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Luna Marie Mar 12
"i love you" you say.

the words get stuck at my throat,
caught between your hands when you squeezed them.

"i'm sorry"

i can still feel the throbbing spots on my face as you kiss me,
where you had left your red and purple signatures.

i'll just wait for you to like me again.

as you beat the drums of my face and body,
i sing and dance to every hit.

"you know i love you, right?"

the same mouth that declares its love for me
is the same one that spits out fire and burns me.

i don't want to argue, so i'll just wait for your love.
i wanted to be loved so badly that i couldn't tell it wasn't love.
Jeremy Betts Feb 15
{expanded version}

If life was a day...
What would a day in the life look like?
Would you dream with no time to bring said dream to light?
With no time to heal would you put up a fight?
With little time to work on yourself would you even listen to another's plight?
It would eliminate the full spectrum of pain and hate
But the cycle of love and that connection would be on the same connecting flight
Couldn't enjoy the finer things, no more designer things
No time to trend, no time to reach that hight
Would there be time to worry about right and wrong, would you learn wrong from right?
I don't know...I might

©2024
~•§•~ Life in a Day ~•§•~
{original}
If life was a day...
What would a day in the life look like?

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/4799791/life-in-a-day/
Jeremy Betts Jan 10
Carrying wounds that will not heal
A pain I will be forced to always feel
Stitched up, scabbed over
The new flesh is much paler
Sealed but not seamless
A basic healing process
That's what they tell me
Looks like a ground up mess, what does everyone else see?
The sensation is still so prominent
As if I'm back in that bathtub reliving it
The visual as clear as the day
Terrified but can't pull my gaze away
I only opened a small crease
Honed in on the crimson flow of my life embracing it's release
Two fresh exits located to my left and my right
Allowing it to forge a new path to the drain and out of sight
My past, present and future colliding
Pooling faster than it can move through the plumbing
Took forever to register my final decision
Turned out it wasn't final at all, just another negative mark on my person
No relief felt, only overwhelming regret
A permanent reminder
But how could I ever forget

©2024
In the shadows of the walls
where laughter once reverberated
as a symphony of gleeful bliss,
intonational inclines arise in the dark
as dancing phantoms haunt
the smirking silence which dissipates
from the splotched, upended floorboards,  
while midnight footprints breathlessly creak,
cradling the demonizing affirmations whispered,
the very ones I knew would never become true.

We stood by, powerlessly spectating
as the love we once shared
gasped for air, red in the face,
its gushing carotid bulging in desperation,
four lungs incinerating themselves
with imminent anticipation
of the death gleaming
just over the horizon,
its violet hues juxtaposing
with the glimmering night skies
of faded constellations comprising the celestial
as moonlit silhouettes waltzed across the water,
a bright cerulean rippling in our presence,
the genesis of a journey unforeseen.

Brutal acceptance rains from my eyes,
a rumbling river that reigns supreme
over the rounded stones stacked high
as a towering dam of branches and rubble,
leftover waste long forgotten and forlorn;
hometown fantasies of childhood memories
linger longer than our lost loyalty,
liberating me from the rusted chains
you'd stapled into my brittle bones,
a leash tied tightly around my throat
to **** me from my courageous caution
back into the splintered wheel
dictating our selfish agendas,
empty promises of dilapidated affirmations
now turned weary and worn
with this newfound sense of reflection,
a dichotomy depicting time's own passage,
the consequence of a metamorphic resolution
of open wounds blossoming into eroded scars.  

Futuristic visions of lesions now mended
seamlessly fuse with renewed self-reception,
your broken promises stitched with the threads
ripped from the capillaries comprising my core,
blood-stained carpet of scarlet and crimson
fading into an aged and weathered maroon,
never truly waning in its acquainted pigment
yet blossoming into a stained fabric
portraying the promises of the past,
of decayed ruins now industriously erected
into a radiant utopia of gallant, rubious valor,
the final product of an unyielding resolve
to have our story rewritten, our own steadfast evolution.
I shatter into a thousand tiny glass shards of a tea cup

Time did not stop it

Time did not reverse

Hands picked me, held me,
and mended me with gold.
M Solav Dec 2023
It happens with all the holes and wounds: they grow their own face, mend their gaps, heal their rifts — those new skills of yours are but entities that emerge: to grant shelter, to stand guard, replace the old, thicken the crust, weather this human storm — through and through.

But will the skin ever return to its soil? It linger on forevermore. How tight its grip? How hardened its sappy brooks? When will it nourish those delicate roots anew?

These thoughts arise as doubt breaks free. It pours and flows as I gaze down and lower still. Shadows seep and leak as the wheel spins and drills the soul evermore hollow. Anonymous is our tree of life, but it keeps faces in store.

For it happens with all the holes and wounds: they bleed, they mend, they heal — and what don't they do as I stand here, as I bend, as I kneel — as I carve these seats in shapes of departure. Those skills thicken under my feet like growling tremors.

My past was but a dream — and I'm ready to slide like a crumbling leaf. My weariness is universal. My knowledge heavy. There cannot be a conclusion. I am growing thin.

Let me feed those roots anew.
Through and through.
Written on July 19th, 2023.

This picture was written to accompany a picture by Matthew Fertel (@digprod4). See the result at: instagram.com/p/Cu4uhxtOkYm


— Copyright © M. Solav —
www.msolav.com

This work may not be used in entirety or in part without the prior approval of its author. Please contact info@msolav.com for usage requests. Thank you.
Jellyfish Nov 2023
Everything is connected,
I feel like a volcano that has been dormant
but want to release all of my tension.
I want to show you my emotions;

So you can see I'm not a doormat,
I just keep my feelings below the surface,
It's resulted in my body doing the same
Which is why I'm in constant pain.

My trauma has created tunnels of magma,
I can't tell where they end or begin
It's frightening and leaves me upset,
There's no one I can share this with.

I hope for one day to lay out my feelings,
Let everything flow;
Like tears, they'll roll out of me
Covering everyone I've allowed to see

Then will come the tricky thing,
to never bottle anything again.
I don't want to reap havoc on them,
I want to stay empty and peaceful

To know where I end and begin,
It would solve something, wouldn't it?
But I feel like a volcano.
Physically and within.
The mind and body are connected.
Marisa Lu Makil Oct 2023
You may be beaten
But you can still heal
Your hands may hurt
But you can still provide relief
Your skin may be bruised
But you can still soothe others
You aren't weak just because you're broken
You can still make others whole.
You aren't limited by your own shattered flesh.
I'm still learning that even though I'm not doing well, I can still support the ones I love. You can still be a physician even with a broken leg.
Abunde Oct 2023
Outraged by indifference,
On the streets, neighbors once friendly Now stand in opposing lines. Propaganda posters cover the walls, Spreading fear and dividing minds. Ukraine or Russia, Isreal or Palestine. Capitalism or communism the greediness and division funding all wars

In countries once united and with the hope of, now torn apart.  Hopes and dreams dashed, shattered like glass.  The future once bright, now a dark unknown.  How can we navigate our way into a peaceful world

Blue and yellow flags, now stained with blood. A nation once united, now torn asunder.  The echoes of shelling, ringing in their ears.  The land of golden wheat, now a barren wasteland.

So the streets are filled with chaos and fear,  And the violence rages on without cease. Bombs and bullets tear through the night,  and civilians cower in their homes, bereft of peace. The loss of life and suffering is great, And the scars of war run deep and true. The conflict rages on without end,  And hope seems hard to hold onto.

A home, once a dream of safety. Now a battlefield, a place of terror. The faces of loved ones, now distant memories. hearts, once full of hope. Now shattered and broken.

Amidst the chaos and despair, we search for a light. The occurring wars, the reasons to unite, for a glimmer of hope is a reason to go on.  So they cling onto the small moments of joy,  like the laughter of a child, or a flower in bloom. In the darkest of times, they try to find strength in the small things.

Though the scars of war may run deep, the world can still heal. We can still choose love, choose forgiveness.  We can choose to build a better tomorrow, Where peace reigns and hope abounds.  May we never forget the lessons of war, and may we always strive for a brighter future.

May we learn to forgive those who have wronged us,  and work to heal the divisions in our society.  May we reach out to those in need,  and work to create a more just and equitable world.  May we never lose sight of the beauty of life, as we hold fast to the belief that a better tomorrow is for us
This was inspired by social media updates on the wars currently taking place in the countries Ukraine and Israel. The purpose of this poem is to shine a light on the current conflicts in the world, while also emphasizing the need for peace and hope. The poem aims to explore the human cost of war, as well as the possibilities for reconciliation and healing.
Heidi Franke Oct 2023
To heal,
Journal they say
Like a worm in the dirt
Of my front lawn
Sliding, pushing through
Air pockets
Arduous, unending crawl
No words come
To mind
Where can I breathe

To heal,
Journal they say
Words don't come easy
They fly up like
Torn pages of a book
Riffed, stolen letters of some name
In the nameless wind
Grasping what isn't there,
A cynical continuing void

To heal,
Journal they say
My hands become deaf and blind
The pages curl and mold
Pen and paper inventing before I have begun
All I have is the deep
The deepest inside
That comes here
Traversing incredulity, while I
cry

To heal, they say
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