sereiin

In this world of burning hell fire,you are the one I'd rather burn for.

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  • sereiin 1w

    Just wanted to let it out <3

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    What being stuck in your head feels like.

    I live in fear. The fear of being vulnerable and insecure. The fear of being judged for the way I curl up when I sleep , or the keeping the best things for all the last to eat , for talking too little , of not being scared of death, for being a little too much or not even being close to enough.I find the bad in things even before I look through the good . The cracks on the flooring I notice as soon as I enter a house, the clipped teeth he shows when he smiles but I also look through the cemment holding the other broken part of it together and the way his lips doesn't hold back when he smiles , be it broken or not. I read books that make me cry because death has taught me more about life.I smile and I laugh with strangers but think about the dress they wore, the way they smiled and carry with me for days. I speak a little loud but I cry in silence under blankets . I like being alone but not being lonely. I am all the good things I look for in others and all the bad things I wish I wasn't and so I keep my head down in a room full of people because I feel their eyes under my skin telling me how I loathe in self hate and yet love myself at the same time. I am all the things just being me all the way because I don't fit in and don't like standing out and so I am in the middle of nothing and everything.

  • sereiin 12w

    Happy Birthday you beautiful beautiful human.
    You are a special person who deserves everything beautiful in life. You are strong , beautiful and just the right shoulder anyone can count on and I knew I could count in you the day you told me you hated rain XD. And Ily for that . Thank you for being the person who checks up on everyone and for always being the person who never gives up on love, thank you for all the gossip you share and thank you for always being YOU. You can count on me anyday and I'll be there for you just like you have been there. I never thought I'd make such a great friend.A friendship that really matters . So here's to great friendship, to awkward talks , to listening songs and here's to drooling over damon salvatore. I love youuuu and I hope you have the best day .��


    Do not kill me for the poem I promise to write you a good one when I get over my block.

    Here's to the hope she carries
    And the kindness that nestles within .
    To the endless love that resides
    And turning frowns to smiles .
    To the sunflowers that dance to her rhymes
    And poems that stall your heart.
    Rhymes that sing you to sleep,
    And words that paint the skies shy.
    She's a metaphor of everything good ,
    With soul as beautiful as sunflowers under the sky.
    Here's to celebrating this person today and everyday ��♥️


    @turquoise_stars @granite_daisy��

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    Here's to the hope she carries
    And the kindness that nestles within .
    To the endless love that resides
    And turning frowns to smiles .
    To the sunflowers that dance to her rhymes
    And poems that stall your heart.
    Rhymes that sing you to sleep,
    And words that paint the skies shy.
    She's a metaphor of everything good ,
    With soul as beautiful as sunflowers under the sky.
    Here's to celebrating this person today and everyday .
    ©sereiin

  • sereiin 20w

    Boys will not be boys


    Boys will not be boys for they will not keep the masculinity the society taught them as reminders tattooed on their skin.

    Because the boy I know is fragile like a flower and sweet like it's nectar so he came home labelled "Handle with care" written by his father because his son finds no strength keeping his cries inside his throats until it hurts and he never speaks again and because he doesn't break his mirrors and bruises his knuckles when he is angry instead he writes death note like poetries in his diary before sleep. For he knows blood on his hands doesn't make him man and not crying doesn't give him abs so he will not bottle his tears to the grave and so the boy I know has a stomach too small to shove toxic masculinity in it. Instead, he eats his insecurities bit by bit and gulps his ego down, wears a loose pink shirt and confidence in his smile and he doesn't keep his anger on the sleeve of his shirt and his egos clutched between his fingerlings.
    The boy I know learnt how to love from his mother and so he'll make you laugh and sing you to sleep but will not hold your hand in his and taste the tip of your lips until it mouths a Yes because his mother thought him to ask for consent before she taught him to sing. So the boy I know is happy in the world he built for himself with no rules to qualify as a man and so he doesn't mind the label his father put over him for he knows fragile is beautiful.
    ©sereiin

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  • sereiin 21w

    I keep my medications under the sink, under the bed hidden because Ma thinks a smiling face is always happy and therapy is a myth.

    Her face is a warzone of all the anger my father keeps on his fingertips and serves it to her from the day she decided to question the lavender smell from his blue shirt because she knows he keeps perfumes away from his skin as he keeps her away from smiles.

    Because women to him are objects and mere objects that he wishes to keep holding in his hands wishing they don’t melt away from their anger, from lavender scents.

    The walls of my house have gone deaf through the screams and shout it hears 6 days out of 7.
    While other women in the building are brave enough to hear them and not shed a tear for humanity.
    Because women are the same all around the world for they hide out scars from last night under 3 layers of makeup and judge the one showing their long legs under a tulip mustard dress.

    But ma calls abuse as adjustments because she says if you talk your voice over men they'll cut your tongue leaving them hanging from your mouth until you bleed and die and because revolution is harder than oppression, and because patriarchy never existed it just the way a man lives and women are meant to live and at the end of the day boys will be boys.

    And so I keep my medications hidden because therapy is a myth to her just like domestic abuse and because her screams are loud and mine are silent.
    ©sereiin

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  • sereiin 21w

    I have written stories of letting go and leaving and I see irony basking inside all my words smiling at me telling me to stop.
    Maybe I will,
    Because there is no more courage left in me to tighten the grip around your fingers and ask you to hold me tight until we look at one.
    And if we do look like one will our heartbeat in two or one?
    And what if you tell me your heart is nothing but flesh and blood yearning grief and grief.
    Because honey my heart stinks of hands that let go, a smile that keeps fading and of your cologne.
    Maybe I will not stop,
    Because you know I will yell I love you around the corners of your apartment doors and you'll glance through the keyhole and shut the door as long as you could.
    And maybe if I see you linger around the balcony door I'll assume you slept to the mixtapes I made you and maybe this time you'll smile at me and not shut the door.
    And maybe I'll hold your hands as tight as I can until my heart shatters and breaks into two for I know it isn't just flesh and blood.
    ©sereiin

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  • sereiin 22w

    The rose petals in my journals have dried into shades of brown and your photographs in my drawers haven't tasted air for years now. They keep growing in dust and I in melancholy.

    Your photographs are polaroids of memories I am too afraid to open too afraid to name love.
    Smiles have been fading and my wounds now ache in love and whisper your name every time they bleed. They have grown sour to all the memories that rot inside,
    It stinks like a reminder of not being enough.

    The mirror on the wall is old and I sit staring at it in long breaths and cold hands.

    Nose too big- Check
    Lips too chapped- Check
    Eyes not pretty enough- Check
    The heart is too broken - Check
    No self-love - Check

    I keep whispering it like an LKG rhyme again and again for I carry too much hate for me and too much love for him. I remember things I shouldn't and love people I don't want to. Oh, but do they love me back? They don't, they never did.

    My mother calls love a sin, maybe I am a sinner but what good am I if I don't even get him to love me back.
    ©sereiin

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  • sereiin 23w

    I brush my lips across yours and you whimper while you smile your guilt away and we fold into each other's arms like lovers that meet after the war.

    I trace your smiles, the curves on your body, the taste of your blood and the chills of your body against mine and follow them like a madman in search of the home knowing that there is a part of me that is going to love you so much you'd think the sky just split apart caressing every inch of your skin with the stardust and smiles and lift your sadness that lives inside your hollow bones and kiss it a goodbye while you plant kisses on my scars like poetries and mouth a hundred eulogies to love.

    A hundred poems are written across the skyline you borrow your words from and I keep burying myself in your poetries too often chasing metaphors and smiling at your soft lies.

    You say I love you with every breath and I keep hearing it over and over again like the mixtapes you made me last summer. They are dipped in sugar-coated warm shame and I keep licking it off mistaking it be love. Maybe I'll catch diabetes, maybe I'll die in love.
    If death isn't the easy way out of love what is?
    ©sereiin

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  • sereiin 23w

    Poems are often written
    about roses that wilt and
    wallflower that grow aloof and
    sunflowers that never bloom
    and how grief aches over them;
    and never about how
    roses flicker your eyes every time they bloom
    and wallflower that dances to the
    swaying hymns of the sunflowers.

    There are always pretty skies
    clinging at the footsteps of rhymes
    where they suck the sadness out of me
    that talk about heartbreaks a little too fondly
    and how they carry grief like
    a handkerchief in the breast pocket.

    And there is poetry written
    all over me but all I can smell is stale
    metaphors of hope stringed
    with happiness at its bottom.

    Happiness has abounded me
    like the eulogies I write to dramatic skies
    and my never-ending epilogues to love.
    ©sereiin

    @writersnetwork thank you:")♥️

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  • sereiin 23w

    Two humans 1 soul
    Seven births of love
    Death for death
    One alive one dead.

    Thursday morning over the stained sofa I sit in white ,
    there is grief sitting on the corner of my lips, and I sit naked to let it barge out of me
    Hands pass down my back passing a nudge of hope and she slips right away, everytime.

    My eyes red and hands shivering grey.
    He stopped breathing,
    he stopped all of a sudden and once for all.
    No more beeps of the ventilator and no more money for oxygen .
    No more tears to flow, no more smiles my way.
    No more rainbows for me , no more red flowers from him.
    No more bangles for you my mother says,
    And no more colours either.
    No more colours to my lips and no more attempt of being fair.
    A black woman for a black man.
    And white for white,
    But what's left for girl like me
    whose womanhood is lost and is dressed under coats of blue
    Do you paint me black again or do you paint me grey the colour of his ash?


    Ps - It's POV of a widow

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  • sereiin 24w

    To,
    A man with huge arms and feet, a scratchy beard with black upturned mustache often found with his iron-stiff shirts of the colour of the sky buttoned neatly and tucked under his brown pants and who doesn't smile often.

    You are often seated at the corner when poems are scribbled over sacrifice,
    With pretty metaphors of love ,sacrifice grins within.

    You mother , she calls you a warrior,
    As you set off to the world where you smile until your jaws hurt with grief clenched to your teeth.
    Because men he says we're never built that way.
    On most days he spreads his arms wide apart asking me to bury all my sorrows inside it
    For he is a man and it says without going grief sticks on a mans face without a pain unlike women that a shed a tear.

    On the days when I see my life mending it's verses among heartbreaks ,
    His particularly hoarse voice pulls me under his tender smiles.
    Showing rainbows under dark clouds,
    Being yellow in my blues.

    He says I love yous a little less than Ma,
    But his passwords says otherwise.
    4 walls and a roof over my head,
    And his arms I call home.

    From,
    The one who feels a little safe with your hand holding her little fingers and who smiles a lot more around you and loves you till eternity.

    - Radhika

    #gratitude #wod

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