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 Mar 16 Nemusa
Thirty Nine
You're not the kind of flower
People pluck and put into their hair
You're the kind of flower
People can’t bring themselves to pluck
And instead water it with their water bottle
A flower that deserves to bloom
And grow
 Mar 16 Nemusa
Shang
with every passing moment,
I find it more and more
difficult to determine
who is human &
what human is?
© Shang
 Mar 16 Nemusa
Shang
how absolutely
unassuming one will be
blind-sided by love
© Shang
 Mar 16 Nemusa
Shang
clear
 Mar 16 Nemusa
Shang
sometimes you will
be absolute in your resolve

and sometimes you will
be the issue needing solved

a question unanswered
is the vessel to affliction
it's synonymous with
all of your uncertainty  

sometimes you must
accept that you may never
find the answers

and I know that's hard to swallow.
© Shang
 Mar 16 Nemusa
Shang
tiny hands
 Mar 16 Nemusa
Shang
if God is in the details,
I must have forgotten
my prayers

her smile was the truth,
and her eyes were the door.

in seven days,
goodbye, tiny hands..
mon amour

they don't make
promises like
you anymore

without a smile,
goodbye, gabrielle..
mon amour
© Shang
 Mar 16 Nemusa
Shambhavi
You loved me, I loved you.
For me, it was special.
But for you, just a moment—
Forgotten with time.

For me, you were my future.
But for you, I was just a friend to play tricks.

For me, you became my everything.
But for you,
I was just… a friend.

For me, it was real.
But you told,
It was my misconception!
 Mar 16 Nemusa
Piyush Sharma
He walked out on himself,
Left his book half-finished,
Buried deep within his shelf,
His skin burnt down to thinnest.
The pen was always his escape,
Then was it the pen, the paper or the reader
That made him forsake his escape?
The creator inked through its remaining life,
The vessel consoled the words under all eyes,
The receiver breathed meaning into the words,
Then who was it that discerns?
But...
What was his story...?
Was he reciting it...?
Or was it reciting him...?
Is he returning for his glory...?
Depicting any/all writer's phase when the pen is taken away without a choice and a practical cold life wishing them to come home and pen his words to a place not judged.
my homecoming to hellopoetry <3
Love.
The bittersweet thing that we all seem to crave,
The thing people swear they'd die for.
But is it worth it, for a feeling we do not understand?
The violent force that causes destruction and pain—
But yet it is so sweet, so gentle,
The force that doomed Romeo and Juliet to their death,
That made Mark Antony abandon his empire,
Chaotic, but sweet.
Do all deserve to be loved,
And can all be loved?
 Mar 16 Nemusa
matt r
[a one-time coin
                                in the pocket of]
the verb 'to be'

i could cycle through my zoetrope
life & grab the belly fat of fortune;

his lifepink scar
                            bleedinghardtruth
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