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These dead stares across the shopping mall
Wouldn't I care if I could have them all
Fingerpainting these eyes
**** photos: camera shutter sighs

But her breath is morse code
And my words are falling
Her dial tone dilates
As her moans are calling

She fell in love with a filter
And I fell in love with someone's daughter
We took pictures in the summer time
And she threw them into the water

When she lies, her cheeks flush
She swears that she doesn't care much,
as she sits in her underwear
with a light grin and a heavy heart.

She felt her pulse by the bed light
She was sad that she was alright
I watched her paint her dad on fire
while holding infant her.

I heard the window shatter
She never said what was the matter
I found her on the driveway,
broken like a family picture frame
There's a pleasure in pain...
And most of it lies in not recognising that pleasure.
we've been fighting over the same things for thousands of years
religion, money, power, land
things that keep us separate
things that keep us fighting

keeping us in the dark

shouldn't we have realized by now
that categorizing humans stagnates progression

because when you're blinded by

ego
hate
ignorance

"differences"

how will you know which direction is forward?

What makes us different
can not compare
to reasons we're the same.

we're the same, don't they understand?

'they' love
we love

'they' pretend salt water has never flooded their eyes
and us,
well, we pretend too.

And though we have yet to see their tears,
and they have yet to notice ours

the blind can still feel
the blind can still listen
the blind can still hope
the blind can still pretend

Pretending we don't all shut our eyes every night,
hoping things will be alright.

hoping blindly
they/us/we
will open our eyes tomorrow

and stop fighting those who love and cry like us.
Realize how alike we humans are.
A single last scarlet autumn leaf, still clinging to the branch despite knowing that winter is coming. Maybe doomed, but a noble thing to do with its last moments of existence. To stay by the side of the tree through the cold when it is almost entirely bare. A spark of hope.

A single last petal left on a plucked daisy, he loves me. Maybe not true but a delicate type of fragile beauty. A single silken pure white petal. A spark of hope.

A single last person by the bedside of a stranger on their deathbed. Holding the hands of the terminal patient as life fades out of their body like blowing out a candle. A spark of hope.

It only takes a single last spark of hope.

Repost if someone has been YOUR single last spark of hope. Or if you just really like to repost stuff, then you go on and feel free to do that! I fully support that! ;P
Please comment! I love to read interpretations of my poetry or your thoughts on my work or on poetry itself as an art! :)
Repost if someone has been YOUR single last spark of hope. Or if you just really like to repost stuff, then you go on and feel free to do that! I fully support that! ;P
Please comment! I love to read interpretations of my poetry or your thoughts on my work or on poetry itself as an art! :)
If you are uncomfortable when you look in the mirror,
keep in mind:
We spent thousands of years
trying to convince the earth
she was flat.

We wrote her maps as evidence of the things we saw;
and she believed them.
She cried tsunamis, and had earthquake breakdowns.

Keep in mind: the Sun never gave up hope.
The earth will keep spinning and breathing
the star-dusty space void of encouragement.

Next time you look in the mirror
and second-guess your potential divinity,
remember you will keep shining and living.

Because the Sun is out there
believing in you,
compensating for lack of the human capacity
to treat each other empathically.

You don’t need proof or approval
to be exactly what you are;
Eventually everyone will see
your infinite beauty.
~
I don't want to have time to be angry
I understand how possible it is to have better things on my mind
I usually do have better things on my mind
I just have no one to discuss them with
I have no one to embrace them with
I know it's not worth my time to be angry
We're being reckless.
Giving into temptation.
Your lips are magnetic.
Forcing mine upon yours.
Your touch is sweet.
Delicate even.
City lights shine for us.
Symbolising the spark we have.
Connection.
Desire.
Emotions.
Is this love?
Maybe.
It's the reckless kind.
The one that tears your heart out.
And leaves you breathless.
And speechless.
So conflicted.
We have 8 days.
So much could happen.
We should stop.
But being careful never enticed me.
So let's be reckless.
Let's kiss the way we did by the water.
Let's hold each other until we are one.
Let's love.
Everything about us is reckless.
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