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as we sat there in the theatre
i watched him build so many walls
to stop me from entering
in the dark
funny what we notice when we observe a little
Bhavani Jun 11
my heart beat faster
as we approached the entrance
what is happening

well it was happening
after years of painting
pictures in my head

I turned to you
for words of reassurance
and warmth

it was too much
the attention, sounds and people
I was panicking

you didn’t say much
but your body language did
it calmed me slightly

it oddly helped me
to focus on the present
and block out those thoughts.
Millie May 6
Her unasked questions fill the room
We stumble around a conversation
But our eyes lock
They’re asking what her lips are too afraid to form
Mystic Ink Plus Sep 2018
When it’s about grace

I remember you
For the vocabulary stock
Genre: Experimental
Theme: Inspiring Icon
Elysia Veildorn Oct 2017
There’s a wildness within his eyes that sparks a fire inside my soul.
Passion, desire and the bitter taste of lust float through the air as pheromones,
Creating a bridge between us and linking us together.
This visceral feeling acts almost like a drug, pulling me under and clouding my senses.
It’s a primal game we play. We test ATTRACTion by creating friction with our bodies.
And are frightened by the REACTion we feel, finding out that love, as a catalyst, knows no bounds of race, gender, religion, philosophy or age.
That, in the end, we’re all just human and to love is what makes us so.
And there’s no error in that.
This was my submission piece to HePo. Hope you like it. Feedback is warmly welcomed.
I could stare into those eyes forever, but we only had that night.
I could wake up to them every morning, but the timing of our love wasn't right.

I could put his prolonged gaze on repeat for it made me feel as if no one in the room mattered but me. Just that look spoke to me and told of how he felt the same way.

When he held my hand, it's like it all came together. The moment we had been waiting for finally arrived, allowing the tension to subside. We didn't need words to communicate how we felt, for a single squeeze of his hand told me everything else.

We were so comfortable in each other's hold, and his warmth made me feel at home. I was vulnerable, but he was strong and his company made me feel calm. I wish I could relive that night for it made me feel so loved and filled in the missing piece of a heart that was so used to being alone.  

Oh! How I knew he would have loved me in the most beautiful way, but I wasn't good enough for him and he lived so far away. I wish I could've put life on pause just to enjoy his company a little bit longer, but I only had that night to stare into his hazel eyes one last time.
Interesting how sometimes we don't even need words to communicate how we feel. Been editing this poem a lot and maybe one day I'll be able to officially let go of the poem and the person it is about.
Vanessa Grace Sep 2015
Because I am terrible at using my words,
I often intervene with body language.
But I will never be able to say through an embrace
"I love you,"
"don't leave me,"
“won't you please stay?”
if all you do is continuously silence me
each time you pull away.

Actions do have the tendency to speak louder than words.
Lindsay Thomas Sep 2015
Dear Body,
One day we'll learn to love each day someone will love Us, too. I won't wait around forever, so let's get on this-- me and you.
One day we'll be perfect, looking exactly as we do now. One day we'll see our stretch marks and think "holy wow, what a battle". One day we'll respect ourselves, and we'll learn to love in loss. The more we lose, the more we win because we still have each other in the end.
Dearest Body, we are beautiful. No matter what we endure. Cracks and crevices, bumps and scars...emotional damage; the mental scars.
I love you for you, and one day we'll see that. We're beautiful and capable, and we've been breathing all this time. We're alive. We've done it, and we can do even more.
Samuel Fox Jun 2015
I can taste the kiss of last night’s rain,
its touch so gentle, as if my body
were a pond rippling from drizzle.

We humans have a language
we choose not to speak,
a brimming tower of gestures meaning

nothing, at least, until we say them.
Hands that float like foreign syllables,
twitching legs that jitter in time

to the anxiety of others’ conversations.
Posture can hold an argument of its own
the way it makes us sturdy as bronze.

In this darkness, I shake my silence
like a bad dream. I want to be honest.
I want to be a silver thread sown

into this patchwork quilt world. The rain
whispers yes. It says let me kiss you
so that your lips feel like they’re dancing.
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