AO Poetry

Stopped

If we stopped, where would we go from here? 

Would we be complacent as we watched our lives be stripped down to normalcy? 
Would we scream inside ourselves as the cravings for more consumed us? 
Or would we cower... fearful of being led back to where we were always meant to go.

September 16, 2023 by Ash Ochoa Poetry Categories: My PoetryTags: fucked, Memories, Poetry 2 Comments

Someday

Someday I won't be here 
and I'll exist only in your 
memory. 

You'll be here, surviving, 
picking up the pieces 
of everything I left behind. 

You'll remain stoic, 
with your head held high, 
as you remind yourself 
to stay strong. 

You'll be sad as grief 
dehisces your delicate wounds 
each time they begin to close. 

But eventually you'll move on, 
and that'll be okay... 

Knowing we'll meet again 
in the end someday.

September 14, 2023 by Ash Ochoa Poetry Categories: My PoetryTags: Gone, Grief, Me, Memories, Poetry, Someday, You 9 Comments

Menlo

September 12, 2023 by Ash Ochoa Poetry Categories: My PicturesTags: Flowers, Ireland, Menlo Castle, Photography Leave a comment

Hibiscus

September 11, 2023 by Ash Ochoa Poetry Categories: My PicturesTags: Flowers, Hibiscus, Nature, Photography 2 Comments

Nail in a Coffin

They say ending a chapter is like putting a nail in a coffin. It's done, final, over. 
But what if the wood splinters and cracks in the process? 
The once definite and absolute finale now stands in disrepair. There's fragments hanging, pieces missing, and it's unsuitable to be laid to rest in peace. 

However, there's still a choice to be made... 
Do you try to fix all that has been broken and bury it at ease? 
Or do you just let the whole thing go down without a second glance?

September 8, 2023October 16, 2023 by Ash Ochoa Poetry Categories: My PoetryTags: Chapters, Endings, Peace, Thoughts 1 Comment

Exhausted

If I'm being honest with myself, 
I'm tired. 

I'm tired of splitting up fights 
between the thoughts in my mind, 
and the redundancy of my habits  
that are anything but fine. 

I'm tired of living for the days 
I think are worth waiting, 
just to see them come and go 
as fast as I'm fading. 

I'm tired of the facade 
that I'm feeling okay, 
when inside my strength 
has begun to decay. 

I'm tired of the cycling 
through the lies in my head, 
and the words I have spoken 
that I wish were never said. 

But now I've lied once more 
and said that I'm just tired...  

When exhausted was the word 
I should've used when this started.

September 7, 2023 by Ash Ochoa Poetry Categories: My PoetryTags: BPD, Exhausted, fucked, Me, Mental, Poetry, Tired 12 Comments

Regret

Regret hangs like 
a cloud above me. 

It overtakes me 
with nausea as it  
opens up to expel 
sour and sickening 
drops of doom 
into my pores. 

It racks my body 
with waves of heat, 
forceful and deafening, 
as it clings 
and holds 
and follows... 

Only parting from me 
the moment 
I'm brave enough 
to face it.