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Rida Aug 2017
no matter how wide you stretch your fingers, your hands will always be too small to catch all the pain you want to heal. believe me, i’ve tried.
Rida May 2013
I never signed up for this
To be that model,
walking down the isle
begging for people to stare,
to promise justice to things outside
my control.

I never asked for the prying eyes
Inquisitive of the depths of my skin
Watching carefully
Picking at my features
Studying my skin.
Judgmental eyes
Lingering a minute to long
Up and down and up.

Their gaze
It picks, picks, picks
Like rubbing a soft scab
Quietly.

I never asked for that.
Rida Aug 2017
Tonight, I raised my hand to my face
to brush away an untamed curl of hair,
and when it slid past my nose, it smelled
suddenly of you. Not your cologne, or
the soap you use, not shampoo or aftershave.
That skinsmell I find tucked into your
neckplace//
I held very still and closed
my eyes, trying to keep whatever particles
of you I managed to steal, until even my
inhale meant losing you. So then I didn’t
breathe at all, just held my hand against my
cheek, and for a moment, felt that it was you //

_

your scent lingers just like you
>leaving
>never coming
[inspo // w.i.p]
Rida Sep 2017
(work in progress)

The first love of my life never saw me naked.
There was always a parent coming home in half an hour,
Always a little brother in the next room.
Always too much body and not enough time for me to show it.

Instead, I gave him my shoulder, my elbow, the bend of my knee.
I lent him my corners, my edges, the parts of me I could afford to offer,
The parts I had long since given up trying to hide.
He never asked for more.

He gave me back his eyelashes, the back of his neck, his palms.
We held each piece we were given like it was a nectarine that could bruise if we weren't careful.
We collected them like we were trying to build an orchard

inspo// w.i.p :-)
Rida Oct 2018
Is there a word for the moment you win tug of war,
when the weight gives and all that extra rope comes tumbling towards you?
How even though you’ve won, you still end up with muddy knees and scratches on your hands? Is there a word for that? I wish there was.

I would’ve said it last night, when we were finally alone together
Strawberry Lemonade Mike-Hards in the hands of heavy hearts.
We finally stopped, we finally fell; the game was over.
We were messy and vulnerable
but for once, we weren't one two sides of a rope.
I hope theres a word for that. I would say it all the time.

— The End —