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  Jun 14 White Owl
Pippa Christie
She said:
“I’m too tired to help.
I’m too tired to stay
In this room where you weep,
So please, just go away.”

“Find someone else to console,
The aching heart you display;
I’m too drained to help,
So please, just go away.”

“Ok, fine,” I reply.
“I’ll leave your room and let you rest.”
“I’ll let you lie here,” I sigh
“I’ll cry alone, a broken mess.”

She said to me, “I need your help
I’m sad and lonely here, so please
I know how broken you have felt,
But just forget that and help me.

I say, “No. I’m too tired to help.
I’m too tired to stay
In this room where you weep,
So turn around and go away.”

Maybe before, if you were there
If you had held me in your arms
I would soothe your pain, would care
About this thing causing you harm

But you made me too tired to help,
Made me too tired to stay
In this room where you weep,
So take your tears— and go away.
First post
*****
in tatters
Gomorrah
is ash
L.A. lies
burning
New York
in the trash

Cowards
run rampant
Weakness
endeared
Our heritage
shattered
With traitors
— revered

(Inside The Fire: June, 2025)
  Jun 13 White Owl
Aayush ganjeer
You can’t defeat me, I stand so tall,
For my motherland, I give it all.
If I must die, don’t shed a tear,
The tricolor wrap will bring me near.
No greater honor, no deeper pride,
Than my flag around me when I’ve died.
  Jun 13 White Owl
Aayush ganjeer
He smiled at death, then walked alone,
For every breath that’s not his own.
The flag now sleeps upon his chest —
A hero gone, a nation blessed.
White Owl Jun 13
Too pure to touch,
Too perverse to honor.
In any case,
Too human to revere.
The ocean's bride
And the meadow's daughter
Uncross their fingers
To show they're sincere.
White rabbit, black rabbit,
Opposed halves of one.
The flouted is sought,
The coveted, shunned.
The night mourns the light
With funeral tears
Soon after invoking
The death of the sun.
Jun '25

This one's about identity, people pleasing, double standards, and having zero idea who you want to be or how you should present yourself.
Never was she the type to chase
For if she moved an inch
Failure would take her place.

Her footprints have molded the soil
Marking where she always waits
An illustration of her mortal foil.

To leave would mean to miss
What could finally be coming
To bring eternal bliss.

There she will wait
Until the earth swallows her whole
Where she sealed her fate.
  Jun 9 White Owl
Dsurvival
Can my wounds be clothed
By the sands of time?
My dirt be cleansed
By its flowing stream?
My crimes forgotten
By its weathered hand?

Then tell me—
Which amount of days
Can mend my lies?
Which amount of weeks
Can dry their cries?
Which amount of years
Can let the pain die?

Please…
Tell me if time
Can truly do this.
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