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I only write when
my eyes blur the words I haven’t written
my hands can barely hold up a pen
the mirror shows someone who isn’t me,
when I’m hiding—locked in the bathroom
or fold myself into bed
only then do the words come.

I wish I could write
about moments I feel light—
seeing my cousins
for the first time in months,
waving at my friends
with too much excitement
but no shame in my smile.

When I walk alone
and it doesn’t feel like something’s missing,
when I Lordofon or Froukje
fills my tears on full volume,
I pass a stroller,
a baby laughing at nothing
and I hope they will never
learn how heavy joy can be.

And obviously all the times—
joking with my sister
until we can’t breathe,
messaging my grandma
just to hear her thoughts,
sitting with mom and dad,
not needing to say a word.
When you see someone crying,
You should help.

You saw her cry,
You didn’t help.

But I was bowling my eyes out,
And she was barely sniffling.
You've got,
brown eyes like the devils liquor-
burn me slow, and i'll drink it quicker
I'll bare my throat, i'll meet your dare

So take it-
my guilt, my breath, my spine and silent prayers,
I'll burn for you, raw and loud
A sinner begging to be proud

I'd drink the devils liquor anytime with you
I am not scared of death.
In fact, I find her attractive.
I like the thrill of being close to her.

I want her to hold me close.
I want her to be mine.
I want to be hers.

But my family wouldn’t approve of her.
And I love my family more,
Than I could ever love her.

So I keep my distance.
She’ll be mine someday,
She’ll be mine no matter what I say.
All this jewellery,
What for can it be?

Earrings you got at birth,
What are they worth?
They are with you
Always

Exchanging friendship bracelets,
The expectations it sets.
Best friends
Forever

Necklaces from family,
Might not know what you see.
They’re still there for you
Truly

Engagement and wedding rings,
More than beautiful things.
Boyfriends, girlfriends—lives entwine,
Becoming husbands, wives in time.
I guess what I meant to say was: everything has a meaning
How can she not ask for help,
When it’s finally being offered?

How can she not ask for help,
When she’s being listened to?

How can she not ask for help,
When she isn’t judged?

How can she not ask for help,
When AI says her writing is good?

How can she not ask for help,
When AI helps, at least a little bit?

Why would she not ask for help,
When she needs it?

Can she still call it help,
Or is it just code?
I asked chat what it thinks about this poem, and the previous one, and the one before. Because no actual person wants to listen. No actual person cares. And neither does AI, but at least AI pretends.
Another pointless, quiet fight.
Another message: “Yeah, you’re right”
Another text reading “goodnight”
Typing out “sleep tight”
as my phone screen turns to white.

I don’t turn off the music,
I do start to panic.

Everything reminds me of us,
The way you think I overuse “we” and “us”
turns to one more thing we used to discuss.
The way you tell me not to fuss
taught me minus and minus equals plus.

You never thought I had it right.
But I still hope you sleep tight.
Sorry for not writing much this week. I hope you enjoy this poem and I hope you sleep tight.
Your not dead,
But it feels like you are.

I'll scroll past a stranger on the internet,
But I know their soul,
The hurt in their life,
The people they like,
The life they live,
Their favourite food,
Song,
Artist,
Their favourites

How do you know a person,
And they’re still strangers?

Your not dead,
But your memory fades,
And the laughter from us on the couch,
Irking eachother and eating icecream.
The sound of our home,
Full of giggles and smiles.
The family I yearned for.
The care I yearned for.

Who will make me giggle when I cry?
And listen to my worthless words?
To indulge my every whim,
And cook me food when i'm hungry,

Who will take care of you,
Make sure your healthy,
And bother you,
Borrowing something from your room every day,
Sitting on your bed and telling each other about our day,
Who we hate
Who we love
Who we judge

You live,
But not in my world
Your walking around somewhere,
Content with your new life,
I hope you are.
But i'm not.
I smell your smells and think of you,
I listen to your songs
I play your games
And think of then.

Where did they go?
Where did you go?
Why did you have to go?
Another one for the brother
 Jun 24 Charmour
yúyīn
JJsbdksndkkdmxmjshJustletmediemmmkbhbxjdnxnbdjxbdnxnnxnxnImsotire­dofthisnsjs nkksbdndnbdthese tears wontstopjdjdnn znjsnndudndkdknfkdmssnfnjdndnndbdbdbdnWhythepainstilllivesin myheartjjxnxjxjdn mykdjdvjsndjcjndndncnxkxnkxndkdkjdnskxhjshdjddndeImsofuckingtired­msnndksnxonshxidnkxndjsjdbjdkslmsndjjdbdisbdjjdksndjdhbsndnndjdjd­ndnd


Youllneverunderstand me
@.**
 Jun 24 Charmour
Meera
He doesn't burn photographs
He doesn't join therapy sessions
He doesn't smoke too many cigarettes
Nor he drown himself into alcohol
He scratches his wounds daily
And never let them heal
He doesn't try to get rid of the pain
Instead he let it grow on him
He waters the seed of sorrow with his tears
He feeds it with the manure of old memories
He takes it to sleep with him
And nurtures it in himself
Till the moment when every single drop of his blood gets replaced by this pain
Until his fragile heart can bear no more
And his soul starts overflowing with emotions
That's when he dip his pen into this pain
And empty his heart on a piece of paper
He bares his soul for us to feel
He creates poetry that the world would cherish for centuries to come
That's how true poetry comes into existence
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