I feel your shame in me as a dance;
navigating with words to meander past tables hosting hungry bodies, silently. Your vocabulary crops me out of pictures. Your language erases me from the past as it is happening. You speak through me as I stand in front of you.

"Are you ashamed of me?", I'd ask, weeks later when
we haven't talked still.
We haven't talked more.
We haven't talked anymore.

[I'm in a bad way thinking about
pretty girls
&
red lips that say "good bye",
if they say anything at all.]

So some nights we lay on our sides,
and other nights we lay on our backs,
and all the other nights we sleep anxiously.
****.
No, I sleep anxiously

a romance on the beach.
the sea breeze hitting my face.
your kisses tasting salty.
sand massaging my toes
as your arms touch my waist.
your smile brighter than the
orange-ish red sunset
with a tinge of tangerine
& a few other colours i
can’t quite make out.
my hair in my face, your soft & gentle but manly hands pushing it out of my face.
that smile again.
your eyes closed, taking a deep breath
as if you’re trying to smell the essence of my soul.
that slight lean as you push forward.
my giggle as your soft lips touch mine.
our lips moving in unison, rhythmic like two lovers making love.
my ***** thoughts.
your smile again.
my smile as you whisper “you’re mine.”
a romance on the beach.
a girl can only dream…

— @beeyroyce.

Before I swem in subdued clarity
I cried in hollow nights
you were a product of my woes
misunderstood on a daily basis
attracted anxiety to my smiles
feelings got messy
like a home filled with nostalgic happy
you were bitter, and I was sweet
together we built pensiveness.

there are different types of drunk.
i remember the one where i was jumping around and dancing,
oblivious to my suffering.
singing along to song lyrics, having them hypnotize me as the alcohol flowed deeper
into my bloodstream.
it was almost as if i was high but i hadn't touched any ****.
happy, happy, happy, was all i could be.
happy drunk.

then there's the drunk where you're clutching a bottle of alcohol in your hand.
sitting in a corner, with bloodshot eyes.
crying, you're feeling all your suffering all at once.
crying along to sad lyrics, having them accentuate your sadness and
remind you of your depression.
it was almost as if i was cutting but i hadn't touched any razors.
sad, sad, sad, was all i could be.
sad drunk.

you were almost the death of me
the minute you tore my soul into pieces
feed my heart with the spirit of nostalgia

you were almost my meaning of death
driven by restless lust
i ached hungrily for your heart

you came alive in my nightmares
brought void in my bloodstreams
how will i ever feel your love again?

i travelled york of thy love
impulsively quenching myself with it
i had to escape the deeper pool of happy i was swimming in
let me escape ..

as you dip your precious temple
into thy pool of babylon
reminisce over our sacred eternity
where real love only exists

if its as real as we say it is,
i’m unanswered - why is it, long
only for the heat manifested in you
- why so envious of the love in your touch that only you own?

teach me to breathe in thy breath
for i am conscious of your flaws,
feed my heart with your lovin ways,
i enjoy your bittersweet body -
oh, what a walking metaphor thou are**

your heart is a fire i can’t handle
like a vile art
i always pull away from the flame
that is you ..
no, i’m not scared of burning,
i’m just scared of the kind of flame i’ll become.

“O Father, teach me to realize Thy
nearness behind the voice of my prayer. Teach me to breathe Thy
breath in my own breathing.”

I’m swimming in the bed of comfort
where I soul search for clarity,
in the presence of my present woes
it’s in my darkest hours
that I reach out to my third eye
in retrieving my wisdom kindness.
I’m at ease with my mentality;
as I crave intellect rain of thoughts
in the scent of Your spirit.
I recalled Your gift to me,
the gift of giving and being given
it’s in my darkest hours
in the most rarest cold nights
I find a peace of mind.

We are the poets.
We create poetry out of silence.
We are so incredibly good with words.
People often wonder what our hands can do.
People find these fingers incredible.
They watch as these fingers transform simple words into beautiful poetry.
They watch as static thoughts transform into kinetic conversations.

As simple as they are, these words tend to sound like proverbs.
The void that you constantly try to avoid.
We will fill that void with light.
The type of light that constellations hunger for.
These hands transform simple words into beautiful poetry.
The aim is not always to write to impress.
But rather to write to express.
We constantly find light in the darkest of places.
Even constellations envy the light found in our eyes.
With a suitable paint brush, these words can create vivid images of paradise.

Our words create worlds.
Our words create worlds within worlds.
Our words capture moments and paint pictures.
So next time you hear one of us recite, bring a friend and a frame along.

We create poetry out of silence.
We are so incredibly good with words.
People often wonder what our hands can do.
People find these fingers incredible.
They watch as these fingers transform simple words into beautiful poetry.
They watch as static thoughts transform into kinetic conversations.
We are the poets, you should ask the world about us.