Welcome to my poetry blog!

I am a twenty-four brown-eyed Aruban wanderer;
forever questioning where I'm going
and where I've been.
And when I'm not reading,
I'm writing. When I'm not writing, I'm reading.

Furthermore, writing has always been my
way of captivating a deep thought, grief,
lost love, depression and even hatred (sometimes).

Feel free to read and comment on my weird,
puzzling, obsessive, reckless and sometimes
confusing poems. It's all about what you
interpret from them that gets me buzzin'!

Thank you and have fun reading y'all.

-Lily Clarisa

Tuesday, April 28, 2015

The Old Volcanco

Your hands are not idle,
dipped in magma,
the underground of your rage,
strained from exertion.

Your voice boisterous,
in colorful ways,
but don't you see my gaze,
the cold shiver down my spine?

The mere image takes fear
and sprinkles it in my brain,
creating flashes ancient to me,
of the old volcano.

The one who calls me a daughter,
with its hands made of leather,
the slashes cut deep,
and the cries drown my mouth,
until I don't know my own name.

Begging to stop,
to stop the images that cloud my reality,
to stop the force inside you,
to stop the volcano,
to stop the old,
from consuming you,
from consuming me.

Wrong With Me

What is wrong with me
that I need to love unconditionally
can't I just be fine
with what you're giving me?

What is wrong with me
that I give third chances
can't I just give up
on what you mean to me?

What is wrong with me
that I need to stay
to see you try
holding my breath,
I'll die,
under your still hands.

What is wrong with me
that I need to trust unequivocally
can't I just be fine
with the little you give me?

                                             with me...