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Marii Jan 2019
She used to flaunt around with whispers of whiffs of **** and cigarette smoke sunken into her sweaters and wavy locks.

When she left, he longed for the smell of what he once had, so he started hanging around the potheads and chainsmokers of the campus

But soon, he realized that it was not just the smell of scorched planty fibers that he longed for,

It was the smell of her without and before the addictions,
How sweet and sticky it was in the late summer nights,
How her breath toyed with the hairs of his neck.

But he mostly just missed the presence of another being that could make him realize he is

still here.
Still alive.
Still able to be.
Marii Jan 2019
As the fifth unknown actor gave their heartfelt speech after winning an award,

She realised that all her efforts to win little trophies at school,
just to stamp her name on something to feel the slightest bit accomplished,
Are pointless.

Because who really notices your wins in the end except for yourself?
The realisation that things should only really matter to yourself.
Marii Dec 2018
It has become an unbearable thought to drag around this body that no longer feels like my own

I hate that I know its limits and lacks,
It's excess and ungodly elaborations

I hate that I feel stuck

And erasing my outlines won't change the already coloured-in picture,

So I guess I'll have to make use of magic markers to add and deduct some inner colours in order to feel weightless once again.
I was feeling stuck and Wonder came up on television. This poem was going to go in a different direction until then.
Marii Dec 2018
And then she realised that
All stories die with the people who made them...

What a devastating truth to know that so many wonderful stories lie between the dust of had-been peoples.
Marii Dec 2018
I'm a poor psych student majoring in emotions- lots of them- and awkward missed opportunities.

I guess you could say I'm unstable and in need of a massive outlet

Or I just need to grow up...
Marii Dec 2018
Thirty five degrees
Laughter
Wet sticky sand
Dripping ice creams
Rolling waves upon splashing bodies
Boardwalkers hand in hand

I find myself beneath the air conditioning,
Cheek stains from the films watched before,
Legs sticking to one another,
Stomach swelling up over clothes,
Dripping ice creams and crumbling cookies,
Rolling waves of guilt and self-pity.
My depression and I lay on the couch
Hand in hand.
I've been struggling for years to feel comfortable in my own skin, it gets especially tough in the Summer time when so many people show skin and enjoy themselves in the open.
Marii Nov 2018
Liefde is:

om die langpad Kaap toe deur te dring met Afrikaans is Groot treffers omdat jy sien *** Pappa sy vingers teen die maat van die ritme tik.

Dis om te weet dat Mamma wel omgee al is sy soms te besig om na jou gunsteling gedigte te luister.

Dis om saam met Boeties rugby te speel al wil jou lyf al vir jare nie meer hardloop en rond gestamp word nie.

Liefde woon hier
Tussen die gee en kry,
Tussen die op offeringe,
Tussen ons almal.
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