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"She was an
unusual dresser.
Every night,
she wore bruises
on her heart,
love on her lips,
pain in her eyes,
and ink on her fingers.
They called her poetry."
No one can know your pain
Not nearly as well as yourself
But the rope won't take it away
It just gives it to someone else
This slow decline
cannot be mine
I
must be dreaming.
i found myself last night whispering your name under the shield of my duvet, willing myself to pronounce every syllable of your name to the darkness of my room. i looked up to the plastic stars on my ceilings, remainders of the childhood i once had, and said it:

“yoon. jeong. han”

every syllable clear and true.

and it occurred to me,
how beautiful your name was.

“yoon” — the moon and the whistles of the wind, lulling me into dreamland.
“jeong” — a masculine edge.
and finally, the concluding “han” that returns it into its original softness.

clean milky way.

i’ve never expected to fall for a boy with your name. but i’ve always been fascinated with the universe and all the bright lights surrounding our blue planet. so i guess, it is only fitting for me to fall for a boy whose name means “clean milky way”

so i whispered your name over and over into the night.
yoon jeonghan.
yoon jeonghan.
yoon jeonghan.
until the taste of it becomes as familiar as the quiet.
and i swear, i saw the plastic stars on the ceiling growing brighter with every syllable.

i whispered and whispered until i fell into morpheus’ charm, and awoke with a new realization:

*your name is my favorite sound.
to the boy who made me feel

{or alternatively — "it's 3 in the morning and you still haunt my mind so i decided to write this piece i wouldn't call poetry and post it on a poetry website for hundreds to see"}
You were there with fame.
As bright as the star, that's the game.
But when the spark fades and so you go...
The bliss dwindles slowly you know
Like a shadow under the sun
Disappears when the light is gone...

They say you are elusive
That mankind chase you while they live
But souls get weary, you see
They lament and cry on their knees
In this world of condemnation
Have you just become an imagination?

Submerged in blue, deeply longing for you
Hope you come, even when rain is around
The drips are sharp, like a hasten knife
A thorn in the flesh, it lingers inside
Are you heartfelt? Or just a state of a mind?
Happiness, come with me and I'll be fine...
Happiness is elusive. You have to work hard to get it
Your lips,
Your hair,
Your cheeks,
Your eyes,

And your heart is mine,
Forever and always.

m.e.
480

“Why do I love” You, Sir?
Because—
The Wind does not require the Grass
To answer—Wherefore when He pass
She cannot keep Her place.

Because He knows—and
Do not You—
And We know not—
Enough for Us
The Wisdom it be so—

The Lightning—never asked an Eye
Wherefore it shut—when He was by—
Because He knows it cannot speak—
And reasons not contained—
—Of Talk—
There be—preferred by Daintier Folk—

The Sunrise—Sire—compelleth Me—
Because He’s Sunrise—and I see—
Therefore—Then—
I love Thee—
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