Fire

Image from GIPHY

Crimson twirls—
cackles of auburn pierce the night.
Sunset faded hours ago,
its warmth still burns—

Hopeless,
Scared, and
Alone.

These thoughts flicker as I stare into the flame—
watching fragmented star light float to the night sky.

This and “Locket” were poems I couldn’t record audio for. I think these two particular poems can stand alone.

Locket

Image from Pixabay

I wear a special locket,
naked to the eye and seen by me.
It was worn when I was devoted—
devoted to an illustrious dream.

The contents remain unknown.
Maybe there’s a smile or a little note.
Even though I call it my own,
I don’t want to risk letting it go.

It’s my first ever locket—
one I don’t care to open.
When someone gets close, I hide it.
Perhaps, I can show them.

And if I do,
they’ll see the feelings I had—only for you.
Some will offer to trade it for something better.
I can’t do that. What does it matter?

I wear a special locket,
naked to the eye and seen by me.
I keep it close—
never letting go of that precious dream.

There will be cases where audio versions will ruin the essence of the poem.

Talking to Myself

Image from GIPHY
Background Healing Music by: https://www.fesliyanstudios.com/royalty-free-music/

Indecisive to the direction I go,

You’re like the wind.

Taking misguided steps to nowhere,

your foot’s in front of the other—going somewhere.

Having nothing to offer within these bare branches,

you still reach out while standing tall.

I feel like I don’t belong.

You’re a flower in a misplaced forest.

When I’m lost in my flaws, I ask myself,

“How can I be lost if I’m everywhere?”

Synthetically-laced Puppet

Toy wind up sound effect by: https://freesound.org/people/lmbubec
Dreamy Kid’s Show Melody by: https://freesound.org/people/SoundsExciting/

I’m a marionette,
Just a synthetically-laced puppet.
Always telling myself,
“I’m not a real boy yet.”

With four strings to manipulate,
It’s pretty hard to distinguish real from fake.
My actions–bending at its mercy.
Once it wears off—I have myself to blame.

I sit there,
grasping for air.
Waiting to perform,
‘till then, I sit and stare

It’s my normal,
Nothing new—it’s rather cordial.
I’m numb to everything around me,
Making my restrictions more hospitable.

I’m a marionette,
Just a synthetically-laced puppet.
Always telling myself,
“I’m not a real boy yet.”