Life As A Writer

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

poetry

My Mistake

MY IGNORANCE HAS CAUGHT ME OUT
NOW I’M IN A PLACE I DON’T WANT TO BE
I KNEW THE CONSEQUENCES OF MY ACTIONS
BUT RATHER THAN TURNING AWAY
I COLLAPSED

NOW MY EMOTIONS ARE RUNNING COLD
AND I’M FEELING REALLY BAD
THE SMELL OF MY DESTRUCTION
HAUNTS ME STILL
AFTER THE BOMB HAS EXPLODED

IN DENIAL I TRY TO JUSTIFY
MY REASONS FOR THIS EMPTINESS
A SELFISH GAIN IS NOTHING TO ME
IF WHAT I’M LOSING
IS MY IDENTITY

ALTHOUGH I REPEAT MY APOLOGIES
AND HOW IN TRUTH THEY MEAN NOTHING
IN BARGAINING FOR ANOTHER CHANCE
I HATE MYSELF
WHAT I’VE BECOME AND WHAT I MAY BE

IF ONLY I COULD TURN BACK TIME
I WOULD STOP MYSELF BEFORE IT BEGINS
AND MAYBE THEN I WILL FEEL BETTER RIGHT NOW
BUT MAYBE THEN I’LL MAKE IT HISTORY
AND LEARN A LESSON FOR ME

DON’T WANT THIS BITTERNESS TO REPEAT
SO I MAKE MYSELF A PROMISE
THAT I WILL CHANGE JUST FOR ME
SO ONE DAY I CAN LOOK BACK
WITH NO REGRETS

Written by Charles Daaboul

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
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