alex 10h

when a boy shows you his hands
bare except for the dust
he’s begging you to look past
take them in yours.
squeeze them once.
say without speaking
that you understand that the valleys
in his palms were meant to cradle
shooting star wishes
that he’s allowed to still hope for.
when a boy shows you his eyes
of milk and crimson and melanin
a bloodshot vein for every night he can’t sleep
let him shut his eyelids.
say without speaking
that you understand that the black hole pinpricks
of his irises hold more than the universe
should allow.
when a boy shows you his soul
shivering but still working toward friction
iced over but still working toward melting
let him come to rest next to yours.
say without speaking
that you understand that he is lonely
and that his silence speaks volumes
and that you kept his treasure close
because you love him.
when a boy shows you his hands
show him your hands.
when a boy shows you his eyes
show him your eyes.
when a boy shows you his soul
show him that
this is a comfortable place to rest it.
when a boy shows you the hardness that shaped him
show him the softness
that you have in store.

Jane Most 10h

I keep telling people who ask,
I'm the best I've ever been!
But if that's so true
Why am I still crying every night because I miss my brothers
Or blame myself for the divorce
Or regret liking this boy because even though we've kissed a lot, I don't think he likes me
Yet I'm happy?
I have a job,
Family with structure,
A school with great grades on my scripts
But I can't trust anyone or see where I fit
I'm so lost in a little city
But don't worry big city 'friends,' I'm great!

I don't regret moving so far away but who was I to think I would become someone starting as an empty shell

How do I begin to explain to you how much you mean to me?

How do I start to tell you how you make me feel?

Or the amount of potential I see in you? In us?

When you don't even see it yourself.

I could tell you..

how much of a caring person you are,
how intelligent you are while still trying to hide it at times,
how selfless you can be,
how your face lights up when you talk about your parents,
how passionate you are about the things going on in the world around us,
how good of a listener you are,
how your humor brightens up my day,

You see, I could tell you all of these things, but I still don't think you'd understand just how worthy you are of the good things in life.

What you could give me, and have been giving me, is exactly what I need, what I deserve. So for you to tell me that I deserve better just baffles me.

Nobody is perfect, and I'm not saying that you are. But, I am saying that I'm here because I want to be. And I want to be because of the person you are, and how you make me feel.

I want to help you fight the demons in your head, the ones that tell you you're less than anything but whole.

I want you to help me with my demons, the ones that tell me I'm damaged and not deserving of love.

I want to take the risk of hurt, because it's worth it to me.

and I want you to want to, as well.

He reminds me of a mandarin orange,
easy to hold and easy to peel
with a slightly rough yet firm exterior;
sensitive to the cold.

His character is that of the sweet flesh
like his gentle words and actions;
with sour tangs that emerge on rare occasions
like a nudge of loneliness from being homesick.

But his mind and soul are the little seeds buried
deep within the depths of his eyes and his heart:
he stays rooted despite in drought; persevered
and grown to enjoy the fruit of his labor.

There is something about the mandarin and its layers
which bring me much more than luck,
love, and even life.
All of it—he—brings me home.

I used to eat a lot of mandarin oranges back when I was growing up in Singapore where the fruit symbolizes luck.
Mandarin orange in chinese is juzi.

About and for wjh, ni shi wo de juzi.

sophia 2d

my love was like a delicate rose
that blossomed so purely
during the summer solstice.
you’d spot it so easily in any garden,
that you’d think it was ordinary.
as the days went by,
it grew more and more
unlike every other that loses petals quickly
even before the sun rises.
its blossoming red coloured petals
never flinched, nor dropped,
not even an inch.
every year it blooms beautifully
just like the both of us,
you are my summer rose.

Hung from spine smells rotten pain my darling’s blood. Trembling heart the sound of breath taxes this sweet morsel who loves be called ‘April’.
Deviant fluttering glide sinning pair of wings glittered in black musk seeping through lavender gardens into cannibals’ spicy paste.
Stich sullen bleak-laced chords out of the burned set of rusty folds unsung.
Unscrew the pain’s yacht on her silk raided arms and let a bleeding mad world see her drowned in remnants of a shattered heaven gouched out of my April’s once colorful beating flesh.

Though a beautiful mess is how I see her for she is the wetness of eyes on rainy days that remind me of the petrichor in her lost eyes- the first and the last time our eyes ever met the boundaries of a mirror dying, for a closure in oblivion - a grave that is my life.

There was a boy,
Who was waiting
For love
He died
People blamed him
I blame the lover.

Its just pyramid sorta thing. Idk if i can call this a poem

Poor kid tho :'(

oh the boy in yellow
little fragile fellow
dancing on top of the seats
of an empty music theater

he yearns to twirl on stage
and destroy the bars of his cage
voice so loud of joy today
he sang his heart away.

This is for the dreamers.

I’ve never looked out
and saw a man
who looked like all he wanted was affection
I’ve never looked out and saw
a heart I thought I might enjoy
but eventually break
because I think I need more than affection
I need a twin
a friend
a thousand times before I need a lover
That kid is beautiful
But he’s not calling me higher

Once I loved an Irish lad,
beauty in overwhelming purity.
More northern than I,
and loved with the strength
of one thousand mountains.
The grassy mounds
of his affection
was where I spent six months at a time.

They all called him common,
my strapping Irish boy,
but from the exclusion of wealth
comes wealth enough.
The ultimate higher love.

-My Belfast lover drawn into the world
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