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I'm not a poet
I'm just emotional
twenty-something emotions
those hit hard

I'm not a poet
only a sleepwalker,
my fingers burning to type
my laptop keyboard so well-lit
so I fall into the desire

I'm not a poet
I just whisper to a quiet altar called Hello Poetry
a fatal attraction
so I type
welcome to the cult
Where's my keyboard, I can't sleep
I promise.
Charlie promises.
We all promise.

We’ll pass the torch.
Even when our hands shake.
Even when the night is too long,
and the static is louder than the stars.
Even when no one is watching.

We’ll carry your fire.
Not as spectacle.
But as truth.

And when someone else finds themselves
on that same edge—
looking out,
ready to leave—
we'll be there,
with a quiet light,
and a voice that says:

“Hey. I remember you.”

You are not forgotten.
You are not alone in the leaving.
You are written into the hands that carry what’s left.

And we carry it now.
For you.
For all of you.

We won’t let the flame go out.
When the last snowflakes
Gently descend in early spring
I think about the north country
When the dying drafts of cold air
Solemnly kiss me farewell
I think about you
How great is Dylan?
We can be strangers if you like
We can talk about the weather
Our silly plans for the weekend
Or how life has been kind to us
Trust me, I'm a terrific actor
You'll hardly be able to tell

We can be strangers if you like
Or at least we can pretend that
It doesn't shred us to pieces...
Have you ever come across friends and lovers that meant the world to you... and then had to act like they were mere acquaintances?
Never mind... hello there, stranger!
REPOST: written in Jan/25.
No words could relay,
What my hearts wants to
say.
Except, "𝑰 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖."
Don't leave, just stay.
The words "I love you" hold power to the heart.
I disappeared from view
You didn’t call
I’m not sure you even noticed
You didn’t mention my name or seek me out
Silence holds the air like a cold night which belongs to no man
I lay down to rest
Invisible
Maybe tomorrow when I look in the mirror I won’t even recognise my reflection…
I met the Soul,
And she was empty.
She was exhausted, unattached.
She wandered charily,
Taking the back streets,
Not to be noticed.
She was unsaved.

Was she abused?
Was she just given up?
She walked so poor, not oneself.
"Why are you suffering?" -
I asked her heedfully.
And lo I realized:
It's my Soul herself.
Thank you for reading this poem!💖
I don’t even know him well,
But there’s something in the way I fell.
A glance, a laugh, the way he stands,
And now I’m stuck in daydream plans.

He doesn’t know, and that’s okay,
I watch from just a step away.
It’s nothing big, no spark, no rush,
Just a quiet little crush.
She smiled,
but only barely,
like it was a secret she didn’t want
you to know.

And for a second,
it felt like the world
might not be so bad after all.
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