Yasmin kamal
The Taste of Emptiness
When you came to me
with words of love,
I felt fear for the first time..
"What does she want from me?
I have nothing to offer.."
Yet I allowed you in
for I wanted to know too
what you fell for in the first place..
My lips were often dry
and chapped -
I'm sorry if kissing me
was unpleasant..
I wonder if you thought about it -
why was I so inexperienced at this..
My hands were often rough
and too warm against you -
you'd shiver in excitement
yet at the same moment,
I wished my hands were softer,
gentler..
Being with you filled me
with a sense of euphoria -
as if I've found all the answers
for all those questions
in my mind..
The joy, the happiness
is indescribable -
you filled me to the brim,
I was overflowing..
Yet though true love is poetry
I haven't been feeling it recently
ever since you left me..
I hunger for it -
for what I've become addicted to..
The hole it left within
burned me alive,
engulfed me with its barren emptiness..
The taste your departure left in me
leaves acid on my throat -
gulping it down furiously,
I feel the bitter burn straight to my gut..
I miss your weight beside me,
your warmth around me,
your presence within me..
Scattered Memories
The ashes of my cigarette
scatters in the air,
blown away by an angry wind
erasing what was there.
And the embers of the dying stick
that in thinly held between my fingers
reminds me of a day long ago,
one which warmth still lingers.
In that darkness I sat
with head between my knees,
struggling to stay afloat
to not give in to anxiety.
And memories of you flashes by
like an ancient projector in my mind -
replaying that last night with you,
replaying your final goodbye.
All I yearn for at this moment
is to hold you once again,
to reclaim your lips and savour it,
to feel your thundering heartbeat in sync with mine.
Swollen and red,
throbbing with ache
my eyes still searches for you,
despite the passing days.
And you live in memory still
despite the knowledge of your hatred
for I love despite of all,
I love despite of the heart break.
My confessions are like overused words
thrown into the wind hastily and so unheard -
yet my love never dies with the passing of time,
it grows deeper, rooting itself more securely inside.
Verses
She was a poetry written on a rainy day..
As the weather outside raged on,
the poet enshrined her in words inside..
The words tumbled out seamlessly,
painting a picture of her in curvy letters,
evoking her image in the mind of the reader..
Ink blotches stained the parchment
and yet the poet went on writing,
about her brilliance,
about her brawn, about her beauty..
The curvy words slowly made shape,
slowly made her distinguishable
and reading her,
reading about her,
I couldn't help but trace my fingers all over her,
all over the words..
I touched, I savoured,
I consumed her,
embedding her within me,
memorizing those lines,
understanding them,
understanding her..
I could feel her against me,
I could feel her nails digging on my soul;
I'm hooked, she's latched on to me..
The poet's pen made a hole on the parchment
and her hold on me became tighter,
more confident, the grip now stronger than before..
The poet heaved a sigh,
ignored the mess he made and continued writing,
not knowing that he had impaled her,
that his actions had made her imperfect..
She screamed at him,
wanting him to rewrite her and yet,
I couldn't stop myself from begging him not to..
I was in love with her, this imperfect poem -
it felt like she was written just for me..
I was gripping the parchment too tight,
the ink blotches dripping on me,
staining me with the ink that was her -
and yet, I loved it -
I loved the messiness that covered us..
She came alive as he wrote her,
as I read her but I ...
I felt alive with her..
The poet wrote to satisfy his soul,
to bring his beloved alive on the paper -
I caught his reflection on the mirror
and was surprised to see -
the poet was me,
the poem about you,
a love that was lost,
a love that I'm still waiting for..
I brought you alive in my words
for that's the only way I know how to love you..
Yasmin Kamal is a second year part time student pursuing her degree at the Open University Malaysia. When she isn't busy rescuing stray cats, you can find her on Instagram, where she regularly uploads her ramblings which are thinly veiled as either prose or poetry.
When you came to me
with words of love,
I felt fear for the first time..
"What does she want from me?
I have nothing to offer.."
Yet I allowed you in
for I wanted to know too
what you fell for in the first place..
My lips were often dry
and chapped -
I'm sorry if kissing me
was unpleasant..
I wonder if you thought about it -
why was I so inexperienced at this..
My hands were often rough
and too warm against you -
you'd shiver in excitement
yet at the same moment,
I wished my hands were softer,
gentler..
Being with you filled me
with a sense of euphoria -
as if I've found all the answers
for all those questions
in my mind..
The joy, the happiness
is indescribable -
you filled me to the brim,
I was overflowing..
Yet though true love is poetry
I haven't been feeling it recently
ever since you left me..
I hunger for it -
for what I've become addicted to..
The hole it left within
burned me alive,
engulfed me with its barren emptiness..
The taste your departure left in me
leaves acid on my throat -
gulping it down furiously,
I feel the bitter burn straight to my gut..
I miss your weight beside me,
your warmth around me,
your presence within me..
Scattered Memories
The ashes of my cigarette
scatters in the air,
blown away by an angry wind
erasing what was there.
And the embers of the dying stick
that in thinly held between my fingers
reminds me of a day long ago,
one which warmth still lingers.
In that darkness I sat
with head between my knees,
struggling to stay afloat
to not give in to anxiety.
And memories of you flashes by
like an ancient projector in my mind -
replaying that last night with you,
replaying your final goodbye.
All I yearn for at this moment
is to hold you once again,
to reclaim your lips and savour it,
to feel your thundering heartbeat in sync with mine.
Swollen and red,
throbbing with ache
my eyes still searches for you,
despite the passing days.
And you live in memory still
despite the knowledge of your hatred
for I love despite of all,
I love despite of the heart break.
My confessions are like overused words
thrown into the wind hastily and so unheard -
yet my love never dies with the passing of time,
it grows deeper, rooting itself more securely inside.
Verses
She was a poetry written on a rainy day..
As the weather outside raged on,
the poet enshrined her in words inside..
The words tumbled out seamlessly,
painting a picture of her in curvy letters,
evoking her image in the mind of the reader..
Ink blotches stained the parchment
and yet the poet went on writing,
about her brilliance,
about her brawn, about her beauty..
The curvy words slowly made shape,
slowly made her distinguishable
and reading her,
reading about her,
I couldn't help but trace my fingers all over her,
all over the words..
I touched, I savoured,
I consumed her,
embedding her within me,
memorizing those lines,
understanding them,
understanding her..
I could feel her against me,
I could feel her nails digging on my soul;
I'm hooked, she's latched on to me..
The poet's pen made a hole on the parchment
and her hold on me became tighter,
more confident, the grip now stronger than before..
The poet heaved a sigh,
ignored the mess he made and continued writing,
not knowing that he had impaled her,
that his actions had made her imperfect..
She screamed at him,
wanting him to rewrite her and yet,
I couldn't stop myself from begging him not to..
I was in love with her, this imperfect poem -
it felt like she was written just for me..
I was gripping the parchment too tight,
the ink blotches dripping on me,
staining me with the ink that was her -
and yet, I loved it -
I loved the messiness that covered us..
She came alive as he wrote her,
as I read her but I ...
I felt alive with her..
The poet wrote to satisfy his soul,
to bring his beloved alive on the paper -
I caught his reflection on the mirror
and was surprised to see -
the poet was me,
the poem about you,
a love that was lost,
a love that I'm still waiting for..
I brought you alive in my words
for that's the only way I know how to love you..
Yasmin Kamal is a second year part time student pursuing her degree at the Open University Malaysia. When she isn't busy rescuing stray cats, you can find her on Instagram, where she regularly uploads her ramblings which are thinly veiled as either prose or poetry.