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When
        night
              kisses
                      the
                          end
                               of
                                  day,
                      there’s
                          a
                     moment,
            when
       my
cares just…
       fall away,
                     a
                     feeling
                         of
                           gliding,
                                     upon
                              calm
                                    waters of life,
                           when
                    peace
               and
         love,
         overcome my strife….
Once you find yourself,
you can free yourself
 Oct 2017 ChikuShanae
mi
sad poet/s
 Oct 2017 ChikuShanae
mi
The best poems are all about
loss and pain and suffering.
It feels more natural to write a poem
about a long lost memory,
Or a love that never worked.

Poets aren't allowed to be happy.
They’d run out of material to write about.

The words
content and happy
in the same sentence as the word
I'm,
feels like your tongue
never sitting right in your mouth,
like teeth getting in the way
when making out
like an itchy throat,
not going away even after coughing a fit.

The phrases
You are and my boyfriend
can't be a real sentence
like how
unicorns and fairytales
don't exist.
They just feel like
two jigsaw pieces
from different parts of the puzzle
forced to sit beside each other.

The word love
just doesn’t resonate
with the beat of my heart.
Maybe because
my heart stopped beating
a long time ago
and my brain had to carry the workload
so I think twice as much as I should
synonyms?
I overthink.

I may be the only poet
who doesn’t want to be happy;
a ******* clinging to heartbreak,
and loss and pain and suffering.
because it’s easier to let heartbreak
wrap myself in its familiar arms
than to experience an adventure
with happiness wrapped in mine.
i don't know how to love

-d.j.
I am a great half alive tragedy,
A hole with a body,
A silence with a voice,
A being without the human.
I drag my nails down my skin,
making sure i am still here,
but I still remain a hartbeating nothing.
Until it crashes me,
And my throat gets dry,
And my lungs burn like August sun,
And my heartbeat echoes,
And my stomach feels empty and full at the same time,
And all the tears I‘ve been holding back wet my eyes in just a blink,
And I can hear my heart cracking,
And I can feel my numbness healing it again.

— The End —