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 Jun 2020 Flor
solfang
when my
heart breaks,
my soul does too;
and I can only afford
to lose one,
but not two
Extracted from my previous poem; I feel that it deserves its own spot
 Jun 2020 Flor
psyche
salting wounds
 Jun 2020 Flor
psyche
Watching your life
from pictures,
I, for once,
had been
a part of...
and I'd be too much of a great hypocrite if I'd say I'm happy that you are now happy...
without my shadows.
 May 2020 Flor
moon child
"I'm an open book"
She says

Written in
code.
 May 2020 Flor
E
burning matches
 May 2020 Flor
E
you burn me.

and it isn’t anyone’s
fault but mine.

i gave you the match
in the first place.
i told myself never to let love in again, but here i am, burned by the same flame twice.
 May 2020 Flor
emnabee
The poet lives two lives.
One on the outside,
And one in their mind.

When you look in their eyes
You could see an abyss.

If you looked long enough
You could sink into it.

But most people don’t see it.

Take the time to read the words, though,
And you would know for sure.

The poet lives in two different worlds.
A little escape from the madness.
Or maybe, into.
 May 2020 Flor
JaxSpade
Out Of Line
 May 2020 Flor
JaxSpade
I made a mistake
I meant to be perfect

But I colored outside the lines
On purpose

I crossed the line
That meant to keep the lines inside

Because I'm not supposed to do it
 May 2020 Flor
Anais Nin
"Why one writes is a question I can never answer easily, having so often asked it of myself. I believe one writes because one has to create a world in which one can live. I could not live in any of the worlds offered to me – the world of my parents, the world of war, the world of politics. I had to create a world of my own, like a climate, a country, an atmosphere in which I could breathe, reign, and recreate myself when destroyed by living. That, I believe, is the reason for every work of art.
...
"We also write to heighten our own awareness of life. We write to lure and enchant and console others. We write to serenade our lovers. We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospection. We write, like Proust, to render all of it eternal, and to persuade ourselves that it is eternal. We write to be able to transcend our life, to reach beyond it. We write to teach ourselves to speak with others, to record the journey into the labyrinth. We write to expand our world when we feel strangled, or constricted, or lonely … When I don’t write, feel my world shrinking. I feel I am in prison. I feel I lose my fire and my color. It should be a necessity, as the sea needs to heave, and I call it breathing."
('The New Woman', 1974)
 May 2020 Flor
The Wonderess
How wise of you
To go at your
Own pace

To leave their lane
And reject their
Silly race...

-growth is a process
 May 2020 Flor
the black rose
she’s too strong,
she’s too much,
she’s too tough to love.

she’s too hard,
she’s too broken,
she’s not enough.

she’s imperfect,
she’s wild,
she’s lost in the wind.
she’s insane,
sending signs of chaos from within.
-
hi.
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