daisy’s spread out in a vast field
twirling as the wind whips their blossoms
salty lips and caramel hips
dips and tricks
picking up the flowers that fill the ground with
color
laughs in Flagstaff
sidesteps and triceps
gracefully holding sweaty hands
in fields that only flowers inhabit
liberated limbs in little lands
with boundless promises
sway with arms on shoulders
hands on slim waists
spreading fake wings while lying in the yellow
field
smelling the scents, but with no allergies
spinning until floating
two in one without knowing
falling into enchanting spells
flower field remaining sweet
while kissing is faintly heard in the brisk
night air

oh, what a magnificent thing is to be in love

Am I still alive when my feelings died?
Yes I died before and you never knew where I was buried
So today I will tell you more and you will know me more
I will tell you about my feelings
But the truth is true when you know all of them
You will receive that I am still waiting to die
With all of the feelings that growing up in my heart day by day
If I speak to you, will you listen?
If I tell you, will you feel like I am a liar?
So let me die at this moment I tell the truth
That I am still alive, and my feelings died,
but I am not heartbroken

What is being alive?
If not to grow
and I choose to grow
with you

Dear stranger: it's no secret
that times have been hard for everyone.
But you're not everyone, are you?
Maybe you lost someone.
Maybe you lost yourself.
Maybe you've been asked to do more
than you signed up for. Whatever's going on,
I know it may seem like you're losing control. Like you don't have a choice.
However this poem finds you,
I hope you come to find that you DO
have a chance to have a choice.
A chance to raise your voice.
I hope that someday, you accept
that you are worthy of love.
That you stop feeling guilty you survived.
But most of all, I hope that someday,
you wake up and find yourself grateful and happy to be alive

I used to write proses unbothered by rules,
Poems with no assurance of being read,
Words just written to be free.

Now am I one of fools?
Fearing what comes out of my head?
Afraid of what others see?

Is this the curse of technicality?
Of knowing more about reality?
Bluff is that age comes with clarity.

Here is my **** to hell I send,
Existing is tiring year by year,
Is there anything more to feel?

I am far from the end.
But I wish I am near.
I have nothing time can steal.

When you see something truly
beautiful, time becomes one infinite
moment infracted in a million
particles of light within your eyes
In the beauty of silence, you feel and
hear everything come alive, when
you see the smallest details come alive as
delicate, blooming flowers opening for
the awakened heart opening itself for the once
unseen, tonight, a little miracle happened,
I looked up and i asked
within my mind, "oh night,
why is it i cannot see a light
in your dark sea?" then,
suddenly a star appeared
before my eyes, and the soul
within me allows it’s
windows to open so the
light could shine through.

Pen in my hand
The ink became red
Poetry isn’t dead
It’s still lives  
Inside my Chest  

-Özcan.Sh