Life As A Writer

Michael Daaboul. 26 y/o from Australia/Melbourne. Digital Designer & Creative Writer.

The Darkest Ashes (From My Broken Body)

And I have declared that feelings are first
I hope you pay attention to what matters
As with the small things will never kiss you
And a fool will never see you through

If my body approves and my kiss a foresight of fate
With all the falling petals
That came from the flowers I sent
There’s no wisdom greater than
My heart’s beating torment

I have declared that feelings are for me and you
And if you decide to not love me so I will not love you
For everyday you do is another day I have forgotten you

I have reached up to the moon
The dead stars and the curious black crow
I have put my hand through fire
And saw the darkest ashes
From my broken body

And as far as I can reach to the unknown
I am carried by the dashing aching wind
Feeling your flaccid hands that brings me back to you

And here I am again curious by your heart’s decay
Of not loving me anymore but you insist I should stay
And little by little I will wander away

What if I can’t find you when you disappear? What will I do when my wounds are cut through? Will I become needy; will I become poor to you? If I can’t get over you, am I desperate? Is it right to say I lost hope, when hope was you? Believe me, it’s not that I can’t find someone else, that someone else is not you. If you were to say that what I was to you was magic, when did you see that it was all an illusion? When I was next to you? When I fell for you?
Michael Daaboul

What is there to do?
What is there to see?
I don’t want to be stuck in the ordinary
I don’t want to be a victim of the routine.

I don’t want a 9 to 5 job
I want to be different.

I want to disappear into your arms
I want you to take me away.

Show me a place where no one has been
Show me the place where your heart has been.

Show me, you.
Naked.

Show me what it’s like to dance between your legs
Show me what it’s like to touch you.

Michael Daaboul

WHEN A COMFORTING LIE NO LONGER COMFORTS
AND THE TRUTH IS NO LONGER BURIED
EMOTIONS RISE TO THE FRAGILE SURFACE
DROWNING THE HEART AND MIND WITH SADNESS

DISAPPOINTED WITH WHAT COULD NOT REMAIN
AND WITH A WEAKNESS THE COULD NOT DEFEND
REJECTION FLOWS FROM TAINTED TRUTHS
THAT HOUSED AND FED A COMFORTING LIE

WHAT LIES BENEATH THE PAINTED SURFACE
WILL SHOW AS IT’S WEATHERED AWAY
SO A COMFORTING LIE CAN ONLY HARBOUR
AS LONG AS THE TRUTH IS SET TO SAIL

Charles Daaboul

Susie’s Sorrow

The curtain’s drawn on a dark, dusty room
That once was alive with the sound of voices
But when one voice chocked and never retuned
What lived and thrived had become an echo

An echo that drifts and never fades away
Resurfacing as a reminder of what once was
Where the memories explode with each drop of rain
And where the heart lingers and yearns for closure

What perished is gone yet its presence is here
Disembodied and robbed of what it was owed
To be here for today and to have a tomorrow
But where tomorrow will be one less reason to smile

One reason less for one imprisoned soul
That befriends a pillow that once rested and warmed
The one that remains but will never grow old
Forever to be wept for it is Susie’s sorrow

Written by Charles Daaboul

Writing is in everything. Your thoughts, when you speak, the sky, all the people that you pass by and the silence of every broken man, women and child. I don’t understand you if I can’t feel poetry in your words. I can’t feel if you’re not in rhythm. I can only express to you my emotion through poetry. My words have significantly dampened the feeling. If you could only feel what’s inside, but you can’t. I’d rather you feel something with words, than to feel nothing at all.
Michael Daaboul
When she was silent, I always knew something was wrong. I would figure it out. Years later, I didn’t care. I used to write long, beautiful cards to her; the last card, ended in a few sentences that had ink smears everywhere because I rushed it. I knew what made her weak and I would always try to catch her. Now, I watched her fall. I deviated when I was supposed to love her; she was mine to lose. I always thought it was her, but now I see, it was me.
Michael Daaboul
He is worried and tries so hard not to feel any guilt associated with the words you write and any situation that you might regret on the other side of life. He writes back to you, on the same little creased paper you left for him, and left it in the only place you both knew you would look in, in hope any of you leave something important. “My arrhythmic heart beats your name. It’s broken and you’re so far away. I never thought that this will end … I don’t think I’ll ever see your smile again.”
A Little Creased Paper (Part 1) - Michael Daaboul

You Can Lie and Say That You Care

So I would rather sleep
Rather than being awake
Should I care should I not care at all
I rather not ask if asking is what I need

So I feel how this should be
Thinking about guessing how I should
Want to be or need or needing to be … loved
You can lie and say that you care

But I would rather sleep so I don’t feel
How can’t I feel when I’m in so deep
So when you go I may want you dead
Because I would rather feel
That no one else can have you

So I would rather sleep
And dream of a world
Where you are
So I would care
And feel like you still care
About me

Sometimes I feel
That nothing has changed
And you can tell me
What part of me you need

left open, while the wind passes

She didn’t arrive, but was defined
By having graced my heart.
If I had to rely on myself to love her,
How could I feel in solitude?

This love left open, while the wind passes
Through the centre of my hardened hopes.
Perhaps you’re there, perhaps, you’re not
And I had wept, at the thought.

It’s because I’d rather you and only you between
The left and right chambers of my heart.
I would have kept you warm, in this storm
If you had not left me inside, broken, in this
Abandoned, oceanic abyss.

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