a_franteen_writer

I'm just a simple *bean* 17. she/her��

Grid View
List View
Reposts
  • a_franteen_writer 4d

    #pod #wod #end #miraquill #writersnetwork #ceereposts
    .
    Trust me I'm not even in my right senses. Like I don't what's wrong with me. Like I've kind of lost my inspiration but I still write because I want to be prepared when the inspiration arrives in its own mysterious way. I'm stuck and it's very hard to come out of it.
    I'm lost~~~
    But I don't want to be for long.

    Read More

    Love--?

    I even hate the sound of your breath.
    The last time I woke up in your arms,
    Was the last time I was in touch with my sanity
    The words you wove
    To give me sweaters of lies
    And a morsel of chicken noodle soup
    With the soda on the side
    That you made me drink
    From the kisses you left on the kitchen counter
    The sole witness to the love we knew we held between the trap
    Of your stained shirt and mine swollen lips
    Presumptuous prophecies
    That were never meant to be true
    Died on the night
    We fell in love
    Under the moon
    Beyond the stars
    The sky flew
    Glaciers melted
    Rivers changed courses
    When we commanded
    Infinity to fit under a single kiss
    Hushed under our one single breath;
    That is when I knew that love doesn't last forever,
    It is made into one
    Hence scarring you for life.
    ©a_franteen_writer

  • a_franteen_writer 1w

    Flowers fade/sky sail's and soars/connoisseurs creep cries/silences scream/
    Bewitching beauty/saddening sunset/a cream colored cottage/ lusty loneliness/dingy darkness/wavering waves/tall trees twinkling/colours clinking/stars sewn seraphic/wounded wine/ poached peaches/sweet scents.
    .
    16th October 2021
    The sky was grey today. It didn't speak like it used to. It slowly turned lavender with a gem sewn into it. Even the trees were silent. The gentle humour grew faintly, with each ascending hour in the book of time, from seconds to minutes to hours. Some oranges and reds sneaked their way into the tiny house on the lonesome hill, splashing it's way through the windows queerly. They didn't seem to have lost their way neither did they find one. In the gentle innocence of a child they hid in my languid eyes and black short hair, turning golden after the rendezvous.

    Flowers faded, even in a pool of water with ample sunlight. They weren't meant to live but I forced them to. Though they lost to the desires of time and death, still the sense of saving a life form perceived in my heart; the flowers were abandoned by some stoic lovers as they too, had lost to their own lovers. A lover abandons another lover in a different form. So I picked them up gently yesterday, to retrieve and find traces of some leftover love but it only led me to overwhelming lust and precarious desires.

    The little cottage praised by the soaring wind stood firm upon the hill, where I lived with a library of thoughts and emotions, all breathing in the restless words of a forgotten poetess, who still breaths but has lost all her blood in her veins to the ink pot in which she dipped her peacock feathered quill and wrote till the early hours of the day, disturbed by the rising dawn and the falling night.

    On such an evening she lied to the cities of youth and recklessness so that they could abandon her and leave her in her chaos; ruins of her former self. She built herself one by one, piece by piece; a Michelangelo perfecting her David, and so well did she make her ruins into the little cottage, fate and destiny resigned from her life forever.

    She still lives with me like a haunting spirit, a dream that we all live in, and seldom leaves the cottage draped in sleek cream colored hues, stained with the faltering kisses of her former love, and the faltering kisses of the dusks and dawns in which she rekindled her light every night, only to be distinguished the next morning.

    The waves of the sea will still clammer, the sun will still rise, the flowers will still bloom, even if she and me go out of everyone's sight.

    /The stars shine/the moon sings lullabies/the seas sing ballads for the nights/ you and me still fight to survive./

    -- a_franteen_writer

    Peace ��️

    #pastoralpoem #miraquill #writersnetwork #ceesreposts #pod #wod #nature

    Read More

    Pastorally bleak

    ©a_franteen_writer

  • a_franteen_writer 1w

    #life #wod #pod #miraquill #writersnetwork #ceesreposts
    A little reverie y'all.
    I hope you're doing well ��.
    Peace ��️

    Read More

    For the sake of sanity...

    I write for the sake of sanity. I do not trap the mighty mountains or the sky that harbours all of me, like the camera that captures moments to stop time, but time keeps etching it's way forward like a work of art of glass.

    I let them (along with my words to give them identity) lose to dance and prance around to see the beauty in chaos and the destruction in peace. Freedom is what I choose to believe in. I choose to believe in the idea of belief. To believe that the soul can never be captive, to choose that tommorow is a myth, yesterday a dream and present an illusion that only ends upon the arrival of the drama of deaths matrimony to a human life.

    I let freedom flow through my hair that gardens flowers of rare kind; the ones that grow in the abyss of one's heart, bewitched by the rays of hope, that do not touch the shores. I alight fire in the minds of the sane to erase traces of the ugly earthlings and their underlinings to distinguish love from hate and I open gates of a place; neither hell nor heaven.

    I let the sun kiss me slow on the willow branch where I was left entangled by the moon; naked under the covers of the night and saw stars that had long died but still perceived to see me, a long lost lover full of insanity and some leftover passion. So, I let myself be kissed softly and tenderly as if I would break even with the slightest use of force and power or domination.

    So today, I let myself be fooled by the drama of the infinite nature, as if I were to live forever, as if I were to be remembered.

    So, today I let myself be called a fool,
    Because long ago I realized, I was not sane neither somber, but a whole damn shipwreck worth the entire moon.
    The entire moon.

    I will die and shed my shell, but the Earth will always have my breaths, hugs and kisses, like a drunk confession.

    (--- drunk confessions are the truest forms of love letters --- )
    ©a_franteen_writer

  • a_franteen_writer 1w

    #patheticfallacy #wod #writersnetwork #miraquill #pod #ceesreposts

    Long time no see! I hope you all doing well��

    Read More

    Listen to the breeze;
    speak,
    It has within it,
    A thousand screams,
    You never got to scream.
    ©a_franteen_writer

  • a_franteen_writer 3w

    God's earth

    Love is a myth and hate is a lie,
    The holy wine is shining tonight,
    Love is trapped between roses of faith,
    And the lies of hate slithered from the thorns,
    That bloomed in full glory,
    Like morning daisies.

    Vigorous sailing,
    Makes me lose any senses,
    When the seas and the waves clammer,
    And the white horses meet,
    The soaring skies,
    Where the eagle,
    Is just another bird,
    Like you and I.

    So,
    Cliche metaphors are jailed,
    Into silences with moonlight,
    As the sole companion;
    Trees lose their virginity,
    Nocturnals their eye sights,
    And my eyes lose tears,
    And an appetite,
    For myself.

    I lived too old,
    I died too young,
    To know the flavour,
    Of God's earth,
    Where one is,
    The entire cosmos.
    ----
    Yes
    Indeed the entire cosmos.
    ©a_franteen_writer

  • a_franteen_writer 4w

    You once told me,
    About the anatomy of my body
    With the accessories of five senses
    And a parcel of "soultrons"
    Of how one person is never enough
    To fit in one
    It always has to be more than one.

    You once told me
    How to rectify and identify
    My body parts
    "The ones that see ;our eyes
    The ones that hear ;our ears
    The one that speaks is a mouth
    The one that beats till death; a heart
    The ones that moves; our limbs"
    And so on
    Well then my ears always see things that the "eyes" aren't supposed to see
    My eyes hear the whispers of the deadly nights
    My heart often moves and sways
    To the sound of the music
    And my limbs often beat in heresy.

    You once told me
    How scars are a badge of honour
    But my torso is already heavy;
    tired of shining bright; monochrome; red
    Still I fathom them like the infinite sky
    Not all stars are meant to twinkle
    Some are meant to be holes
    Hurled by their own gravity
    And a blast of Hawking's radiations.

    (Nothing ever; seldom dies in the universe;
    Well exceptions are always there
    I am the defiant of this supreme law
    As I've died
    A million times in my poems and dreams
    And never reserrected
    So the cosmos erased my memories; so done with me.)

    You once told me
    That the mind is a bearer
    Of all the memory flags that one hoists,
    There's none in sight
    Only sheer darkness glows
    Repeated words after words pave the way
    To the next death
    And 7 minutes of inactivity
    Where your mind is supposed to be the most active
    Alas! Exceptions exceptions everywhere!

    In the end the things you never told me
    Often blinded my sight
    What kind of sorcery is this ?
    Where the sorcerer and the victims are same?
    What kind of heresy is this?
    Where the gods abandon children
    Still they believe in the idea of believe?
    What kind of anatomy is this?
    Where no organ ever performs it's functions?
    .
    ©a_franteen_writer
    .
    .
    #once #wod #pod #miraquill #writersnetwork #ceesreposts #share
    .
    .
    .
    .
    Well writer's block is so frustrating!!!!!!! I've been like this for quite a while NOW. I REALLY WANT MY ABILITY TO WRITE A LITTLE BACK�� THIS PIECE DIDN'T TURN OUT THE WAY I EXPECTED IT TO BE AGAIN! Well I will try tomorrow AGAIN.
    Till then
    Sayonara~~~

    Read More

    You once told me...

    ©a_franteen_writer

  • a_franteen_writer 4w

    #miraquill #writersnetwork #pod #enso #wod #ceesreposts
    Well writer's block is so frustrating and I've been stuck in this state for around 15 days now. I'm sorry this is not that good but I will try to write something better next time... Anyways this is all I have today.


    I am kiss,
    no one's Lips; to
    dream and tender
    Girl or With soft
    a drunk Of beauty
    confession

    Neither. (holes)
    Do the skies. Bones;
    Sing of. Of fractured
    my austere. The shadow
    Beauty; Rest in
    Scars

    Love notes By hate
    To the The love
    Hate notes Eat
    I write Binge and
    Everyday Monsters
    But

    So today Purest metal
    I bring with the
    The gold Shine
    Lacquer Them
    Of and let
    Kintsugi

    Imperfect to be
    Or "I'm perfect" Supposed
    My curves It was
    scratches Where
    Marks is
    Everything

    Just like the moon is neither perfect or imperfect,
    It's just where it was destined to be,
    Up in the sky; a serene being
    So am I
    Not a dead mirror
    But just ME.

    Read More

    ME

    I'm not a dead mirror
    I'm just me.
    ©a_franteen_writer

  • a_franteen_writer 4w

    Silences scream thunder

    She breathed silences
    To scream aloud
    Thunders
    Wore lightening
    As her badge of honour
    Dancing with the
    Dancing clandestine skies
    Strangely poured rain
    Of patriarchy
    To falter her feet
    But she stood up
    To let go of her
    Tigers that prance
    Across the land
    And roar with
    The thunders
    In her heart
    On the night
    Where sleep slept aloof
    Of the revolution
    Songs sung by the
    Trees, moon, tigers
    And she
    As she stood up alone
    On the hill
    As she stood up alone
    On the swinging hill
    As she stood up alone
    In her shredded remains
    She stood up alone
    In the rain.
    ©a_franteen_writer

  • a_franteen_writer 4w

    #kept #pod #lost #wod #miraquill #writersnetwork #ceesreposts
    *all the things I preserved, do not exist in this world*
    this is a fact for me .

    Read More

    "things that i preserved
    do not exist anymore in this world"


    things that i preserved
    do not exist anymore in this world.
    still in the memory of my late wishes,i reminisce them, as for how much i wished for them to die and go away, i ended up liking and Alas! loving them with a heart i never knew existed.
    *
    1. the starry night in my eyes:
    the skies were pink,
    yellow were the nights
    when the lunar tides of childhood
    were fresh and alive
    when Alice could jump into a hole
    and would roam the Earth
    as a wonderland of fancy rabbits and magic
    i guess that was where the starry night in my eyes ended,
    when the wonderland of my land started speaking and whispering terrible tales and nightmares.
    **
    2. landscapes from a foreign land:
    when a child whispers tales of forbidden forests and murky marshlands,
    dragons that breathed smoke
    or blood thirsty vampires,
    i wove a wreath of picturesque lands,
    where water was blood,
    and plants carnivorous
    mountains were the only constants of beauty
    and everything else was dull and sullen
    suddenly I would open my eyes and scribble,
    but nothing compared to what I saw
    so i left; giddy.
    ***
    3. the will to be found:
    i got lost in somewhat a knockturn alley
    so i waited patiently,
    like a patient awaits the cure,
    i sat in between the thugs of innocence
    but strangely didn't get robbed
    for i had nothing but a photograph
    of what i was supposed to be
    and that is when i knew
    i was never me
    but rather a mirror
    everyone saw what they were looking for
    but a mirror itself has no existence and meaning
    i was indeed a thug,
    and that is when i lost the will to be found.
    ****
    4. the possibility of being unique:
    the hoax of uniqueness and maturity seeped in,
    some whispered about my immaturity, immaculately
    so i was obsessed with aliens and loners,
    who I sought to be different ,
    but soon the paradoxes bloomed
    of how mature a 17 year old should be?
    is their a scale like Pauling scale or Richter's
    to measure such possibilities?
    none I was told.
    and that's when i guess
    i lost my normalcy and the will to fight and survive.
    *****
    5. trauma poetry that was on loss of words to be truly manufactured:
    when the clouds don't rain,
    they make a fuss ,
    flowers forget to bloom ,
    skies forget to shine ,
    and there is a sarcastic smile,
    on the pages of my diary,
    taunting me to stain them,
    even though they know i can't,
    so i waited for the arrival of words,
    but in the end all that poetry was lost,
    so i filed a missing complaint,
    in the court of lexicographers,
    my petition was denied.
    ******
    in the end i lost whatever i preserved,
    first loves,
    first memories
    first scars
    and most importantly, my ability to create new nuances of faith,
    that i knew were already very frail.
    *******
    still one thing i preserved and never lost was ironically my faith in the cosmos,
    although i might have lost my faith in me, but the thought of being, saved the sunken ship.
    ********
    :-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:
    ©a_franteen_writer

  • a_franteen_writer 4w

    #growth #wod #pod #miraquill #writersnetwork #ceesreposts
    This poem is a hopeless poem that contrasts the difference between how one thing seems to be and how it actually is. This is something I learned as I grew up. So this is how I might have grown differently. This poem requires a lot of reading between the lines I feel. Anyways here you go.

    Read More

    I am

    I am
    a flower
    that
    blooms in the night.

    I am
    a star
    that glows
    in the daylight.

    I am
    a burning library
    that darkens
    the night.

    I am
    a rose
    slaughtered by
    the shrubbery; home.

    I am
    the humble tree
    that gave life
    to die peacefully.

    I am
    wisdom that burned
    in the illicit illusion
    of books in a graveyard.

    In the end I grew only to learn that how often "light" is nothing more that covered darkness.
    ©a_franteen_writer