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 Mar 2020 π— 
del
poetry.
 Mar 2020 π— 
del
mediocre and
faded
the average poem
no longer strikes chords
in the heart's harp
use extravagant vocabulary
weave your words tight
until they seem uncomfortable
the original meaning lost
between the claustrophobic corners
covered in lace and pretentious boasting
try but don't try so hard
that no one but the classic readers
would be able to understand
the words you've worked so hard to convey
do not force a poem out
or it will stick your fingers and
it will create a mess
similar to a teenage boy
it will be long and uncomfortable with itself
unknowing of how to adjust
into this thing that is supposed to be
mature now despite wanting to be simple
do not rush poetry
find quiet inspiration
in silent observations
of yourself, of nature
rushing poetry makes it fast
too many unfilled thoughts
racing around in one space
not meeting each other
despite being so close together
tell a story with imagery
with delicate words of morality
tell a story with flashbacks
with soft lips and with stained shirts
tell a story with love
make your poems with care
 Mar 2020 π— 
Alec
What if you loved someone who was
Across oceans and seas
As far away as far can be.

Would you still be able to write them prose?
If you can’t touch their fingers or toes or nose?

If you had to describe yourself
To someone you’ve never met,
And may very well never meet,
Could you be honest about what you see?

Would you give an accurate description
Or end up writing a piece of fiction?

Would you send the photo of you dressed to your best?
Or the one after you’ve finished a difficult test?

Would you feel obligated to impress
Or figure that your worst is probably also your best.

Could you be honest with who you are?
Because they live so very very far?
Just a little drabble i wrote after contemplating some things.
please know that I love you more than the stars, the sun, and the skies could hold.

but I don't know how to fix something without damaging it the process.

you are fragile, and my hands have unintentionally fractured you countless times. I know this, even though you've never explicitly told me.

I dance on eggshells around you: I am atlas, pirouetting across an empire of thin ice, just so I don't mar you with my words.

swallowing conversations and feelings is a talent we both possess. to spare the pain of the other, we dampen the truth. we drink the fires of resentment and leave them to ferment.

I cannot fix this without potentially damaging it further.

I'm a storm with skin. my collateral damage knows no bounds, spares no mercy. you know this. but hear me, and heed me closely.

I don't paint you as the villain. you aren't the martyr. we are equally responsible for this damage and decay. the rot of something once beautiful.

yet I cannot fix something without causing further damage.

we are a two way street. growth of beauty cannot flourish in stagnation.

please, do not test the limits of my volatility. I cannot mend the tatters of thirteen years with a single spool of thread.

I refuse to swallow fermented resentment. I walk on eggshells carrying mountains for you no more.

this tapestry will end in one of two ways: opulent splendor, or devoured by living flames.

I cannot fix something without destroying it in the process.
February 25th, 2018

I cannot bear to lose you, but I cannot journey this voyage across the empire of eggshells with the universe on my back for you any longer.

please don't push me to throw thirteen years of friendship to the fires of the abyss.

didn't anyone tell you that I am named after the Durga Kali for a reason. ?

Β© kalica calliope
 Mar 2020 π— 
N
Loveless
 Mar 2020 π— 
N
She was named after love,
and letters were exchanged
between lovers in her name

Poets found their muse
when she visited their hearts
and I was one of them

But my love never
reached her heart
like hers did mine

And so she left,
when my stubborn heart was
aching to be laced with hers

She left,
and my eyes were searching,
yearning for her

Dear Heyam,
I swear on love letters
and you
For it is the last poem
I write about you
The name Heyam -Ω‡ΩŠΨ§Ω…- means ardent love in Arabic, that was my lover’s name. She’s the ex I’m always writing about, and I pray to Aphrodite that this is the last poem I write for her.
 Jan 2020 π— 
Alexander
I ripped my heart out
then put it onΒ your silver platter
and all you can say is
β€œ I’ll text you later .”
I guess this is how heartbreak goes for some people.
 Jan 2020 π— 
Carlo C Gomez
The sun has come and gone
The moon eclipsed
The wind has run away
The sea receded

How many opportunities
Have been lost
Because of waiting for
'The right moment'
hi my name is broken and
i once caught my father using all his teeth hands lip and tongue on a woman that was not his own
outside my bedroom window,
i spent the night trying to convince myself that
love is real love is real love is real
because after that i wasn’t ever really sure.

hi my name is survivor and
i was once a punching bag for my stepfathers anger and houses in the country will forever terrify me
all because of a random man and his prying fingers and his sticky gum,
and then there’s this third set of bones and dark flesh that made me so afraid of my own skin i had to tell myself
i am beautiful i am beautiful i am beautiful
because hate and death wasn’t my only option.

hi my name is butterfly and
i once broke every bone in my body falling so hard for a girl with the loveliest voice i’ve ever heard but she had other bodies underneath her
thick brown belt
she wouldn’t let herself feel all the things i felt,
i spent thanksgiving in a mental hospital chanting over and over
i am lovable i am lovable i am lovable
because without even trying, she had managed to convince me that i wasn’t.

hi my name is destroyer and
i chose water over blood because blood burned and drowned and buried me ten feet down all at the same time and i didn’t want to die because of them
anymore
i split in half all the walls and windows and doors to my home,
i needed to do and be what was best for me so i told myself again and again
i’m not alone i’m not alone i’m not alone
because all i felt was the aftermath of being the very thing that broke up my home.

hi my name is lover and
i tend to give too much of me way too quickly because i don't fall in love, i dive with feet facing the sky, head towards the concrete
and i wonder how i end up being so broken and incomplete
so i wound up all the glue and all the tape,
i muttered over and over in between each breath
fate isn't fake fate isn't fake fate isn't fake
because my heart always seemed to pound a few beats behind, a few beats too late.

hi my name is suicide and
i stepped in front of trains and bullets and knives and i hate yous and you’re nothings all looking for a father that
never really wanted me
he broke my throne, i cut more than just my hair, i no longer want to be here,
and i screamed at the top of my lungs because
it’s worth it it’s worth it it’s worth it
it just doesn’t feel like it anymore.
it's been such a long time, i don't feel the same.
 Oct 2019 π— 
Triste
Pillar
 Oct 2019 π— 
Triste
I have carved your name
On every bone that lines
Beneath my skin
And darling, I am at peace.
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