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Arati Apr 2018
bla bla bleep bloop.
bleep bloop...
bleep bloop... bleep bloop blop?

blee blee blee bloo...
blee bloo blee bloo bloo.

bla bla bla blee:
bla bla bleep bloop
bla bla bleep bloop
bla bla bleep bloop.

blee bloo bla?
This poem means a lot to me...
Arati Dec 2017
Please don’t paint me promises.

For I have nowhere to hang them.
White walls
I prefer to leave blank.
Void of any depiction of far away lands that I may or may not get to see.
When I hang a picture I can’t help but hang my hopes up with it.
They always end up slightly crooked, but strung too high for me to reach out and fix.
Then they sit and stare at me.
And I start to yearn for them to swallow me up.
But they don’t.
They can’t.
Because they’re just paintings.
Nothing real.
And I'm always left feeling so achingly disappointed.

So please don’t paint me promises
I prefer to keep my walls blank.
Arati Dec 2017
rips out my eyeballs from their sockets and hands them to you*
"So you can see how beautiful you are"
I imagine this accompanied by some adorable drawing of a person awkwardly holding their eyeballs out to someone else
Arati Dec 2017
Arati Dec 2017
Hanging tree
are you strong enough
to hold me up
Arati Dec 2017
she was pretty
that was the first thing I noticed about her
with blue eyes, pale skin, and blue hair
maybe it was the light
but I think she was glowing
she didn't smile
and neither did I
I was too tired
and she must not have wanted to
I liked it
too many fake smiles I've seen and given
I'd rather something real
I wanted to tell her that her hair made her eyes pop
but I didn't
instead I asked her what kind of if oatmeal I should get
she said she didn't like oatmeal
and I said okay
we both laughed at that
she was pretty when she laughed too
it felt honest and so did I
there really was something funny about that moment
I ended up getting something with apples in it
I think I stared at her a lot after that
I was waiting for my oatmeal and didn't have much else to do
and she was beautiful
after about fifteen minutes she came out with my food
she carried it over to my table and placed it down in front of me
I told her thank you so much and smiled
so did she
I didn't see her smile again after that
she served other customers
and talked to other people
but she didn't smile
I wish she had because it would have been nice to see
but I'm glad that she chose not to
she didn't need to smile if she didn't feel like it
better to be honest
after I ate my food it was time to go
I didn't really want to
this girl had made an impression on me
and I wanted to stay
but I gathered up my stuff
and got up from my table anyways
I passed by her and thanked her for everything again
she said you're welcome
I don't know if she smiled
because I had turned away by then
heading for the door
and then I had left
and I was driving home
I wanted to leave her a note with my number on it
but I didn't
instead I came home and wrote a poem
about a girl
who I met in a coffee shop
who did not smile
until she did
Arati Dec 2017
Whether you fall in love with a poem or not
greatly depends on how you read it.
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