Poetry: Eglantines and Self Portraits + Doorsteps


The guise of sweet regalia
Untold inquisitions and delicate specificities
The settled lament of written ballast
For she felt her lungs command a strange interception
Her nonfeasance clung to her rib cage,
Burying the ache beneath her fancied stoicism
She spoke of her end, a bed of eglantines
An inaudible retinue, and the guilt of comfortable delusion
Her gentle intonation,
A constructed cold afternoon
Rare was the soiled justification
Of a woman that consumed her sensibility
And donned fabricated realism
As her self portrait hung unburdened,
The life of disingenuous fragility
And fiction so inconceivable,
You believe it to be true.



At her doorstep,
An envelope of reworked confessions
The bare, tender sweetness of feigning discernment.
Dirty brushstrokes, the inner kiss of complicity
Coating her letters in desperate bluster.
Her momentary interpretations of your words go unnoticed
And so she’ll dream of a world where you’ll scatter them
Like torn, unopened mail
So that you may long for immersive fascination.
She longs to give you the experience of splintered love
To choke on her fanciful impatience
To compose a vignette that kills.
She will soon grow restless,
With yet another wasted breath
And so she will leave you her last thought
In a prompt of comprehended silence
Suffocated she was
As she stood,

Upon your doorstep.


Copyright © 2017 Anisa Nasir
All Rights Reserved


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(I do not own any of the images used in this post).


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