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I am ten crows, twenty-three starlings,
one tree, a world of racket, every dusk that ever was.

I am a holy heart four angels defend,
other times I am nothing but flesh and fingertips.

There are four seasons, three necessities,
two sides to the moon.

The window has eight panes;
I am in them all.
This is a "flash 55' a poem in exactly 55 words. All the numbers in the poem add up to 55 as well, though that is not a requirement.
#55
I ooze despair
I leak despiration
it pools at my feet
warns others of the misery
till me soal does leave
my lifeless shell
my sagging skin

I watch you
you leave slowly
inching away
does guilt wrap you?
tether you still
close to me
the pool does drift you anyway
and away you go.
I woke up early that day
but once I peeled open my eyes
realisation clouded them
as reality blinded me,

I fell asleep that day
despiration pulling me away
from the atrocities of the waking world
as I lay in bed crying and wailing,

A bit of me died with you that day
as my heart did fall apart
solemn and invisible
but I still feel you now
and know you never left
because I woke up early that day
to spend more time with you.
I miss you everyday
These constant reminders dig into my brain
Like thousands of miners
Deep underground

I miss you all the time
Wishing you were here with me still
Longing to hug you
One last time

I miss you more then ever
Even after almost a year
The pain radiates in every beat
Of my still alive heart
A wish sent with the wind

Invasive to some

A beautiful meadow to others
Stop trying to prove you aren't a ****
Bask in the warmth of those holding you like a flower
And what of a flower
whose petals fall in a sacrificial ritual
to make room for new ones to grow
July 16, 2025
I was a fogged mirror,
cracks hidden in silence—
your voice,
a drop of rain
on my tired glass.

You didn’t fix me.
You just sat beside the storm,
and called it beautiful.
I didn’t believe you…
but you stayed.

Like spring thaw,
you melted
what winter buried—
called me alive
before I could breathe.

I hated my shape.
You traced it
with kindness.
I was broken.
You whispered, "Even this is art."

And now,
if I love myself
on quiet days…
it’s because
you loved me first.
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