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Dear Nithya, wish you the happiest birthday
Your smile keeps anxiety at bay
A gem of a human
And born to shine!

Dear Nithya, wish you the happiest birthday
May you have a glorious day
One of my dearest cousin sisters
And the modern definition of happiness!!

Dear Nithya, wish you the happiest birthday
May you and Akash dance away
Endlessly into the night
And show your might
As a power couple
Impressing one and all!!

Dear Nithya, wish you the happiest birthday
May a lot of success come your way
May you travel many a place
And handle all sorts of situations
With grace and composure
So, have fun and take care
May the Almighty fulfil many a deep desire!!
Poem dedicated to the birthday girl Nithya - a close cousin of mine in USA.
Nikita 5d
Saying too much
Doing too little

Looking into his eyes
Left your bones brittle

Known them one moon cycle
What the hell are you doing

You crave his attention
He's not a steak or pudding

Starve yourself
It's the only way

To rid yourself of an
I love you

Straight away
Codependency and validation aren't sustainable. Pull yourself up and take care of yourself
Sauntering


How does one go about writing 
a lovely poem, one that does not have lines
like comparing her eyes to a crying 
Morning rose alone all night in the garden

I like olives, not the plant that is, rather
boring, but it's fruit, in a jar with the pips
taken out and free of bother, going through
pages finding a word that fits with olive

I wrote a poem themed on Oedipus,
But the site that prides itself on publishing
Everything, you can find the poem unless
You are prepared to look to dawn.

Let me say something trite: I'm happy 
to have a roof over my head, but if the
The roof is not yours, one has to side with 
those in power of the day.
I sent you a few too many messages.

Knowing **** well you were offline,
Just hoping you're doing fine.

You didn't even send me a ******* postcard.

Or I don't know,
Maybe the post is just really slow?
You promised to text when you had a moment.
Laura 6d
There is a constant cry, from many.
When  cups, run dry and they are empty.
Fill me.
Fill me.
Is a silent plea, as trials are many.
Fears seemed to overflow,as unto a river.
So there is a constant cry from many.
As the cry goes out
Fill me.
Fill me.
Until I overflow,
Pho 6d
we drift
ghosts of glass and shadow,  
fragile as the moon’s last sigh.
I did the scary thing—
the thing I swore I couldn’t do.
The memories,
locked in my skull,
screamed ****** threats,
seared my skin
each time they dared
to be remembered,
spoken,
or written down.

But now—
now, now—
I did the scary thing.

I laid on paper
the story that hollowed me,
that clawed from the inside out,
scratching and screaming
at the walls of my mind,
pressing a knife to my skull each day,
reminding me of things
I wished were never true.

I did the scary thing—
the thing I could never do before.
I told my story to paper,
to the silent, waiting
record keeper.
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