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Datore Fargo Sep 26
I want to live life in a mess,
with splashes in mud puddles,
and petals scattered down the aisle.
Let myself fall,
like rain after a dry spell.
And don’t you just love the smell,
of a summer storm rolling in?
How everything comes to life,
just simply after getting wet.
I yearn for simplicity,
mosquito bites,
and june bugs stuck in hair.
Fireflies caught in jars,
like holding lightning in your hands.
And maybe that’s the way love is,
or at least how it should be,
shocking,
but a way to find home
Datore Fargo Sep 24
Do you think,
you could hear me?
If only,
I screamed just,
a tiny bit,
louder.
Muffled under this,
pillow,
of solitary,
confinement.
I’m simply,
suffocating,
in this room,
muddled in,
silence.
Am I allowed,
to run?
Escape this,
nightmare,
of breathless,
disenchantments?
I’ll scream just,
a tiny bit,
louder.
Datore Fargo Sep 18
Drowning,
in an empty,
man-made lake.
Choking,
on an object,
never meant,
to be swallowed.
Dancing,
with broken ankles,
tears fall,
I am constructed,
to be beautiful.
Breathing,
with lungs deflated,
like dull,
birthday balloons.
Yet you,
expect me,
to be,
cheerful?
That is nothing,
but another,
hallucination.
Datore Fargo Sep 17
I watched the moon,
last night,
it danced through,
the tree limbs,
onto my,
bare skin.
I pondered,
if maybe,
you too held,
ballets,
across your chest.
Datore Fargo Sep 17
Do you ever feel,
that you’re going through life,
like a story in a book?
You keep turning the pages,
appearing to be empty,
they’re filled to the brim.
With not just words,
but wishes,
you just aren’t able,
to read them.
Datore Fargo Sep 17
I watch you sleep,
as the sun wakes up.
You slumber,
as songbirds,
chirp themselves,
awake.
Is it odd,
if I count,
the eyelashes,
that fall on your cheek?
Wishful thinking,
for time to pause,
even just for a moment.
Love,
Me.
This is the second poem of the letter project. I hope it reaches you.
Datore Fargo Sep 8
I could,
send this letter,
but you’d never read it.
Instead,
I will write it,
and sweep it,
beneath the carpet.
Maybe you know,
possibly you don’t,
I could never tell,
even if I wanted.
Why is life,
so unfair,
leaving bitterness,
on my tongue?
I desire,
to know,
the answer.
Love,
Me.
This will be the start to a series of poems written in letter form. The letters will come, they may be often, or not, but they will be written.
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