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  Aug 2017 Poetria
Tyler Lockwood
my hands are not
the same ones
you once grasped
my heart not
the same one
you once held
I actually like this one wow
  Aug 2017 Poetria
ry
'Love is a drug'
it's a bit cliche at this point but its true
not in the sense of addiction or how harmful it can be
but in the sense of its effects
love changes people and it changes each one of us differently
for some, they become suave people with immense charms
for others, they become bumbling awkward masses that are plagued with a mentality and drive that makes them try too hard
it can slow you down
make you hyper aware
fill up every bit of you
from your toes to your hair
Love is a drug
it can make you do or think or say things you never thought you could
it's an oxymoron that turns you into everything you never were
it's every color and sound and feeling; it's everything at once
it's pure, it's evil, it hollows you out as it fills you up and gives the deepest sense of pleasure as it kills you and eats you from the inside out
Love is a beautiful thing, some might say life's greatest creation
maybe this is true, maybe it isn't but be careful
because its beauty makes so shockingly easy to overdose on when you're in it
sometimes love is a science and love songs are the equations
(michigan - brockhampton, bad religion - frank ocean, supermodel - sza)
  Aug 2017 Poetria
Brenda Mukisa
When your the only dark skinned person in your house.
Its hard for others to see that its okay.
That its beautiful as well.
Its weird how people attach beauty to color.
Light skinned this, lighter skin that.
They make it the must be.

Not that it isn't beautiful.
But we have got to look at darker different.
Dark can be beautiful.
Darker even more beautiful.
I've seen beauty in all colors.
Like in all shapes.

You walk down the street over the weekend.
You fall in love with Africa.
All you will see is beautiful women.
Different heights, different shapes...
Handsome men...they come in all sizes and shades.
Its like a painting.
The kind you could look at forever.
And never tire from.

When I was a child.
I always said I wanted to get away.
But mum always said that one day I'll fall in love with here.
Now I know,now I've felt the pride.
And happiness that comes with here.

I look into the mirror each day.
And feel proud and happy.
Growing up my mother said thank-you.
With a smile.
Every time they said I looked like her.
Now I see why in the mirror.
I'd be proud if my daughter looked like me.
Me and my black skin.
My beautiful black skin.
  Aug 2017 Poetria
natalee
oh boy
with long hair
and a wild mind
he was always there
never hard to find
he called me lotus flower
always okay,
even if there were stormy showers
and something didn't go my way
i keep listening to his music
in hopes that he wrote it for me
he cured my sick
and set me free
i miss you
Poetria Aug 2017
Colour the skies maroon
with that angry red streak
that you always have,
and the way your blood boils,
scarlet rage that brings rain so cold,
hail pelting down from the heavens
making me question religion;
making me question myself
again.

My skies used to be blue
with clouds painted, floating in grace,
a yellow sun in the corner of my page
back when I was younger than youth.

Though my skies are fading to grey,
I see the colours of your rage
so I'm making history for myself
this here, this now, these words,
writing until I break.

*Writing to escape.
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