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  Jul 2017 Pat
fairyenby
I wish I were permanently drunk and I wish I didn't wish that.
I wish I were permanently hair flying mouth smiling loud talking proud walking drunk
in the middle of the day
replace the need to say
I'm sorry I mean thank you I mean please don't hate me I mean you can hate me but tell me if you hate me don't pretend to be my friend and
I wish I were permanently drunk without the drink
without the sharp taste that hits the back of my throat like the anxiety which comes with showing that I care
without the down it if you dare
without the fall without the crawl without the fumbling in stalls
I think you might have gotten the idea by now but just incase I'll tell you anyway
when I say
I wish I were permanently drunk
I mean
I wish I were permanently in love with myself.
I wish I were hands on hips and mouth on lips and a full chest and my absolute best
and
I wish I could move down a corridor without wincing
wish I could speak without convincing
myself and you and her and him and them
to stay.
I wish I were okay.
what did I just say?
I'm fine.
Ok but this poem was not supposed to rhyme.
I wish I were permanently drunk
or
rather
I wish I saw myself the way I stare at forests of green
I wish I could make myself beam
rather it is
the ******* the bus with the really pretty eyes
and
the poets with their words and their desperate tiny cries
and
I wish I looked at myself and saw sunflowers blooming from the broken parts of my chest
and
I wish I would just stop for a moment and rest
and
I wish I were permanently drunk
in the middle of the day
on nothing but self love and self esteem and self self self
scream it like I'm standing on the edge of a pier for the whole world to hear
I wish I could stop apologising for my existence
well, you know, the universe would shout back,
you'll get there.
It might just take a little persistence.
an attempt at slam poetry
an attempt at self love
(neither of which I know how to do)

An old one I'm not too sure about anymore but what the hell x

Jan 2016
  Jul 2017 Pat
Hiba Mohammed Sobh
She was a shy, sensitive young woman with smaller hands and lean, long fingers that beautifully graced the pencil as she wrote poetry, or rather, the whispers of her heart within a small leather notebook, whenever she became curious, the dark, lustrous brown eyes would glimmer in fascination as the entire world would become you, she was not particularly beautiful though her heart was pure, remaining hidden through her poetic worlds as though listening to classical music, the streams of violins are the winds tousling her midnight hair as a dreamer of the night, her quiet demeanor and depth in thought hide her way in understanding and shaping a person or only musing about the simple beauty of the moment, she would see the stars while everyone walked past them and appreciate what others could not see at first glance, as the light once hidden among the leaves she was noticed by the one who had came closer, while placing her palm on her fair face when thick in listening, the painted portrait of the female poet always held her cup of warm tea, content in her recluse until there was a gaze upon her, opening a glimpse into her soul.
Note: A newly updated version of the poem
  Jul 2017 Pat
Raven
You
Ashes cascade from my lips
They form monuments
You are unreachable
Closed off in your glass case
Pity starts a fire
Lust eats me away
My bones ache
I build a city around myself
Reaching
You smile, tears seeping from every crevice
My heart is consumed, digested
I am left in darkness
Alone
  Jul 2017 Pat
Lakshmi
A connection, a spark,
light in the dark;
lust into love,
as pure as the angels above;
both so young, both so dumb,
just the two of them was their sum;
they felt the world move as they moved,
everything intertwined in just their groove;
so madly in love, as if the world was only filled with those two,
both went hand in hand together, like a toolbox and the screws;
but then, both did things they said they wouldn't do,
and soon they realised it was no longer them two;
they realised in fact 'the world does not revolve around us',
and they were just two teenagers who were once in ocean deep love;
and as the days had passed, they had spoken less and less,
both did things to ease away the stress;
and now, they would hardly speak at all,
ironic for two who once stood so tall;
and all they have now are memories so fond,
of the love they had for each other, once so strong;
and now in their hearts, the memories remain deep,
for every once in a while, there would be a tear or a weep;
funny how life pans out,
yet time keeps moving forward, without a doubt...
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