“Strawberry Moon”

I fell in love deeply once, and after that, I dated, but nothing feels like it again, not the clouds, not the moon. I wish that were the case, in a grocery store across from a risk of seeing each other randomly in our hometown, but that's exactly the rarity of things like that.

I lift my hand

Slowly.

The creases of my hands become rivers

Water droplets cascade past my wrist

They descend beyond my pulse where my dreams sleep

Wishes swathe their hands around my neck;

I swear in this light they look like pearls.

Help is what i keep needing and help is what i keep refusing

Why couldn't i get it when i first needed it

I don’t know

I cannot have something i never tasted for dinner

Help... help... my desire... my nightmare

To be helpless when i've already been helpless enough.

I refuse to take pleasure

In the pain

They call the measure

Of one's worth.

just accepting peace would bring joy to the world around me. However the world around me is in constant conflict, what should i do? even if i accept peace the world is going to be the same

Attraction up close

I don’t see

Sexy in front of me

And if I do

I’ll write a poem about it

I refuse to indulge in the pleasure of dying as my lungs continue to collapse beneath the weight of my ivory ribs. My heart is swollen with sorrow but it keeps on beating, my blood maybe overflow as my lungs fill with liquid but I keep on breathing.

The gift of death is not one that I will take, I will cling on to my life as my suffering clings to me.

The pleasure of a real smile. One that reaches the eyes.

The pleasure of walking away...for good.

Rest waits for me like an old friend at the door,

I keep walking past.

I tell myself I'm not finished building who I'm meant to be there are still cracks to mend,

dreams to chase, and pieces to mold.

So I trade peace for progress. Yet the truth lingers quietly:

perhaps I don't need to be complete to deserve rest.

Perhaps the unfinished version of me is worthy of stillness, too.

When I think of you

I think I’m Eve

You’re the prettiest fruit

But you and I together isn’t a hoot

If I pick you, you’ll be in the dirt

Just because of everyone’s hurt

They’ll say it’s fine

But their eyes make the pretty apple

Taste like pine

So I’ll trust gravity

Hoping my sweet tooth

Doesn’t get a cavity

So far, I tend not to touch you like I want

pleasure of a moment, where things are in form of storm in a bright day

Going out.

Such a simple thing,

yet my feet hesitate at the doorway

as though freedom requires permission.

I have been caged at home for so long

that being outside feels suspicious,

like I am breaking an unwritten rule,

like joy has consequences

and happiness always sends a bill later.

Staying out too long frightens me too.

The sun begins to set

and guilt starts checking its watch.

A voice I cannot name whispers,

you've been gone long enough.

IDK hi

.

.

.

.

A pleasure to be kissed .

What pleasure am I still refusing to take? Laughing too loud, making my own mistakes? Posting that selfie, dancing in my room, letting my real self actually bloom? I hold back sometimes, worried about what they’ll say, but maybe it’s time to just live my own way. Today I’ll be bold, no filter, just me, chasing the joys I want to set free.

Love, not trying to be corny i just have a huge fear of commitment :')

Ones pleasures change as one matures in years!

The pleasure to being loved. The pleasure of being myself with them and holding their hands freely even if the world says "no", the pleasure of being with one another even if the distance becomes further, but bridging us together, the pleasure of longing, where they are willing to break down my walls no matter how hard I build myself back up, the pleasure of knowing that someone does still know and understand me despite the rumors and talks on my name.

- Cam

The feeling to be completely loved in the cone of their presence. Then you finally come home with limp limbs and hickey’s on your neck. You stare at the ceiling and wonder; how long will this last? Then you wake up the next morning, all drowsy, your hair in your eyes, your mascara is smudged to your jaw, yet your door is making noise, you have to let the love in, but then the door will be closed eventually. Home will be quiet again, there will be less dishes in the sink, no flowers in a vase.

the pleasure of his strong arms wrapped aroud me,

one I must forget about.

He was never mine, and that's final;

I hope I was sweet enough to you.

Why do I push away

When all you want is to devour me

I let myself ripen a bit

Let myself go

Ready to burst

Steady --

don't spoil

The unconditional love that he loathes me in,

The softest touch that he traces on my skin

I want to feel it all without any fears,

But still somehow a guilt lingers near.

For drowning in love like a deep sea,

But giving away just sprinkles sparsely

What poem may I ask is this about