colour in a single tear
than in a hundred fake smiles.

Sadness brings me art and for that,
I am thankful.

White Versus Black

Still? They asked, whereafter I shook my head and told them
"Of course not!"

Feeling ashamed, I had lied.
Because ironically enough,
I ask myself the same question every day.

Why do you still paint the shades of his eyes, skin, hair and lips?

Why do you continue hoping he will wander into your gallery, gaze at the layers of colour that represent him with titles referencing him.

Why do you still pine for a lover of traditional art when you are the epitome of an abstract mess?


I become attached to people I shouldn't.
I distance myself from the people who matter.
I am bad with people.
I am good at being alone.
But I hate being lonely.

Wherever The Wind Blows

Follow where hearts wander,
allow the void to lure you in.

Listen to its call,
let it craw under your skin.

To the mountains you go,
following the trail to the sea.

Waving and floating,
safe and sound,
keeping in mind that water
forgets the names of the drowned.


It comes and goes,
possessing my being
like a shadow in the night time.

Sleep walks,
sleep talks,
and I can't.

A thousand days of seeking the answer. Searching land, stars and sea for the source of the eternal ache.

When suddenly,
it dawned upon me
it was buried deep within myself all along.

It comes and goes,
the same way I do.

To The Boy Who Broke My Heart And Didn't Even Know

I jokingly made you promise to attend my funeral if it killed me and you looked me straight in the eyes, saying you would never let me die.

And I remember the silence
that trailed my laughter, 
and how I stared at you,
wishing you'd been there
when I wasn't joking.

The Selected Works Of Pien Pouwels (SAMPLE ONLY)Read this story for FREE!