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DM00 Sep 2018
UGH
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ugh       ugh    ugh                     ugh ugh ugh
ugh       ugh    ugh          ugh    ugh         ugh
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I like someone and can't do anything about it and this is the only thing that can sum up my feelings properly I'm sorry for this fake poem ( i personally don't consider this a poem really, but it's just like a placeholder for when I can express my feelings in poetry form. I think if someone writes a poem like this and considers it a poem who am i to tell them it's not?)
DM00 Jul 2018
The smell of paint,
as my nails dry
and my fingers’ type
is coupled
with
a sun’s glance
and the insects quivering
in their leaves

There is
the dread
of knowing this
is all too soon,
going to end.
DM00 May 2018
The same stifled,
recycled air
has been circulating
in this glass box.

My body inhabits it,
never fully exhaling lest
I lose sight
of the things in front of me.
Never fully stretching lest
I break the glass,
and all my work falls apart.

But the cage has dissolved,
until I re-build it again later.
the glass has simply melted away,
until I will come back.
to put pen to paper,
for the last year.

So now I breathe
the tendrils of the night air,
the warm atmosphere
as you play with my hair.
I breathe in the time before me,
and exhale everything
that I’ve been ignoring.
This was written towards the end of a very stressful time in my life when I could just begin to see the finish line
DM00 May 2018
What is the point of love,
if it be never-lasting?
This intense hormone-driven
connection
serves to satisfy a few present moments.
We may remember,
but only because it was our first.
And I may regret
becoming so embittered,
at so young an age.

Every moment spent with you,
I can delay these thoughts.
But alone,
on a fruitless Sunday,
with nothing to satisfy me,
I think to myself
that we are more lonely-
that I am more lonely-
than I want to believe.
written a year ago
DM00 May 2018
To be alive,
First and foremost, is to love.
If you haven’t loved, you haven’t lived.
You haven’t seen all that this world can give.

It can give, but it will take away.
The cost of living is that you feel.
You feel, and you feel and you feel.
Until your pain seems just unreal.

Someone once said,
“I think, therefore I am”
But that might be wrong,
You know you are,
When you laugh too hard,
When you cry too much,
When you speak too loudly,
When you’re much too proudly
In love.

You can think and feel
and touch and smell,
and do all these things to survive,
but when it’s all too much,
that’s when you know you’re alive.
DM00 May 2018
the sky today reminded me of my mind when i’m with you.
It was clear, periwinkle-blue with lazy clouds that take place
like my half-formed thoughts around you.
You are the sun,
and I’m the sky wrapping around you.
My thoughts wander,
but you are my core.

The weather changes,
from rain to thunder to snow to fog,
but you remain
throughout it all.

The rain shows me the reality,
the thunder is the qualms of our friendship,
the fog clouds my brain when we’re pressed together on the couch.
the snow was when you fell asleep on me that one time, and I could have stayed there
forever,
slightly uncomfortable but too much in love to care.

But the rain sobers me up from your intoxicating elixir,
the rain is your ‘girl’,
the rain is my insides melting, melting, melting.
And yet the clouds still clear,
the rain still dries
and the sun still shines
whenever you’re near.
Also written two years ago.
DM00 May 2018
I thought
and I think
in waves.
the memories of you nudge my conscience.
I fight the current,
but helplessly
I sail into the past.
I see you in my dreams, often.
is it a guilty conscience or
a suppressed fantasy?

am I more golden or blackened?
noble or damaged?
pure or sinful?

nothing reminds me of you,
I’m not in love.
I have someone else.
but something golden must
hide a blackened core.
you’re the blight of charcoal in
my sunrise heart.

a part of me that might never leave,
no matter how hard I try
to ignore it.
the best I can do is
to ignore you.
that way,
this blight of charcoal won’t consume
me,
setting me alight with the slightest touch.

I don’t want to be set on fire
by
your
lips.
This was written a year ago. This was loosely inspired by the song "tearing me up" by Bob Moses because I had a similar situation to the one described in the song. Also the line "I fight the current,/ but helplessly/ I sail into the past." is inspired/based on a line on the last page of the Great Gatsby (F Scott Fitzgerald).
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