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 6d aAr
Decembre
I am selfish in the fact
That I want you to talk to me
About anything
So that I might feel closer to you
Instead of wanting you
To just be
You#8
 6d aAr
Decembre
On dreary days
When the sky is grey
And the light is white
My state of mind
Is mine to choose.
To wallow or to waver
Or to cherish and to savour.

But on days when warmth
Seeps into my skin
And I’m pleasantly glowing;
With tiredness seeping out
I can only be at peace.
 6d aAr
Decembre
Graffiti artworks
Adorn grey and lifeless walls
Halt me in my haste.
 6d aAr
Decembre
You
 6d aAr
Decembre
You
Why is it
that whenever I pretend to love,
or try to think of
how it would look,
I see you?
 Apr 19 aAr
Akriti
I AM HERE
 Apr 19 aAr
Akriti
She said, "I am afraid ."
He said, "Why? I am here."
She said, "That is why."
 Apr 18 aAr
janie lay
oranges
 Apr 18 aAr
janie lay
i want to peel your skin back
and reveal your deepest sweetness.
to look at your veins
and memorize their paths.
maybe then i’d understand
why you are so rough on the outside.
it takes a lot of work,
digging your fingernails into the flesh,
pulling and pulling until you are bare.
but it is all worth it;
to visit your center,
to break past what conceals you,
and take you apart
slice by slice.
—apparent late spring.
I wish the heart responded
to all that's in bloom.
I can't help the heart pulses. From Haiku #035.
 Apr 18 aAr
jules
Sometimes the past slips away -
a dream that never was.
But the wanting stays,
like a ghost in the hallway.
We carry it,
each step a little lighter.
 Apr 18 aAr
Decembre
Last night I dreamt
Of music
And theatre
Front row seats

I could see
Every expression
Every fake tear
Every barely hidden laugh
Like I was in on the joke

There were some others
Too, I think
People I knew
People I loved

Together we smiled
There, in the front
Upon plush red seats
Numbers 88
To 91

Until suddenly
BOOM!
The air ripped me apart
Only a second of realisation
Before that world was gone
Basically imagine the bomb-test scene from Oppenheimer. The dead quiet before the sound hits.
I for the life of me can't remember what preceded this part of the dream--something weird I'm sure--but I remember it ended with a bomb that legit felt so realistic (well...as far as I can imagine) I could feel the vibrations of the hit. I didn't even have time to be scared in the dream. No waking up with a sudden lurch either. It was just
BAM
****
gone, and I was awake.
For a few seconds after waking I briefly considered the idea some people believe that "dreams are glimpses of alternate universes". Had some version of me just died? Ridiculous, but I entertained it the way you entertain daydreams.
I mourned a little for imaginary me.
It made me think of the scary times we live in. Things could change, just like that. Things are changing.
I am incapable of writing
So don't try to convince me that  
I possess countless poetic ideas.

Because at the end of the day,  
I see only failures in every attempt.  
And I'm not about to lie by saying that  
each setback helps me along.

Because no matter what,  
                        I feel trapped in a cycle of mediocrity.                        
And I am in no position to believe that  
true inspiration dwells within me.

For even in my darkest musings,  
Am I as uninspired as my doubts proclaim?
Backwards poems are so fun to write! They take away my writer's block!
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