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This is not a poem;
This is an artist screaming to be heard in the abyss of life's harshest realities.

This is not romantic;
This is an artist learning to to be in love with her very self.

All this years, I have been trying so hard to create a person I could love.

Little did I realize, what I was looking for has always and-
will always be within me.

I think I've learnt to love myself.
I think I'm finally free.

This is a poem;
This is an artist screaming to be heard in the abyss of life's harshest realities.

This is romantic;
This is an artist learning to to be in love with her very self.

All this years, I have been trying so hard to create a person I could love.

Little did I realize, what I was looking for has always and-
will always be within me.

I think I've learnt to love myself.
I think I'm finally free.
I think-

— c.s wondering
Hello friends!

It's been so many years since I last came on here to create poems. I guess something sparked inside of me tonight, and just like that- I'm back.

And I hope everyone has been well x
Moonlit debris falling like snow
From the once-towering houses,
The boiling ground will make you tiptoe
As the city’s about to turn into ashes.

The sounds of shrieks and fading screams
Will be much louder than faith and hope.
You can only trust your remaining limbs,
For there will be no time to cope.

Behind the stench of burnt trees
Is a growing desire for rain —
Just to remember where your heart is,
Just to keep yourself sane.

But it’s too late now.

You will need more than water,
You’ll need more than seers —
‘Cause I set the world on fire
With these flammable tears.
To write words over and over
To explain what it feels to love you
To express what you mean to me

No words can be enough for that
And so I always end up erasing them
 Jul 2022 Tabitha Lee
Solaluna
I was not kidding when I said I love you.
I meant it with all my heart,
All my soul,
With all of me,
For I am bound to you,
And that's what my love will ever be.
 Jun 2022 Tabitha Lee
Shadyeh
Poets
 Jun 2022 Tabitha Lee
Shadyeh
Is it you,
Is it me
Whom the dead poet may be...
It matters not
It's just a thought
Of who the dead poet might be.
A master of word
Whom indeed will be heard
They won't go with the herd
They'll sing like a bird!
But they're dead after all
Noone hears their call
And they do as they're told
With the ground
They
All
Fold
16.05.2021 after watching The Dead Poets Society
 Jun 2022 Tabitha Lee
misha
thunderstorms in june
he threads daisies
through her wet hair
he wraps bindweed
around her bruised neck

two young lovers,
hiding from the world
in a glistening meadow,
muddy bodies tangled
on a muddy blanket

her, a siren of the suburbs
with berry stained lips
lays with her apollo
with eyes of august honey
and a rifle instead of a bow

pulling bugs out of each others hair
wondering if life will always be like this
or if it will change
and how these memories
will feel in the distant future

as the chorus of crickets begins again
after the storm has cleared
the sun descends like a halo
we can't be late
it's time to go
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