i wish to be gone

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  • _a_ofextremities 14w

    in aloneness, seek art-- spoke a genZ kid, out of closure over undisturbed revelations. the key is to keep it as vague as the street graffiti.
    irony, innit?


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  • _a_ofextremities 15w

    "do not go gentle into that good night.
    rage, rage against the dying of the light."
    -Dylan Thomas

    do not go gentle into running away
    rage, rage like a bird does, for a home//

    like the cave men,
    like the astronauts,
    like the housewives,
    do not go gentle into that fire,
    rage, rage against the odds

    rage against yourself,
    like the sunset
    right before dissolving into the ocean//

    rage, rage--
    for yourself
    do not go gentle into that i-love-you//

    rage like Hozier does,
    rage thru art//

    like Gogh, like Plath,
    like all the revolutionary writers of my mother tongue that slips my mind,
    do not go gentle into death,
    rage, rage against dying itself//

    do not go gentle into that i-love-you
    rage, rage against the dying of innocence//

    rage against the subtleness
    of love and love
    do not go gentle into that i-love-you//

    -A, conflicted.

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  • _a_ofextremities 18w

    i'm a tombstone, of all things tonight
    and my poetry, a graveyard.

    other days, i'm just as dull
    as a grey sky
    i shudder, shiver and shatter
    and stay just as still
    over and out,
    i'm just as lonely

    i shan't glow any less
    when the sun rises
    and i will be loved and
    written about,
    just the same, one day.


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  • _a_ofextremities 19w


    mama always has something- about my wit- to call out,
    that it doesnt help me fight
    demons of night--
    which sounds like a riddle in itself, i thought.

    you may run out of your wit, kid,
    but dont be paralysed, run!, she says.

    you cant blame her on being naive and
    giving out cheat codes, shes a mother afterall,
    with a daughter.

    by now, i should know mama speaks in riddles
    and here goes another--

    he cant possibly outrun your wit
    but does make you run yards.
    away you sway,
    from his charming smile
    oh, boy, does he wear niceness on his sleeves,
    with a motive tucked under his pants
    ever so gentlemanly,
    polished shoe,
    coming at you like a speeding car
    at crossroads just about to run over you.
    wiht his foul breath or otherwise,
    does he greet you with bribe or otherwise,
    beware child.
    thats a demon of night or otherwise,
    she says.

    oh how easy would it be if there are no riddles
    and that she spoke to me
    of those demons lurking 'round
    like everyone else, i thought.

    men forbid! she says, almost like a whisper.
    maybe its the father, i assumed,
    but no, twas granny.

    education, she says
    i agree.
    unncessary, she says
    awareness, i argue.
    rebellion, she says with distraught
    i agree, softly.
    wrong about the tradtions, very wrong, she says,
    revolutionary, i tell her.
    off bounds, she calls it
    feminism, i tell her otherwise.
    back in my days, she starts,
    its a new generation, granny,
    i smile at her.

    mama should be proud of me, i thought
    maybe she was,
    but thru her scars of abuse,
    she doesnt show that much.
    tomorrow is another day,
    she says,
    the world moves on,
    demons still walk around,
    in day and night,
    its a travesty to imagine otherwise,
    and you shall move on too,
    but as a different person each day
    you wake up, a better one.
    now thats all for bed time riddles,
    sleep, champ.


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  • _a_ofextremities 22w

    don't deny me of love,
    pretty things of red, above all.

    -A//☃️ merry christmas

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  • _a_ofextremities 23w

    what has become
    of me--

    I return to the question
    every now and then,
    often times.

    God knows,
    only he doesn't
    reach out to me
    these days

    and I'm colour blind
    as it comes to faith.

    they (people
    that surround me)
    say they see sorrow
    in my eyes,

    God and I
    should know
    of the grief I try to hide
    behind them,

    lamenting the parts of me
    that i lost
    witnessed myself
    letting go
    for worse or
    for better.

    they also see the dark circles,

    ma gave them to me
    when I was in her womb,

    and i gave myself
    other shades, too.

    what has become of me?

    Ma thinks I'm selfish,
    maybe i am,
    if i am,

    what is it that I had

    what battles had i
    not lost?

    if I'm not a poet, like Plath,
    who am i?

    if Plath had not found
    another way out
    of the mind
    like she wanted,
    What would become of me?

    what is the other way that
    she didn't know.

    (all this rambling of myself,
    i should be selfish,


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  • _a_ofextremities 24w

    I am art,
    a fucking masterpiece.

    but you--
    you remain as
    a mystery to me.

    whisper your name into thin air,
    let it slip off to me.

    help me out, please,
    I'm waiting for the cheat code.

    I can offer you
    immortality thru my words,
    in return for a word--
    your name.

    had we
    spoken same language
    of dreams, desires
    art and anime-

    I'd stitch us into a fine poem
    out of nothing.


    (read me, talk to me, talk of me)

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  • _a_ofextremities 26w

    back in the real world,
    I'm no poet,
    I'm of simple people.


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  • _a_ofextremities 26w

    tonight -a ghazal

    (after Shahid)

    id retreat myself from any creed tonight
    liberation is all that id need tonight

    i could tell ma tis all for redemption
    but I should know tis only of greed, tonight

    "she's got my kindness" she speaks of me
    call it a truce, should i bleed tonight

    for all that has been done and undone,
    pray tell, if her love for me exceed tonight

    who am i, if not as significant as dust,
    maybe i shall be risen, to concede, tonight

    forgive the forsaken, let open your gates,
    allow me to borrow words from Shahid tonight

    maybe i would, if i should, forgive her
    as another day, ends in a good deed tonight.


    "let open your gates" -Shahid.

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  • _a_ofextremities 26w

    at the hem of this morning
    i see everything disintegrating

    first,the sunrays, then,
    pigeons at the hands of a child;
    and water cascading through shower

    as i bathed in bewilderment.

    i stand drenched on tiles of memory
    that my mom has traced so far,
    some more clearer and tidier
    than the others.

    i couldnt cloak myself with humor,
    not today,

    so i stand naked to humiliation,
    all by myself.

    it wasnt cold,
    nor as warm.

    i am but the undealt trauma,
    i am a goddamned wreckage, now

    i cant remember who i was

    by the sunset, ill be someone
    who cant write a poem off her

    and at nights,
    i shall embody all my delusions

    i could be in someone's memory,
    for a tad bit,
    i might be alive there.


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