I am Narissa. I am a human being pretending
To be a little fairy. I'm sad. Happy. Broken.
I'm empty. I am not a liar, nor a hypocrite;
I preach what I practice. I am a lone vixen;
I tarry for none. All the things I love are all the
Things I lose. I'm afraid of losing myself
To those unworthy of the meanest of my
Essence. This I do too, often. I fear not
The dark, but the transient radiance in the
Depths of the night. It makes me paranoid and
Hugely bothered. I am the best of smiles;
The worst of weepers. I am the end of pain.
Alabaster containing loads solafey. My emotions
Are as trimmed as my nails. My hair,
Long and raven, hangs below my curve. This is
A valid description of me, yet will always
Lack my spice and spontaneity; my charm.
I fear Arachnidae, and all things un-mammal.
My heart is pure gold. Liars and Cheats
Target me. I'm battered and broken, but these
Manipulators do not have the mercy to leave
Me alone. There is smoke in my head,
Smoke in my eyes, smoke in my heart.
The void they fill was earlier lots love.
Unconditional, sempiternal love. I tire
Of forgiving people. It is not my job
To do so, yet I do it. I know not why. I am the
Victim of debauchery and chicanery, the final
Consumer of Pain. My aim is to soar high
Like a gull; my dream to fly above the clouds. My wings
Are molting off like stale snakeskin; I am close
To drowning. But I choose to angle myselves
To the winds, my chest growing a cold numb
From the harsh torrents of sea breeze. Like
Papyrus, I let soak all the black that spurts
Over me, no blotting sheet to remove the stains.
My love gifts me stigmata, the cruelest
And deepest at my heart. My sorrow is not
Caused by my pain, but by my loss. All the memories
I hold dear will haunt me, hurt me till
I succumb to my wounds. Empathy is a disbalance,
Wherein we give all we have to get nothing in
Return: Injustice served on wide platters.
I sink my head into my pillow, my tears getting
Sucked into the soft feather filling as if they were
Precious, precious drops of liquid diamond.
My resolve wavers when I see a wounded soul.
Lo! Why Do I have to be such a masochist?
The medication for this; my problem's
Either death or apathy. I choose the latter,
Wanting to choose myself over the rest.
YOU ARE READING
Narissa: A Poetry Collection ∣✔Poetry
❝In the death of me, I found solace. ❞ What readers say: "Starkly honest, seeing the naked soul of your own, relishing the sorrows of being alive." "A mystic poet is born!" "Keep it up. Keep being alive. Keep writing." Poetry of the past of me. Lyr...