Paint

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Plants with pants

Sounds awesome tbh😁🌿👖

The Dark Empress

She was born with a purpose to create, But the stars spoke of a prophecy; That she would leave destruction in her wake.

Born under the moonlight, Her eyes as dark as the night, Her innocence went alight, Led astray from her painless life.

Tortured, hunted and betrayed she was, Couldn’t find a soul who would see who she really was; Depressed she ran away, Found the dark to understand her dismay. Comforted by it subtle warmth, It led her to her kingdom’s silver porth.

She grew more knowledgeable by the day, Till she was able; To rule the land where the dead stay.

Many came to try and conquer her land, But when they came, They met their end, with no accolade; By a touch of her hand, Their bodies turned to little more than grains of sand.

She wasn’t evil, just deeply misunderstood, Only the dark knew she was still good; None knew the pain she endured, Abandoned at birth, Barely found anything to fill the dearth.

She found solace nevertheless, The dark with her, Made her The Dark Empress.

Whispers

It started as a whisper,

Then grew louder and louder,

I remember that whisper,

I don't want to remember her.

I can't tell if it's in my head,

Or she's somewhere near,

It's going away now,

I think she saw my tears.

It took me long enough to recover,

To not cry to myself at night,

To deal with the fact I didn't say goodbye.

The Little Bead

We lie in our class, Not really intrigued or puzzled, By the mundane subjects that keep us muddled. Some may admire the beauty that surrounds us; Of the trees swaying in the winds, Of the cherry blossoms that drop, In the never-failing cold wind. The light which comes through our open doors, The light, not brighter than the people we have in store.

We all are specimens alike, But, behind our mask of mischief lies, A little drop or maybe a bead, Filled with sincerity and virtue so sweet. The little drop that burns and shines, In all our hearts it lies.

We are not mindless wanderers, We are not without destination; Some folks can’t understand, The intensity of our situation.

We have a goal, An aim to be great, But some of us haven’t uncovered our little drop, The drop that can seal our fate.

The teachers say we’re a nuisance, How we trouble their conscience; But how they will miss us, Miss our shenanigans; How we will miss each other when we leave, To the calling of our little bead.

Thank you to everyone who got me to 50 likes!

WOHOOOOOO🥳🥳✨️

Blood on my hands

Her blood is on my hands I don't remember what happened last night All I see is a foggy glow All I hear is a shriek.

Her blood is on my hands I feel a weight on my chest My eyes are flooding I can't stop crying

A stone cold wall is against my back I can see my writings on the walls I see blood on my hands Even if it's not there at all.

I feel so confused and crazed And I'm running into walls So the blood that's on my hands Isn't yours.

I can't hear you Everything's fuzzy I see in black I see in blue On my hands a scarlet hue.

I finally wake from my bed Sweating through my clothes I can't see you I can't see you lying there But there's still blood on my hands Then I see the bruises on my hands

Then I realize With tears in my eyes And a pain in my head That it's all mine.

⚠️ heads-up!

Hilo, this poem's a bit darker than my usual ones -it's a fictional/poetic expression of trauma. So, if it feels too much, pls stop reading and do something silly, like pretend you're a chicken 🐔 💛

A Tale of Tree

I write this as I sit under a tree, It’s beauty, a specimen of nature, you see; It’s flower, so warm and bright, Like the friend who stays with you, On a summer’s night. Its leaves, so dainty and green, Just like a ballerina’s ‘petit’. The way it sways in the wind, so light and sweet, Reminds me of carolers on New Year’s Eve. It has stories left untold, The rings held in the trunks, old. Its branches like a friendly embrace amidst a crowd, Its tender touch to erase all foul. I bid farewell to thee my tree, My tree of tales, A tale of tree.

Light & Dark

Light leads darkness, Dark follows light,

Both learned to embrace each other, And listen to each other’s plight.

Light wanted to illuminate the world, Give every corner the warmth of sun, Leave no corner untouched.

Dark wanted to calm the world, And give the peace of night, Give the world peace of mind, from their little trifes.

Light and Dark so different, But their bond was set for sure, Light needs Dark and Dark needs Light; Without this bond, Life couldn’t go on like before.

Hi! Here's a poem!

A Napkin

I feel like I'm a blank canvas, a sheet of paper, the napkin you use to clean up spilled coffee. A blank slate, to be filled with wondrous images, colours and blends. An artist sits down, struck with a thought, and precedes to sketch, doodle or create a new masterpiece. After they're done drawing on the napkin that is me, no one carries me back home. They throw me in the bin. It doesn't matter how great the art is, for the canvas is a napkin and must be thrown away. Forever forgotten. Forever lost. And the cycle repeats. Artist creates art and throws the napkin away. Everyone sees the art, but no one sees the canvas. The canvas is forgotten. Disposable.  The canvas is the real picture that everyone refuses to see.