English

Belladonna Lips

BELLADONNA LIPS

a tinge of dust that shined

swimming under your spell

beyond your bitter mind–

i dwell

 

a touch so tender it kills

as we lay by the night’s chill

feeling the spirited thrill–

i’m ill

 

your poisonous lips

spoiled honey drips

forbidden words slips

my hurt heart dips

 

picking the shards

from your rose

fine–

i’ll play the cards

so don’t doze

 

my eyes won’t catch your dust of poison again

i won’t drift under your control,

walk behind the message you send

 

remember when you kissed me?

i’ll spread crushed belladonna on my lips

next time you see me

 

Published in Vellichor Literary for the anthology Issue Demeter’s Garden

 

All right, this one has a long story behind it!

Small fun fact: this poem actually comes from an excerpt of ANOTHER drafted poem I wrote in my notebook the beginning of my University’s orientation. The excerpt is the third stanza. I remember writing the first and second stanza, feeling like something was missing out… Then I took a quick scroll through my notebook to find that perfect stanza that can align well. (Oh my God, how many times did I mention stanza just now?) Continuing it, though? I was left stuck again. I didn’t know where to continue. All I knew was the initial premise was how the lover of this persona is toxic… Then came up Belladonna as the imagery and visual. Yet, I didn’t know how to end it! I left it marinating in my Google Docs until, out of nowhere, my professor texted me that a Literary Magazine was opening for submission. (This is also how I got into the Lit Mag rabbit hole, btw, so shoutout to my professor.) After looking deep into it, I found out that four major Literary Magazines are collaborating to publish an anthology Issue, each magazine with its respective themes! It definitely caught my eye, and Vellichor’s theme struck me the most since their theme is literally Belladonna. I told my professor that I’m going to submit for Vellichor, and started continuing where I left off.

Right… How do I end this?

You might notice that the last two stanzas feel off… That’s because it’s longer and more packed than the previous four ones. I admit, I was in a rush and I wrote what immediately came to mind, didn’t put much thought into them. Then I submitted.

It was a long wait. A month pass by, and at this point, I already let go and stop having high hopes. Maybe I was right, the last two stanzas should be more polished and powerful, or maybe the voice or the tone wasn’t what they’re looking for. It came at one point where my student study program is holding Poetry Appreciation day, and I decided to just use this godforsaken poem to submit. But I changed up the last three stanza into two shorter ones… Which you can now look in DEVOTED DEVOTEE! 😉 So, yes, I recycled Belladonna Lips so it can work for this particular submission, since I didn’t want the poem to be the same. Kept the first three stanzas, then changed the last three ones and retitled it into Devoted Devotee. Sadly, you can’t look it up anymore since I told the admin to delete that specific poem from the slide of the Instagram post… We’ll get to that later.

Another few months pass by, lo’ and behold, waking up early on 13 of March, I received a notification from my email.

This was HUGE news since I just won a short story competition the day before. In my head, I kept repeating, “HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE?” Because it truly felt magical. I never heard from them, then suddenly you receive this acceptance Email out of nowhere? But it’s not like I’m complaining. 🙂

After receiving this great news, I told that same professor that I got in, and asked for his opinion if I should take down the recycled poem in the student’s study program. He said it was better to do so, because I barely know anything about recycling poem (he’s not wrong) and that it’s more important to prioritize the officially published piece. I contacted the admin and asked her to delete the slide… And what’s left is now the poems of other students, and also some from mine. You can look it up here.

That’s that not-so-little introduction or so-called backstory of this poem, and I hope I didn’t raise your expectation too much because I still lowkey hate this poem LOL.

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Red String

This is what comes up during a boring class… Or no-class since the teacher isn’t there. I don’t remember much about how this poem came to be, yet all I know is that the words seem to flow out on their own. So, despite the very noticeable short length of this one-stanza verse, it came out decently.

 

RED STRING

Red string

Left me sting

Around my skin

Couldn’t feel a thing

Blood spills thin

My head spins

The devil wins

No more sins

Originally written in April 20, 2024

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poof (WIP)

WORK IN PROGRESS!

Please head over to this link to read the finished chapter.

 

Being born with long legs certainly comes with its perks… And quirks. Although the comments from people asking if I play basketball or “how’s the weather up there?” get dull pretty quickly, there is one specific issue I’ve been dealing with. It’s sometimes hard to overcome, too. Well, not overcome, in a sense. I can’t control my height, obviously. But when you’re in a family that has the tradition of giving hand-me-downs instead of going to a store once or twice to buy your son a new pair of pants, jeans, or whatever trousers–they can get small on them pretty quickly. And there’s nothing that I hate more than short pants.

I jump, pulling up and adjusting the waistband of the jersey shorts Peter lent me as I catch sight of my own reflection in the mirror. The owner of said pants sits on my bed, slouching, and his tired eyes do not seem impressed.

Peter signed. “Don’t pull it up, you’re just making it even shorter on you-”

Why is this so short?” I blurt out.

“‘Cause it’s shorts, dumbass. It’s supposed to be short.”

My eyes took one last careful look at the jersey shorts on my legs. The way the fabric hugged my thighs above the knee makes my leg unbreathable, in a way. If I take no more than one step, it will ride up until it reaches my crotch, and I’ve had enough of that embarrassing moment.

“But this is too short,” I said, quickly removing it again. “If I knew your shorts were this short, I wouldn’t even ask to borrow yours from the start.”

“Will you just-” Peter groaned, standing up from my bed jerkily. “Can you just put it on for now and like, what, wrap a jacket around or something? We’re getting late.” He starts to march around the room, perhaps looking for the jacket he mentioned.

“Or can we just skip this one game? Just for once?” I whined, throwing the shorts in his direction before I swiftly changed into my sweatpants.

Peter caught his own shorts with one hand. “Mason, come on, we never skip one game.”

When do I tell him that I’m not as interested in Basketball as he is? But I didn’t have the heart to tell him just yet. Peter was getting antsy as the time passed without us heading into the town’s field. So we run; him in his jersey attire, and me in my “activewear”. We jumped out of my window (even though the front door was open), ran over to the backyard, and jumped over the fence. Thump. As a tall individual, I even have to use my hands and struggle to hop over the wooden fence, but it’s all muscle memory now. I never get to think it over now that the time has come for the match, and Peter is beating me far, even though this isn’t a race.

The crowd soars. Every seat in the bleachers was littered with people shouting and jumping. It’s weird to see such a small field filled with townspeople I would come across any other day. There’s Todd in the far corner, but he’s not driving his daughter to school. There’s McKenzie in the bottom seat, but she’s not doing random cartwheels in the street while her nanny watches (and worries). There’s also Suzie in the middle, but she’s surprisingly not knitting her half-finished sweater now. Then there’s… An empty seat. Two empty seats.

“Let’s go, buddy-o.” Peter clawed my arm, pulling my feet off my glued position as he took me to our now designated seats.

 

MORE TO COME (AND REVISED)… Again, please check the link I have attached in the beginning to read the finished chapter! 🙂

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Bienvenue!

Welcome to space!

Abil’s Little Writing Space, that is! (Or ALWS, which I would pronounce as “always”.)

ALWS has come a long way. It started out back when I was in high school as a website I “built” independently, where I would share poetry I’ve written about my crushes. This slowly developed into something more as I would occasionally post flash fiction and short stories as well. Thinking that mixing poetry and short stories might confuse readers (even though I didn’t have one), I decided it was best to separate them and make a new website to post short stories only. That is when ALWS was born. It wasn’t only a medium to post finished short stories, but also to give myself a challenge every day to write a short story based on the word of the day from dictionary.com. It obviously didn’t last, since I’m bad with deadlines, and it gets dull pretty quickly. So the website resorted to only being a space where I post my short stories and WIPs. As for the previous website, the one where I post silly poems about my crushes, it’s still out there! Trust me… (Yes, I’m embarrassed by it.) And that’s the short history of ALWS! What I strive for in this blog is to repost some of the works I’m most proud of, or at least I thought decent of, to bring them into one in this Unpad blog version! Hope I’ll write well, and that writer’s block won’t come knock at my door every damn day.

À bientôt!

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