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We don't see how much we are blessed
Until we see another in distress
I sat down next to this man on the train
Dark shades at 8 pm
Walker on his right hand
He was a blind man
Sitting next to his wife who was able to see with both eyes
Two different visions but one sight
Two different worlds collide
He held her hand with love
Far from a strong grip,
he didn't depend on her to see
When they spoke his words hit deep
He's a visionary that can't see
He whispered in her ears
Then she blushed and smiled
That's what she wants to hear....
hesitantly
Asked him to explain this love to me
He said words can describe
This woman right here is my beautiful wife
Indeed beautiful she is
As he sat there and described her physical appearance to me
As if he can see
The color of her eyes how they were as blue as the sky,
the way she did her hair in a ponytail,
The way her nose is shaped outwardly
And how her lips are the size of his index and ******* combined
He kept on
On The way her head tilts when he rambles bout her beauty
On how one eyes is smaller than the other when she laughs
The way she flicks her hair when she's mad
Then said but that's not love my son
I described her to you because I've touched her, felt her
You see my son I love her
My greatest gift was to be blind
Because I know her
See beyond the physical
I know her
I can dream up the perfect woman and she probably won't even come close to her
I can tell her emotions when she speaks
I don't need to see her cry
I understand when she's sick
I know how she feels by the fragrance of her skin
I just don't hear her I listen too
Her heart beat when I'm close
Her heart beat when I'm gone
That there my son is love
I don't need vision
This right here is my beautiful wife
"This stop is 191 st street" the conductor announced
He stood and she followed
He held her hand with love
Far from a strong grip, he didn't depend on her to see
All day in mind the story resides
How much I wish I was blind
Porcelain skin,
white with rosy cheeks.
Lips sewn shut,
concealing her shrieks.
Knotted hair,
with pink pretty bows.
Smiling mouth,
lips red as a rose.
Eyes open,
staring at blank space.
Pretty dresses,
covered all in lace.
Broken teacups,
will soon fall apart.
Never revealing,
her lack of a heart.
Perfect girl,
with an alluring complexion.
Fails to see,
her and her reflection.
Flawless,
you can’t see her cracks.
Scarred,
only seeing whites and blacks.
Collecting dust,
sitting on a shelf.
Contemplating,
life itself.
A poem I wrote for school, let me know if you like it? I also don't know what to put as a title so feedback on that would be helpful (:
i lost you.

well, i haven't lost you yet,
but i am losing you,
in this game of tug of war
between me and
late night papers
new friends,
fully booked calendars,
miles of road between us,
and nights of isolation.

i'm losing you, but i believe
that you cannot lose
what you've never had.
so am i really losing you
because i'm not sure
if i ever even had you.
oh, the idea of ownership
is such an obscure one.

a good friend once told me
that drifting away
from someone
is just a sign from God
that you've learned
all you can learn
from that person.
in that case
i dream to never stop learning
from you.


whenever i remember
that time when
the rays of the sun
hit you in a way
that emphasized
how you are golden,
i will keep in mind
that you truly are golden.
gold does not rust nor tarnish,
and so you
will not as well.

when these moments
will become just memories,
and the sands of time
will bury what we have,
i just want you to know
that you will live on
in my dreams
and whenever
i  visit museums,
draw on walls,
pass by thrift shops,
tune my guitar,
read poetry,
and get caught in traffic.
i will look back into the
treasures of my memory
remembering you,
as my sweetest one.
this poem is kind of a compilation about conversations i've had with friends about losing friends awh and it's also about friends awh awh friends
we are
a rough draft
covered in eraser dust
and pencil shavings.

you and i
are an exciting almost
and a thrilling what if
with so much potential
yet sketched
with so much
uncertainty.

probably one day
when the time is right
and we both have worked
towards being
the best versions
of ourselves
the marks we make
will remain
permanent.

but until then,
my hands tremble
as i think about
inking in
the light outlines
left by lead,
for i might ruin
our perfect maybe.
i am thunder, and my cries are ear-splitting
because she will always be your lightning.
but then don't feel bad becayse we're all #1 in Jesus' heart wahahaha
laslas lengthwise.
tusok tusok sa eyes.
lunok ng bubog
at buong itlog.
apak sa apoy.
utot ay iamoy.
huwag lang mabasag
and puso kong duwag.
hashtagz hug0tz hashtagz br0k3nheartz spoken werd pwetry
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