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The horror on my face
when I saw your furrowed brows,
concentrated on the object in hand.
The object I gave to you,
knowing you would take care of it.

You look up to me sheepishly,
the look of guilt on your face.
That guilt transferred over to me,
but its power multiplied and strengthened,
into a scribble of black in my chest,
tangled and knotted together
making it harder for me to breathe.

I walked over to you,
hoping that this isn't true
as the knots of black thread began to tangle more,
into a huge knotted ball.

I took what I gave to you,
willing my shaky hands to mend it,
but no use...
The tangle of thread rises,
creeping its way up my throat
to behind my eyes, begging to be released,
to flow down my cheek.
But I resisted, for if I let it loose
then what...?

Yet the ball of thread grows,
somehow producing thorns.
Thorns that pierce my skin,
almost proding from the inside out.

For the object I gave you
was never mine to begin with.
Like you, I was entrusted with it.
Now we both face the same consequences,
of shame,
of guilt,
and the trust we gained
                                               b
                                                      r
       ­                                                      o
        ­                                                       ­       k
                                                        ­      ­                e
                                         ­                                             n  
Now I lie here,
heart trembling,
hand shaking,
beads of sweet falling down my head.
Waiting
for the punishment that I'll receive.

A punishment for something out of my control,
out of yours too.
But I know it's not your fault.

A punishment out of our control.
A punishment out of our control.
A punishment out of our control.
Romantising a minor problem, that's totally fixable,
but just felt really scary at the moment.
The prince pulled her in,
Giving her his famous grin.
The princess stared,
Breathing? she didn't dare.

With a shuffle here,
And a shuffle there,
They twirled around,
Not making a sound.

Time slowed down,
Just the two of them with crowns.
A prince who's a mystery,
With such a history.
A princess in the ball,
Feeling ever so small.

He smiled,
She smiled.
And for once,
It felt like someone finally understood them.
Continuation of my poem: "They Meet!"
Smooth, shining orbs
Beneath my fingers—
Like marble-sized moons;
Small, mysterious, like a small, dazzling smile.

Once someone's treasure,
Now washed upon my shores.
In my hands,
Now in my bag,
Kept away from the Caribbean blue sky,
Salt-chlorine mixed sea,
And the seasoned breeze.

While the mermaids wail
For a piece of them, now gone—
Gone into my bag:
Smooth, damp pearls,
Holding their dearest memories—
No longer theirs to hold.
Khadi Alza Jul 14
Her days
Is her pain.
Did some blackout poetry the other day.
Khadi Alza Jul 11
I wish to be as swift as the wind,
Winning gold in every race I’m in.

Granted!
But everyone expects you to win,
Giving you bricks of pressure with a grin.

I wish to make an endless flow of poems,
That tickles your insides and feels like home.

Granted!
But you are blinded by your talent,
Thinking it’s a rough sounding accent,
While everyone’s mind screams brilliant.

I wish to be as great as my friends,
And having those glittering events
— Like them.

Granted!
But you will never feel like enough,
Wondering if they ever had it tough.

I wish I will achieve my dreams,
Dreams as clean as my seams.

Granted!
But you don’t know that dreams of yours
Until you open the right door.

I wish…
Granted! But…

I wish…
Granted! But…

I wish…
Granted! But…

CAN’T I JUST HAVE MY WISH???
I guess I can’t
  Jul 9 Khadi Alza
Thirty Nine
Memory is a punishment
Forgetting is a crime
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