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Sep 2019 · 71
She is beautiful
Charmaine Sep 2019
When I said she is beautiful I meant
Her heart is made of gold
Her eyes diamond always reflecting light
Her smile is made of pearls
Her words are incorruptible seeds
Her presence is a spring of life
You'd kiss her shadow

Although I compare her to treasures i've seen with my naked eye, her worth goes beyond the horizons
And when her body rests in deep sleep, her beauty will remain imprinted on everything her presence touched

She is I and I am her.
Jul 2019 · 83
Your clumsy hands
Charmaine Jul 2019
I always knew there was something more to your hands
More than your gentle touch
And your harsh grab

How they touched everything
And held nothing

Now look at what they've done to you
Poured more than they should've
Poured just enough to have you choke on your own breath

Only Heaven knows
How long that minute lasted
How it felt to have your body wage war against itself

I always knew there was more to your hands
But never have I imagined that they would today dig 6feet of ground
For you to lie in


Desperate to fly
You got high
Until you flew out of this life
And now there's no return
You're never liked the lows anyway
Jun 2019 · 68
Dear poet
Charmaine Jun 2019
I loved the nakedness your tongue left after dancing
At times I could smell the stench in your words
And I wondered how it felt to be the one that bears the aftertaste
Or if you could taste them too
Most times your emotions were so visible
And I wondered if you really had to feel that
If every word had to be said with so much intent
That even your mistakes don’t leave any dent
Jun 2019 · 94
Perfect
Charmaine Jun 2019
From the one whose hair was not polished
“If only we had no hair we’d be perfect”
From the one whose face was not pretty enough
“If only we had no faces we’d be perfect”
From the one who was killed because of his skin colour
“If only we had no skin we’d be perfect”
From the one who was too fat or thin
“If only we had no flesh we’d be perfect"
From the one who was too tall or not tall enough
“If only we had no bones we’d be perfect”

How many layers of ourselves will we rip to fit into being perfect, whatever that means, whatever that is, if ever it is?

— The End —