i recently held a poetry contest and here are the top three winners with their instagram handles and their poems featured. please follow them and read their poems because they're honestly so talented. none of the poems below are written by me.
first place: moltenminds on instagram.
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crashland
out in the desert
wreckage wrapped around your body; shaking hands
this is how we began
you pointed out fires, i walked through them
burning metal, disturbed sands
like claws set in stone, like wax melting off feathers
i do not know how old i am
starving, i ran fingers over your ribs and you shivered
you said give and i emptied myself
plucked my veins off, dropped my hands
you said give and i sank
sand in my lungs as you weaved my hair into the land
sometimes my bed is an ocean
i learn to swim and then i drown
you push my head under water and i smile
otherworldly, you whisper, how glorious are the hands of death
i nod, i sink, i do not come back up
how glorious is the grip of death
softly, you say, and i tear myself apart with care
there can be no ugliness
to breaking yourself apart
we fall like artists
hands like paintbrushes
canvas skin, you tire of creating
i remain unfinished: half colour, half bland.
like a fox in headlights
for you i cut off my tongue today, turned to stone and fell down three stories
three, two, one
you gasped in delight, clapped your hands as i shattered
crashland, far from the desert
i am still searching through the wreckage; shaking hands
the sun does not forgive the sand
such a blind, razor love
such a soft, graceful death
like icarus, i forget myself
you give me wings and i refuse to land
skin like wax, hands like clay
imperfect; i turn to water
the ocean to a grave
stop — you begin
what is the word no, but a concept
hands that reach for you in the dark
the moon is so bright, you cannot look away
skin that is pealed from bone
what is consent, but a concept
no — he begins
what is your body, but an offering
the floor is cold, you cannot stop shaking
no
the moon is so bright
you cannot see.
feathers in the wind, i have come apart
you say stay, i fall
nomenclature — what are miracles, but a prayer
saints were but human, until you made them more
stars were but fire, until we named them more
crashland, back in the desert
the sand is cold now
you are the sandstorm,
i am the sand
neither of us know of miracles
we find prayers in the sand.
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second place: z.n.writes on instagram
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my father does not ask the right question
i asked father to read my poetry. he asked "why are they sad?" instead of "why are you sad?" i said "papa pain is in fashion, that's the only art that sells."
he laughed but in his laugh i heard his guilt, in his eyes i saw the sadness he sought to hide but i learnt to recognize. someday i hope i can confess that i saw him, hands muffling cries [both his and mine].
why are you sad beta? papa your sadness gave birth to mine. i am sad because you traded your happiness for my mine, my hands too small to carry your sin so some of it leaks out into my pen. papa i am sad because your selflessness turned into sin, turned into my guilt.
someday i want to show you a poem that is drowning in joy, hand you back your happiness and tell you, papa your happiness birthed mine.
-
third place: euphoringularity on instagram
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a blank, sad canvas
is all they see, just a
blank, sad canvas.
not you.
you are gazing at
a masterpiece; art
only you can touch,
and it touches you.
but its gesture is
alone a ghost of
past memories; and
every cell in your
anatomy aches for
this to be real.
claws of despair
clutch you tight,
choke you. "they
were there a second,
a second they weren't."
never bid them the
farewell they deserved,
you echo your agony,
where it whispers back,
sometimes gone amiss,
"that's what meets them,
them all, a fate,
an ending that is
not you."
and the universe
will fall to its knees
to bear your pain. a
breeze that tickled
a leaf will caress and
dry your cheeks.
thunder will strike
a little less loudly;
the cacophony of
chirping birds will
voice your misery
in their melancholic
songs,
for you.
thus, the winding,
strong arms of your
grief slacks, loosens,
day by day, for you
to embrace it, instead
of escaping, as what is
left of who you lost;
their shadow wanders
in the torment you feel.
not going to let them go,
are you?
not again.
YOU ARE READING
serendipity
Poetryranked #1 in poetry - july 3rd 2018 somewhat mix of poetry about self love, depression, real beauty, happiness, true love, past mistakes and much more. no it does not rhyme and you might cry. enjoy ♡
