Day to Day Poetry, poetry

#8 Dust

Every time we fight I get just a little bit smaller,
every word you say becomes a question mark
carved inside of me – an incision of doubt made permanently.
My voice, once explosive and strong, has been reduced to
a desperate whisper in a world full of noise;
and when zoomed in to our private universe, I am just static –
a snow of blurry, white dots against a background of black
that you don’t pay attention to.

I am frantic and pervasive, against your calm and apathy,
fantastical and furious, against your logic and invariability.
I don’t know how to love you. This battle has hardened me.
The ground we used to stand on is shaking;
the earth beneath us has become the jagged, yellow teeth of
a monster designed to swallow me whole,
while you sit on the precipice of what has become broken,
rigid and unchanged, stable and unhindered,
as if the chaos of the apocalypse isn’t enough
to make a dent in that armour of yours.

There’s a part of you I can’t reach,
no matter how far I stretch myself.
A gulf I keep trying to cross, on my hands and knees,
bruised to the point of collapse –
I scream for you one last time:
and
nothing.

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Day to Day Writing

Day to Day Writing # 44

A/N: Apologies for the lack of writing folks, I am currently obsessed with Saint’s Row IV and Andy Weir’s The Martianand my writing is suffering because of it. But worry not, because I got a lot of things done today such as, cleaned up my apartment, finally put up curtains in my bedroom so people can’t watch me sleep from outside, and sketched a bit.

On the meantime, here’s an old short story I wrote for one of my classes eons ago.

Enjoy!

Calculating Literature

By: Ellise Ramos

Loving Myra was a decision I set heavily in stone, with as much vehemence and relentlessness as an infatuated 10-year-old could. From the moment Mr. Rodney sat us together in class, she already looked me up and down with those judging eyes and offered no “hello” or nod – just a penetrating glare that I felt solidify in my skin, into my nerves.

“Hi, my name is Ellise,” I said, smiling.

She rolled her eyes in reply.

I craned my neck to see what she was working on and saw her full name written on the top-left corner of her notebook. “Hey, your name is Ellise too!”

“My name’s Myra. My second name’s Elysse. And it’s spelled differently from yours, so no, we don’t have the same name.
That didn’t matter. I was already in love.

Read the full story in .pdf here:

or keep scrolling below to read it in its entirety on my blog.

Continue reading

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Day to Day Poetry

Day to Day Poetry #43

Talking to you is as easy as breathing,
a drink of fresh water on a hot summer day,
the undeniable comfort of Zeppelin and Blind Melon floating in our ear drums
translated through our keyboards
magnified across our screens
talking to each other through microphones
across Toronto
sitting in separate prisons,
in isolated dark rooms.

We travel hand in hand through Wraeclast,
the land of the damned,
defeating Hillock and The Deep Dweller across the Flooded Depths,
to the Fetid pool –
while talking about how males always look gorgeous in tuxedos,
and females end up looking comical.

I led zombie hordes away from your door, my dear,
sacrificed lives upon lives to keep you safe,
and you gave me corn in return.
“Hungry? Here, eat,” you’d say,
while I laughed and replied, “So sweet. My hero.”

That cozy afternoon we walked down small alleyways
and passed joints,
and fumbled back through 401 games
eating chocolate and giggling
at nothing in particular.

The night you walked me to Osgoode station,
wrapped in your over-sized sweater,
and I put my head in your shoulder
and wept.

The nightly conversations
that keeps us both awake until 3 am,
the truths you bring out in me,
truths I find so horrid,
truths you pick apart and dissect until
it becomes beautiful –
even to me,
and the way you pause automatically
every time I start to say something,
those greenish-blue eyes that light up
when turned towards my way –

There’s no secret I can’t tell you,
no fear nor anxiety while with you.
It’s so easy to love you, my dear,
you make everything so easy.

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Day to Day Poetry

Day to Day Poetry #39

I can feel the toxic woman rising,
from the back of my throat.
She grips me with her icy, cold fingers
and dips me in liquid laced with poison,
where there is no antidote
for the viciousness and relentless words
she spouts a mile a minute.

I let her take over me –
eyes squinting,
watching the faces of my friends
widen in surprise
at how venomous I can actually be –
I have no control over the words exploding out of me
like scythes ripping through the air
and cutting them in half –
all the acid I’ve contained inside
starts spilling,
burning and desecrating everything in its path

and I can only tremble and watch from the corner of my eye
the damage I’ve caused –
the loss of control I’ve allowed to happen –

I love you, I love you
I tried to be good,
I swear I tried to be good –
but the demon inside me has fought her way out of my heart
and taken my misery and insecurities with her –
to reveal the Mother Cunt
growing, in fury,
inside.

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Day to Day Poetry, Day to Day Writing

Day to Day Poetry #34

It crawls into my skin
like little parasites
that dig under my veins
and settles into the crevices of my chest
and pounds and pounds —
until the only thing that can stop
my sporadic bursts of breath
is the pain that electrifies my nerves
whenever I clench my fists
to dig my nails into my palms,
tiny cuts of red
that grounds me back to reality.

Because loving you was a decision
I set heavily in stone
with as much relentless and vehemence
as a naive 10-year-old would –
taking every minuscule sign as proof of your love,
justifying your hesitations and radio silence
biting back my lip to prevent my heart from breaking
sitting alone on a thirty-minute cab ride
refusing to cry.

Because you are thunder, the tiniest of all tempests
The persuasion and conviction of my soul
Within forty-two hours you owned me
And rendered me speechless in prisms of crimson and catatonic ecstasy
As you swing me back and forth in an euphoria induced coma
Until the sunlight of the early morning doesn’t scare me anymore
For we have, gathered in our hands,
The laughter that will keep us calm even in the break of sobriety
The serotonin that will keep us sane and going
And the stories that will tide us over until the next bitter year.

Yesterday, my love, you held me on Danforth avenue,
Tonight, dear stranger, I stand alone.

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