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 Nov 2021 cadence
Luna Wrenn
unread
 Nov 2021 cadence
Luna Wrenn
my nightstand is full of unread books, lavender candles and leather journals.
i like to keep books beside my bed because i would like to read someone else's outlook on life instead of writing about my sorrows.
 Nov 2021 cadence
Praggya Joshi
You make promises of always and forever
With exquisite words
Adorned with priceless gems
Of 'love' and 'life'
And drape it around my neck
Fastening it with a rosy kiss
Filled with fervent longing and ardor
Then step back
And admire me
With round wide eyes
And for a fleeting moment
I believe that I see
A fiery truth within you
Its smouldering flames
Swiftly burning away
Those allegorical fable
That you keep buried beneath
My naive heart doesn't care about the fact
That those gems aren't priceless
And the necklace is second hand
Borrowed before being  scrubbed clean
 Nov 2021 cadence
Spencer Smith
how?
 Nov 2021 cadence
Spencer Smith
My words bunch up in my throat.
I want to comfort people with my words, sweet as honey,
But they're too thick to come out.
I finally get them out, but they're weak and useless.
How do I get them out?

My touch falters.
I try to reach out and help with a gentle touch,
But it lands awkward and uncomfortable,
People edge away not wanting to be touched by me.
How do I fix my touch?

My eyes betray.
I try to tell stories through my eyes,
To spare people my words, that stick like honey,
I look to try and keep my poisoned hands away from them,
But all they display is hurt and sadness.
How do light them?

My writing helps.
I write down all the thoughts that stick like honey.
I try to touch the reader's heart with my words.
I hide behind a screen so they don't have to see my eyes filled with sadness.
How do I do this without a screen and keyboard?
 Nov 2021 cadence
Grey
If my teardrops were wishes
life would be filled with the sweetest of kisses.
1/7/2021
 Nov 2021 cadence
alexa
you will never be forgotten.
ever.
your name twisted into metaphors and colors and distractions will forever
be painted across pages and pages of her favorite brand of notebook,
no matter how many she burns
there will always be one she forgot,
and she will only find it once she had almost forgotten you.
she will find the one Papyrus notebook
and all of your metaphors and colors and disractions will come flooding back,
just like how the ocean in your eyes
flooded her heart all those years ago.
 Nov 2021 cadence
aubrey sochacki
you are a bunch of different things
but not someone i ever thought i’d write about

you were the cute guy in my class
the one i looked forward to talking to

you were the one i shared music with
the one i didn’t know if i liked

you were the one who helped me study
the one who did more distracting than helping

you were the one who kissed me
the one who made me feel things i haven’t felt in years

you were the one who heard me
the one who still liked me, despite all my problems

you were the one who couldn’t be in a relationship
the one who i can’t have

you were the one who i never thought i’d write about
i really didn't want to write about you.
 Nov 2021 cadence
Facia Overkill
when i watch you light your cigarette
i wish it was me instead
what a honour
being inhaled by you
id love to dance through your lungs
be inside your body and fill a space within you
but instead i am just myself
you know i'll always be there and
i don't feel like a novelty or a luxury
i am simply just the girl
who's lighter you will borrow
to smoke out the sorrow
of someone else
so much more than me
this poem doesnt make sense anymore !!!
 Nov 2021 cadence
blankpoems
If my hands could tell a story, they'd say how your spine always looked beautiful in the morning,
when the sun's rays created shadows that danced along your back and flirted with your neck
like they'd never meet again.
They'd say how your lips always curved upwards as if they were saying hello.
If my hands could tell a fairytale, there'd be no happy ending,
there'd be no end at all.
I wish my lips could finally part to say the right things,
because all I want to do is hear your name roll off my tongue,
in the same sentence as "you're mine".
I want them to tell the story of your lips,
red, and taunting and always mysterious.
I always got a toothache when you weren't in the room.
I think I need a root canal.
If my knees could speak they'd tell you how lovely it was
to bend to curl to your legs.
If my knees could tell a story, they'd describe the cold, hard
bitter kiss of death they shared with the pavement so many times
when I found your bags at the door.
If my knees could beg, they'd ask for forgiveness.
For being too bony, too weak,
for not being able to support your dreams.
(I'd give up anything now for that little apartment in New York
and nothing but two typewriters)
If my fingers had a chance, they'd trace the familiar lines of your collarbones
and over your shoulders, because by now they've committed them to memory.
If my fingers had a chance, they'd hold yours again.
They say to stay away from broken people but I saw you as a puzzle
just waiting for someone to put you back together again.
If my eyes could tell a story they would whisper softly of your flowing hair
and pixie-like body.
They would ask you to stay.
They would jump out of my body to give you a glimpse of how I see you.
They would show you how utterly unprecedented you are.
If I believed in heaven I would tell you that you're a miracle.
That you are something I wished upon for years as a child.
You are a star.
You are a supernova.
You are a black hole, ******* me in and twisting me about until I am nothing
but battered limbs and my broken heart.
You are God with the Devil's kiss.
If my lips could move they'd say "stay".
You were mine.
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