amaryllis (/ˌæməˈrɪlɪs/[1]) – bears the name of the shepherdess in virgil's pastoral eclogues. it stems from the greek ἀμαρύσσω (amarysso), meaning "to sparkle", and it is rooted in "amarella" for the bitterness of the bulb. the common name, "naked lady", comes from the plant's pattern of flowering that blooms when the foliage dies. in the victorian language of flowers, it means "radiant beauty".
like a snake,
slicing my bones
and scratching my veins
with its scales.
my loss
burnt my fingertips
and dug a hole
in the centre of my chest.
i tried to feed the hole
kindness, drugs, and love
but my loss swallowed it all
and hungrily pushed against my ribs.
when i’m quiet
i can hear the hole
swelling under my heart,
greedily.
*poem featured in Wretched City. from my poetry collection “my loss is my root”, written in 2019.
*scattered poems published in scan lancaster, february 2020. they belong to a collection of poetry i compiled which chronicles the various stages of coping with grief. written a few years ago…
01. 01. 2018
dear A,
it’s been three years since i’ve lost you
and i swear i am trying.
i bought a shiny yoga mat
and i do yin yoga for grief release.
i ground my feet,
do warrior poses
and chant.
i try,
but no matter how much i contort my body at dawn
my sorrow rips through my brain
and sticks to my eyelids.
10. 02. 2018
most beloved A,
i wear my loss
like i wear my rings.
11. 02. 2018
darling A,
i swear i’m trying.
i’ve stopped reading sylvia plath
and i bookmark poems
about the universe that is supposedly unfolding in my core.
i read self-help articles about how pain is grace,
grinding my teeth.
i write inspirational quotes on purple notebooks
and i make bullet-points about buddhism
with pink pens.
i press the tips onto the paper
hard
as if to push what i write through me.
i beg my mind to meditate
i put on compilations of “deep relaxing & healing music with instant relief from stress”
and i force myself to still.
i download apps that ease anxiety
and i go to meditation groups on wednesdays.
but, no matter how long i stay cross-legged on the floor,
straightening my back and linking my thumbs,
it hurts.
25. 02. 2018
my dearest A,
i quit drinking
and i made new friends.
friends that drink hot chocolate
friends that watch soft films
friends that pray in the evenings
instead of drowning in face paint
and sprawling on dance floors.
they meet for coffee
they talk about how simple life is
and i nod when my heart clenches.
30. 02. 2018
beloved A,
my brain is softly melting to the floor
04. 03. 2018
ever dearest A,
i’ve been reading about the cycle of rebirth
i wish to believe in it,
but scepticism clouds my heart.
i’m not pure enough for transcendence
so if i am reborn
i wish i could be as small
as a sparrow.
11. 04. 2019
dear A,
i’m unsure where loss ends
and i begin.
with longing,
T. ☼
i long for closure and i crave familiarity,
melded thoughts and warm hands.
i am desperate to connect.
i want to feel someone’s soul
glued to mine.
i dream of intimacy,
but i’m clumsy:
when people embrace me too tightly,
i hiss like a cornered snake.
i’m wary of being alone, but
i drift away during conversations,
i ignore messages,
i break friendships,
i feign smiles.
i find refuge
in my bell jar.
every night
i close the jar’s lid with shaky hands,
hug my knees
and blow air on the glass.
*poem published in scan lancaster, february 2020, in the column ‘four incantations for loss, joy and love’. i wrote it two years ago, as part of my second-year poetry collection ‘teenage angst’. i aimed to emulate the restlessness i felt as a young, teenage girl. i feel so touched reading it! wish i could hug that olden version of myself.
*poem published in Litehouse.
my loss is my root when my legs are wobbly.
it keeps me level-headed, grounded, with my feet turned inward.
my loss is motherly. it keeps me nurtured, well fed, full.
my loss is nourishing, it wets my lips when my mouth is dry.
on good days,
i like to think that my loss blossoms in my core
and drops through my feet to the moist soil
it falls to the centre of the earth,
through tangled grass and layers of rock
it feeds on flower stems, leaves, and seeds
and absorbs the warmth of mother earth.
when it skyrockets back to me, it throbs with energy
it heals my body and patches the open wounds in my brain.
on good days,
i imagine my loss sprinkling the ground like rain.
it wets my fingers, and when i cry,
the soil thrives.
I
am
digesting
my
loss
as
life
dances
on
the
tip
of
my
tongue
* original format:
* happy december, my loves! as 2020 is slowly coming to end, i am bringing back this poem which was published on The Writing Disorder in summer, as i believe that it encapsulates my year beautifully; fully.
*here’s an optimistic poem of mine to soothe the social distancing process. ❤ along with three other poems, it was published in Scan Arts & Culture, in the section ‘Four Incantations for Loss, Joy and Love’.
i wake up at dawn
and i find happiness
in slicing an apple
and munching on it
breathe
i accept my grief
i find beauty
in standing barefoot in the middle of the kitchen,
feeling breadcrumbs stick
to my pinky toe
i breathe
i accept my grief
i learn there is joy in cutting tomatoes,
in making a bowl of soup,
in having my stomach full
breathe
i accept my grief
i uncover the childish glee of
having the tip of my tongue burnt
and gratitude runs between my fingers like water
being alive is warm
there is kindness
in tuning in
and i breathe
i accept
my
grief. ☼
*poem published in Cake Magazine.
i wrap my sadness in sequins.
i pour my sadness in fake eyelashes,
in glitter nails
in green hair dye
and i take my sadness out for a dance.
flash lights,
spilled drinks,
heels that crush your toes.
i lock hands with my sadness
and sway on sticky dance floors.
my sadness holds up her pocket mirror
in grimy club bathrooms
and she puts on three layers of red lipstick
while i rub off mine.
i ask my sadness to pull up my torn zipper
while, pupils enlarged,
i hum stevie nicks adoringly.
i throw a clumsy arm over my sadness
and guide her to another club.
i grind on empty party anthems
and, when boys try to kiss me,
i brush them off
because i’m loyal to my sadness.
at the end of the night
i crawl to mc donald’s with my sadness
one veggie burger large fries one large fanta oh and can i have some ketchup please
i stuff my face with my sadness
and we hail a cab in silence.
home
my sadness whispers gutted love declarations to me
and then tucks me in my bed gently.
*a shortened version of this poem was shortlisted for the Literary Lancashire Award and published in the LLA Anthology 2019, extremely grateful and so, so tearful ❤
dear A,
i dream that my teeth fall out at night
and i swallow them,
one by one.
my teeth scratch the insides of my throat
and i choke on them.
i wake up crying,
cover my mouth and scream into my fingers,
pushing my hands into my forehead,
as if i’m trying to pull my mind out of my head.
it’s been one month since your funeral.
dear A,
i am crying all the time now.
i cry for you in the shower
i cry for you in front of my untouched breakfast
i cry for you in toilets in metro stations
i cry for you gracelessly doing my make-up
i cry for you when i wash my hair with blueberry shampoos
i cry for you when i read your messages, the 67th time.
i cry and i long for you,
i cry and i long for you.
dear A,
some days
i cry less and i eat apples
some days
i wear red and buy you flowers.
some days
my mind blocks my pain
and i am better.
some days
my friends make me laugh
and i find comfort in being alive.
i dread those days.
those days my head swims in guilt
and my shame thumps in my ears.
those days i feel myself forgetting you
and i wish i could glue your eyes to my mind.
when those days end,
i break my mind with photos of you
and i dream of melting.
dear A,
i’m soaking in loss and i’m chanting buddhist mantras
dear A,
they say that i should surrender my grief
they say that we are bound together,
even if i heal
but how can it be
when you only exist through my pain
dear A,
i am willing to suffer each day for you
so you do not to die again.
amaryllis 