I marked all kindred Powers the heart finds fair:—
Truth, with awed lips; and Hope, with eyes upcast;
And Fame, whose loud wings fan the ashen Past
To signal-fires, Oblivion’s flight to scare;
And Youth, with still some single golden hair
Unto his shoulder clinging, since the last
Embrace wherein two sweet arms held him fast;
And Life, still wreathing flowers for Death to wear.

Love’s throne was not with these; but far above
All passionate wind of welcome and farewell
He sat in breathless bowers they dream not of;
Though Truth foreknow Love’s heart, and Hope foretell,
And Fame be for Love’s sake desirable,
And Youth be dear, and Life be sweet to Love.

I woke up
the sun softly breaking through
resting on the wall,
i left my radio on
playing songs and songs
that i love
my hair is glued to my forehead
i feel it scratching against my skin
i look around piles of clothes
laying on the corner of my bed
empty bowls of  cheerio cereal
my guitars laying up against a wall
one that is laying on the floor
two burnt matches on the floor
a poorly painted zebra mask
and a yellow leaf that fell from its place
a lot of dried pieces fell off the dead leaf,
old VHS tapes against the wall
***** dancing,breakfest club,ferris bueller , blues brothers
so much more
books piled in each other
dorian grey,to **** a mockingbird, a farewell to arms
i'm missing two books
i lent them to my friend
red ink from a pen on the floor
i had to keep the guitar cord at a certain bend to it would amplify
it gave in and exploded
a green paint mark on my wall
and a cut out mustache
an old keyboard of the 80's
sometimes it turns on sometimes it doesn't
notebooks of poems
and boxes of drawing i did when i was younger
a big jar with two dead roses
pencils and pens cross in and out
a little emptied out honey jar
filled with all my train tickets
my bracelets laying on the floor
except for the blue one my wrist
it never comes off
my camera lays beside the camera beg
drawings on the wall
and my hats on top of each other
and my sweaters all over the place
vinyl album covers
of the Beatles and Pink Floyd

My mom calls it a mess
i call it
me...

Moon is not beautiful
She doth not shine golden
She drops weakened, white light
on creatures craving sleep

She sits there and stares
At a frightened little world
with her cold, chilling glow
and a hostility deep

It's ingrained in her soul
to make the nimbus look fearsome
ghastly and pale
like a place to hide demons

She debases belief
We forget our star-wish
and thick, we go fishing
at nighttime

And then, Moon releases
a loneliness, cold
and we can't elude
we're stuck in the hole of
This brooding solitude mood
and its tole.

There's no escaping anytime soon
As we start to fear
the burning sun
And I suppose, this is my loathing of Moon.

Moon is contagious.
She offers the aid of her presence, unfailing
When we're washed down like willows, weakened
and wailing

And we can sail under her
Just as the dime
It's a lie that the night's
only clock-start for crime

When she's out from the hiding place
to be bright as Moon can
There's not a direction
No footpath
No overworked plan

And when I remember:
Beauty needs not a rival
I suppose I'll be loving Moon, soon again.

when the milk light steals into my eyes—hey it’s grownups’ goodmorning
—I let your elbow go and then I pull it back again, soft metonymy (i
sometimes remember
when you’re awake, and abashed I keep it quiet
how you’re my favorite part
—of what?—not applicable, but this morning I remember
when your eyes are closed, and I let you feel how much I
feel you in my ribs when you’re all around me)

the punctuation of the days was always mine and I
couldn’t breathe as well without keeping the dark
for me just me
and still my eyelids weigh me down a little but
I don’t mind
hey goodmorning

///
Knowledge has grown with time
from our origin
and through evolution of nature
we have taken this information
and carry on
by generation to generation
with our gene
feelings are pinning you,
every second
every minute and every day,
gathered like clouds,
that has grown as rain in the horizon

Your brain has taken
millions of feelings,
making your mind,
taken those feelings,
bound all together magnetically

We discovered love, hate
pain, tears, laugh
even our words
all have made with emotion
accumulate of emotions are feelings
and millions of feelings make a mind
where there we make our love
where there we make our song
and there we make our life

But not all the seasons are same
the spring, rain and the winter
change over and being--
as we see through our life
neither always so rhythmic
nor always so romantic
neither too harmonic
nor too motioning
but all the time we carry emotions
that hurts our growing mind
changes its physical structure
and makes a new shape
as the ocean moves through the continents
and change its structure continuously--

We see tears flowing from her eyes,
you say pain,
that can also moves through vein
as the river runs through the vale
as like as water coming from a waterfall
moving like a stream
it has tasted salty,
those tears are to be torn
and turned to be stone
that has to be made the crystals,
crystalline through land and sea--

If those tears move too long and mad
it has formed layer
and has settled layer by layer
over an ocean bed
as the ripple marked,
silted and compact through time
grown as a dark shale,
black and compact
finally,we see our feelings has turned to the matter
///
@ Musfiq us shaleheen

Once there was a maiden who has a gardener as her wooer. And the maiden love him too.

The maiden is affluent in money called Memories. And the gardener has flower bounties called Feelings he gives daily to the maiden. Every morning the gardener would knock on the maiden's door and hand her the most beautiful picks of Feelings his garden has. Some days it's a posy of 'I love you's'; or a nosegay of 'I miss you's'. Other days it's a wreath of 'kisses' and 'hugs'. But he knew what she likes best - it's the bouquet of the four. And every time, the maiden would insist to pay him with a Memory, but sweetly he would shake his head no.

Until one morning, she heard no knock on the door nor there were flowers on her porch. She waited and waited, but nothing came and he never arrived.

Days became weeks, there were no signs of the gardener still. The Feelings he gave her started to wilt, but many remain abloom.

"I wish the next time he knocks, he would hand me a bouquet of 'I love you's' with a coupling of 'I miss you's'," *she whispered between sighs. "It's not my favorite arrangement, but those I favor among all."

And the skies seem to hear her wish. There were three gentle knocks on the door. She smiled and stood in front of it, wishing that it's really him. And it was.

But he had no bouquets in hand. No posies nor nosegays nor wreaths.

"There is a new damsel in town, and to her I chose to give the Feelings, but she don't seem to care," he explained. "My Feelings piled up on her lawn but she never opened the door."

He paused.

Then earnestly, "My garden is bare of flowers, and I ran out of Feelings to give you," he continued. "But if you would allow, could you hand me a little Memory so I can restore my garden and offer you bouquets of Feelings again?"

*Then she gave him every Memory she has.

I know how I feel.
I'm just too lazy to describe all of it through text; since there is so much to put down.

Feelings are never complicated.
I don’t want to describe my feelings for you as complicated.
We can just use the term ‘sad.’
My feelings for you aren’t sad itself, but when you listen to it as a whole you would see how sad it seems.

My feelings display how scared, paranoid, and worried I am.
As if I know what to do, but I’m not fully sure of how much I can’t do it, or if I would even do it at all.
My feelings show how ambitious and optimistic I am.
They reassure myself of how much heart and peace I have.
My feelings express how hopeless I am.
A hopeless romantic is all that it means.
I only say “I don’t know,” because I’m either afraid of facing the outcome, or too lazy to put my time into something that requires so much analysis.
I have patience and empathy, but to actually identify this whole bunch that I deal with daily is just so overwhelming.

We have reasons why our feelings can be described as ‘complicated.’
Whether we have contradicting ideas (not everyone can be so sure of what they’re feeling, so they try to choose the middle side and make both ideas useful), or we just describe them in a way that others won’t be able to follow.

I just don’t know for my feelings right now.
I haven’t even given myself time to sort them out because when I do, my thoughts became scattered and I just lose my ability to handle them.
It’s not that I don’t care, but I just wish I had help when trying to figure them out.

I want to give up, but I don’t.
So I just end up putting them to the side, and just take a nap.
Now excuse me, I’m going to take a nap.

I have been doing a lot of work with my feelings lately.  I have avoided them for most of my life because, well the bad ones outweigh the good ones.  

The rest of them were f@#ked or beaten out of me.

I have always believed that my feelings only led to trouble and pain.  A simple feeling stated as a child sent me tumbling down a rabbit hole of horrific pain.  An innocent smile was interpreted to be nothing but filthy desire.  A frown was nothing but blatant rebellion that had to be dealt with.

My thinking is extremely black and white.  Good or bad.  Right or wrong.  But what I'm learning is that feelings don't fall easily into any of those categories.  The classifications that I have used to reason my life into some semblance of order do not work for feelings.

So walking in this grey area is very difficult for me.  I cannot make much sense of what I allow myself to feel and if I do, I get stuck.  The detachment I have felt to my memories is slowly being bridged by the missing feelings.  And that is terrifying.

I have always been able to share, matter of factly, the details I have chosen to disclose.  And I'm very afraid that those details were the easy ones; the ones I could disconnect from and push the feelings onto someone else.

Remember those rabbit holes?  When I find the feelings associated with that pain it's like falling down that hole bound, gagged, and blindfolded.  My logic was my only means of control and I've lost it amongst the feelings.  The only way to climb out of that hole?  

Literally feel my way out.