CautiousRain
Laura. 20. USA. She Who Will Not Be Named @ http://hellopoetry.com/SheWhoWillNotBeNamed/
CautiousRain
Follow
Donate coins to CautiousRain.
Juice
Cancel
Written by CautiousRain in portal Poetry & Free Verse

Hidden

Remember this,

but I can't be sure,

if I spoke to him or not,

if I left my door unlocked,

if I lost my books upstairs,

if I started what I needed,

if I even brushed my hair

because my mind refuses stimulus

and all I know is that it clears,

everything from my memories

leaving me in a haze, protecting me from something,

experiences I can't remember why I fear,

making it harder to rationalize my emotions,

as if I needed more paranoia

if I could remember

what he said to me,

when I closed myself off,

when I left my guard down,

when I began noticing these trends,

when I stopped caring if I was okay,

and all I know is nothing

from what stings,

leaving me all alone in a horrible fright

of thoughts I can't resurface.

2
0
0
Juice
8 reads
Donate coins to CautiousRain.
Juice
Cancel
Written by CautiousRain in portal Poetry & Free Verse
Hidden
Remember this,
but I can't be sure,
if I spoke to him or not,
if I left my door unlocked,
if I lost my books upstairs,
if I started what I needed,
if I even brushed my hair
because my mind refuses stimulus
and all I know is that it clears,
everything from my memories
leaving me in a haze, protecting me from something,
experiences I can't remember why I fear,
making it harder to rationalize my emotions,
as if I needed more paranoia
if I could remember
what he said to me,
when I closed myself off,
when I left my guard down,
when I began noticing these trends,
when I stopped caring if I was okay,
and all I know is nothing
from what stings,
leaving me all alone in a horrible fright
of thoughts I can't resurface.
#freeverse  #memory  #memories  #repression  #mandoIwishIcouldretainmemoriesandstopforgettingthingsthatareimportantonlyforthemtoresurfaceinflashbacks 
2
0
0
Juice
8 reads
Login to post comments.
Donate coins to CautiousRain.
Juice
Cancel
Written by CautiousRain in portal Poetry & Free Verse

Wash

Does anger not brew inside your chest anymore?

Can you no longer yell?

No, you weep instead.

With your tears comes a wash

of icy darkness that swallows you,

engulfs your very senses you once trusted so dear,

and instead of engaging yourself in fury,

you gasp for air, you sleep in sorrows,

you burrow your heart so far down that you damage your soul

and every ember of frustration is pacified with the wind,

replaced with a methodical, groggy shakiness,

an almost snail's pace; a movement of the unmovable,

disgracefully showing itself to the world as it is;

a pitiful sadness, one that cannot admit itself

to questioning, lest it crumble before you,

sliding down harshly like a chunky liquid mistake,

something so unpalatable that one wishes they could forget the taste

and yet you are mute, silent to your discomforts

because you can no longer feel the rage of demanding respect,

but instead have let your heart spill with a self-pity and sorrow so disgraceful,

so mind-numbingly poor, that you cannot face your reflection without seeing blue.

1
0
0
Juice
5 reads
Donate coins to CautiousRain.
Juice
Cancel
Written by CautiousRain in portal Poetry & Free Verse
Wash
Does anger not brew inside your chest anymore?
Can you no longer yell?

No, you weep instead.

With your tears comes a wash
of icy darkness that swallows you,
engulfs your very senses you once trusted so dear,
and instead of engaging yourself in fury,
you gasp for air, you sleep in sorrows,
you burrow your heart so far down that you damage your soul
and every ember of frustration is pacified with the wind,
replaced with a methodical, groggy shakiness,
an almost snail's pace; a movement of the unmovable,
disgracefully showing itself to the world as it is;
a pitiful sadness, one that cannot admit itself
to questioning, lest it crumble before you,
sliding down harshly like a chunky liquid mistake,
something so unpalatable that one wishes they could forget the taste
and yet you are mute, silent to your discomforts
because you can no longer feel the rage of demanding respect,
but instead have let your heart spill with a self-pity and sorrow so disgraceful,
so mind-numbingly poor, that you cannot face your reflection without seeing blue.
#freeverse  #anger  #sadness  #pity  #wowIreallywishIcouldfeelthingsproperlysometimesoon 
1
0
0
Juice
5 reads
Login to post comments.
Donate coins to CautiousRain.
Juice
Cancel
Written by CautiousRain in portal Micropoetry

P(t)ainted

Warm color palettes can't cover up a cold palette heart.

3
0
0
Juice
5 reads
Donate coins to CautiousRain.
Juice
Cancel
Written by CautiousRain in portal Micropoetry
P(t)ainted
Warm color palettes can't cover up a cold palette heart.

#love  #metaphor  #micropoetry  #heart  #painted 
3
0
0
Juice
5 reads
Login to post comments.
Donate coins to CautiousRain.
Juice
Cancel
Written by CautiousRain in portal Long-Form Prose

A Plea

I hate that when I sit to write my heart out, I almost reach a point in my life where I could tell someone something, that maybe for once I could express my emotions coherently, that maybe it's worth listening to, or writing, or thinking.

Yet nearly every single moment I reach my fingers out to the keys, I lose everything. My mind wipes its grubby paws and swiftly shoves the boxes of thought back into the attic. Not those, it grumbles, no one can see those.

So I'm asking myself, pleading to myself, to please stop shoving my boxes away; don't tape them up this time. They might be better served in another room, out in the open, where we can catalog together what's ailing. Have you never considered the broken feelings and ideas could be repaired? Why do you insist on believing if they ruminate long enough, they'll patch up on their own?

I'm not meant to be a bandit of my own mind, but I demand intervention. I'll yank these boxes from you. What's that? They'll fall apart if I pull them away? 

My words are absolute drivel. 

I used to write poems as a way around my mental guards. If I lied and told them that it's just art, it was fine. Let people read it without knowing me; that way, they'd never know what I truly meant. Secure and foolproof. Except, I still know. I dance around my older writings and I feel horrified, horrified that something so awful felt can be masked so beautifully. 

So stop it.

Poems aren't supposed to be two-faced.

I'm not supposed to lie like this.

I used to lucid dream. As a child, I invented a dream world for myself, a little town, a staircase, and a big wall. For the longest time, I stayed within the wall. That was my extent of a lucid dream, just pressing screens on the wall that let me dream of something else. Harmless.

Why a wall? What possessed a child to hide in a wall and call it a dream?

My town was built years later. It was quiet but mishappen. I found out I was the mayor of the town, and it had been abandoned for years (apparently no one informed me I was the mayor.) Silly, but the town was falling apart. Citizens looked at me with disdain. 

I ask myself, why would I willingly create a town to spawn, and allow its characters to feel so bitter towards me?

I haven't lucid dreamed in about a year and a half, maybe two. I can't.

I had made a story for myself, that I could be a wizard (more so, a witch). I would be a dream wizard, I stated. I crafted worlds, mentors, and challenges. The wall became my fort. Except, the last time I lucid dreamed I walked across my mentor, dead, with his corpse sprawled out in front of me; I thought I would feel sad. I didn't; with the world I created falling apart, surely I could fix it, this was my mind, my creation. I should've revived him, but I didn't. I couldn't. I looked down at the dark room and at this imaginary man and I knew I lost something about myself.

I had designated his character as the keeper of the door.

The door? The door to my mind. No outsiders, no tresspassers. I had thought that to be funny, witty even. No one can pass him, no one. Except I never considered the possibility of death.

I've had nightmares ever since, for the first time in my life. I'm losing control somehow. Something broke inside me and it's got to be in one of those boxes.

It has to be.

I'm tired of reaching back and finding that I'm too tired to try. Where is your confidence, your perseverance? Why are you so complacent and lifeless?

Put the boxes back, then, maybe I'm not ready for them.

1
0
0
Juice
12 reads
Donate coins to CautiousRain.
Juice
Cancel
Written by CautiousRain in portal Long-Form Prose
A Plea
I hate that when I sit to write my heart out, I almost reach a point in my life where I could tell someone something, that maybe for once I could express my emotions coherently, that maybe it's worth listening to, or writing, or thinking.

Yet nearly every single moment I reach my fingers out to the keys, I lose everything. My mind wipes its grubby paws and swiftly shoves the boxes of thought back into the attic. Not those, it grumbles, no one can see those.

So I'm asking myself, pleading to myself, to please stop shoving my boxes away; don't tape them up this time. They might be better served in another room, out in the open, where we can catalog together what's ailing. Have you never considered the broken feelings and ideas could be repaired? Why do you insist on believing if they ruminate long enough, they'll patch up on their own?

I'm not meant to be a bandit of my own mind, but I demand intervention. I'll yank these boxes from you. What's that? They'll fall apart if I pull them away? 

My words are absolute drivel. 
I used to write poems as a way around my mental guards. If I lied and told them that it's just art, it was fine. Let people read it without knowing me; that way, they'd never know what I truly meant. Secure and foolproof. Except, I still know. I dance around my older writings and I feel horrified, horrified that something so awful felt can be masked so beautifully. 

So stop it.
Poems aren't supposed to be two-faced.

I'm not supposed to lie like this.

I used to lucid dream. As a child, I invented a dream world for myself, a little town, a staircase, and a big wall. For the longest time, I stayed within the wall. That was my extent of a lucid dream, just pressing screens on the wall that let me dream of something else. Harmless.

Why a wall? What possessed a child to hide in a wall and call it a dream?

My town was built years later. It was quiet but mishappen. I found out I was the mayor of the town, and it had been abandoned for years (apparently no one informed me I was the mayor.) Silly, but the town was falling apart. Citizens looked at me with disdain. 
I ask myself, why would I willingly create a town to spawn, and allow its characters to feel so bitter towards me?

I haven't lucid dreamed in about a year and a half, maybe two. I can't.
I had made a story for myself, that I could be a wizard (more so, a witch). I would be a dream wizard, I stated. I crafted worlds, mentors, and challenges. The wall became my fort. Except, the last time I lucid dreamed I walked across my mentor, dead, with his corpse sprawled out in front of me; I thought I would feel sad. I didn't; with the world I created falling apart, surely I could fix it, this was my mind, my creation. I should've revived him, but I didn't. I couldn't. I looked down at the dark room and at this imaginary man and I knew I lost something about myself.
I had designated his character as the keeper of the door.
The door? The door to my mind. No outsiders, no tresspassers. I had thought that to be funny, witty even. No one can pass him, no one. Except I never considered the possibility of death.

I've had nightmares ever since, for the first time in my life. I'm losing control somehow. Something broke inside me and it's got to be in one of those boxes.
It has to be.

I'm tired of reaching back and finding that I'm too tired to try. Where is your confidence, your perseverance? Why are you so complacent and lifeless?
Put the boxes back, then, maybe I'm not ready for them.

#sad  #tired  #rambles  #hiding  #whyamIalwayslikethis 
1
0
0
Juice
12 reads
Login to post comments.
Donate coins to CautiousRain.
Juice
Cancel
Written by CautiousRain in portal Poetry & Free Verse

Unbreakable Flower

I'm the kind of flower

that grows out of concrete,

but with one look, 

I appear just like a weed.

I've got a reinforced stem

and a will to burst through the cracks;

I don't wilt without water,

and I refuse to cut back.

I grow in adversity,

under the shade, in the dust,

in the hard rock pressing against

my roots, when it's rough;

but I'm not some simple dandelion

waiting for grubby hands to rip from the dirt,

I'm a flower, not a weed,

I cannot be deterred. 

2
0
0
Juice
21 reads
Donate coins to CautiousRain.
Juice
Cancel
Written by CautiousRain in portal Poetry & Free Verse
Unbreakable Flower
I'm the kind of flower
that grows out of concrete,
but with one look, 
I appear just like a weed.

I've got a reinforced stem
and a will to burst through the cracks;
I don't wilt without water,
and I refuse to cut back.

I grow in adversity,
under the shade, in the dust,
in the hard rock pressing against
my roots, when it's rough;

but I'm not some simple dandelion
waiting for grubby hands to rip from the dirt,
I'm a flower, not a weed,
I cannot be deterred. 

#poetry  #freeverse  #flower  #weed  #unbreakable 
2
0
0
Juice
21 reads
Login to post comments.
Donate coins to CautiousRain.
Juice
Cancel
Written by CautiousRain

No One Told Me

I never knew I could feel so shattered,

simply by leaving your room,

by hanging up a call too soon,

having my throat burning and clogged with a vigorous pain,

something that boils inside me

every time we have to walk away,

and I never knew I could miss someone while being just a foot astray,

a step too far has me clenching my hands together,

biting my lip,

trying to understand why I feel so strained;

why did no one tell me I could miss you like this?

11
2
0
Juice
35 reads
Donate coins to CautiousRain.
Juice
Cancel
Written by CautiousRain
No One Told Me

I never knew I could feel so shattered,
simply by leaving your room,
by hanging up a call too soon,
having my throat burning and clogged with a vigorous pain,
something that boils inside me
every time we have to walk away,
and I never knew I could miss someone while being just a foot astray,
a step too far has me clenching my hands together,
biting my lip,
trying to understand why I feel so strained;
why did no one tell me I could miss you like this?
11
2
0
Juice
35 reads
Login to post comments.
Donate coins to CautiousRain.
Juice
Cancel
Written by CautiousRain

Falling Star

Dance, dance, dance,

string me up,

rip my heart

and puncture my lungs,

pull me close and

swing me around,

watch as your little star

drops to the ground.

11
1
1
Juice
51 reads
Donate coins to CautiousRain.
Juice
Cancel
Written by CautiousRain
Falling Star
Dance, dance, dance,
string me up,
rip my heart
and puncture my lungs,
pull me close and
swing me around,
watch as your little star
drops to the ground.
#love  #pain  #stars  #failures 
11
1
1
Juice
51 reads
Load 1 Comment
Login to post comments.
Donate coins to CautiousRain.
Juice
Cancel
Written by CautiousRain in portal Poetry & Free Verse

Metal Clang

Palpitating palpitating

boom boom bust

a little bit of water makes a metal heart rust

palpitating palpitating

boom boom pow

your gears wound up but you don't know how

palpitating palpitating

boom boom crush

too many repairs make a weak heart mush.

4
0
0
Juice
67 reads
Donate coins to CautiousRain.
Juice
Cancel
Written by CautiousRain in portal Poetry & Free Verse
Metal Clang
Palpitating palpitating
boom boom bust
a little bit of water makes a metal heart rust
palpitating palpitating
boom boom pow
your gears wound up but you don't know how
palpitating palpitating
boom boom crush
too many repairs make a weak heart mush.
#rhyme  #metal  #heart  #beat 
4
0
0
Juice
67 reads
Login to post comments.
Donate coins to CautiousRain.
Juice
Cancel
Written by CautiousRain in portal Poetry & Free Verse

Shadows

Seething, creeping, smokey death,

it sucks you in with every breath.

8
2
0
Juice
58 reads
Donate coins to CautiousRain.
Juice
Cancel
Written by CautiousRain in portal Poetry & Free Verse
Shadows
Seething, creeping, smokey death,
it sucks you in with every breath.
#death  #shadows  #micropoetry  #elevenwords 
8
2
0
Juice
58 reads
Login to post comments.
Donate coins to CautiousRain.
Juice
Cancel
Written by CautiousRain in portal Poetry & Free Verse

Ethereal

Somehow I knew you before

in a cottage;

in tepid water;

in the absence,

waiting in

songs,

stories,

my own prayers,

and in dreams detailing

small snippets of the to-be

like clippings of newspaper.

I thought I’d lost you,

and I waded through hail

and quicksand,

trying to dig deeper,

but I hadn’t met you yet,

so when I started to remember

these sounds

sleeping in my mind

I knew I had to trek back.

Your voice plays,

like a record long saved, tucked away,

playing as it did the very first time;

each touch, a step

to a dance I always loved

but convinced myself I’d forgotten;

your smile, a comfort lost in childhood

somewhere,

a sun shining in my memories,

and I knew I recognized it.

You had to be ethereal.

4
1
1
Juice
70 reads
Donate coins to CautiousRain.
Juice
Cancel
Written by CautiousRain in portal Poetry & Free Verse
Ethereal
Somehow I knew you before
in a cottage;
in tepid water;
in the absence,
waiting in
songs,
stories,
my own prayers,
and in dreams detailing
small snippets of the to-be
like clippings of newspaper.

I thought I’d lost you,
and I waded through hail
and quicksand,
trying to dig deeper,
but I hadn’t met you yet,
so when I started to remember
these sounds
sleeping in my mind
I knew I had to trek back.

Your voice plays,
like a record long saved, tucked away,
playing as it did the very first time;
each touch, a step
to a dance I always loved
but convinced myself I’d forgotten;
your smile, a comfort lost in childhood
somewhere,
a sun shining in my memories,
and I knew I recognized it.

You had to be ethereal.
#love  #dreams  #time  #ethereal  #reflections 
4
1
1
Juice
70 reads
Load 1 Comment
Login to post comments.