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I'm just a dreamer under the moon
Etching out lines on a paper, no one knows.
They see me in another world,
Far off, aloof, distant and forlorn.
You look at me, with the eyes of a spectator,
Do I look so funny to you?
Can you see these sad eyes,
Watching you make no difference
As you go on with your taunts
And poorly worded chants?
I'm a dreamer, with a world inside my head
I can create a magic, within.
Then bring it out with just some words.
I am a dreamer, under the moon,
Penchant to writing,
Adding colors and dimensions
To dimly lit corridors,
To green fields that
welcome the morning sun.
Painting darkness and light with
The subtle strokes of my mind.
Sculpturing a woman or a man
Their life, and all their strife.
I am a dreamer, under the moon
The pen, to me, is definitely
*Mightier than the sword.
  Jun 2014 Putri Widma Maghfirah
LN
I hear the cries emanating from your words
Every letter of every sentence is a story
that only your broken heart can tell.

The longing for peace inside
brings chaos within your cracked bones
I hope that honey starts to drip
out of your scars instead of blood.

The thoughts spinning in your mind
now resemble the whorls in outer space
galaxies of decisions to take
follow the path of stars that lie in your heart.

I know how hard it is to open your eyes
face the world
and live behind your insecurities
let your skin jump from excitement
not from fear that causes constriction of yourself.

You haven't failed yourself
when you chose silence over speech
these pens have screamed louder than anything
one day they will hurt those who wounded you
so that the guilt inside
will keep them awake night after night,
I will continue to pray for you.

Soft heart and lips,
skin like pillows
chest a haven for whoever
is privileged enough
to find comfort in it
don't let the harsh days
blister the frame
that holds you, the artwork, together.

Allow these poems to rebuild you
so that you realize that homes out of people
burn faster than gasoline on fire
and that the paradise you crafted
out of your bathroom floor
corners of busy rooms
tears on scratched paper
and wrinkles on your tired forehead
is the one that will revive you forever.

Stay strong.
decorated, concealed
whitewashed, peeled
years of little earthquakes
will shake you

she is framed art hung, unsung
unknown to anyone
jilted, wilted
a still life flower
hanging ever crooked
upon the wall
dedicated to all who struggle with drug addiction, especially to a certain person in my life
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