i came
i saw (you lying there)
i bit my lip in the morning light--

in the moonlight:
i drug you up to my room
i held you down onto my bed
i listened to you beg.

you climbed on top of me
you pressed your lips against mine
you slid your hand between my thighs--

i came.
you saw.
you conquered.
Kaede Mar 2
The long wait is over. The big fish is finally in my hands. It is not really something worth for a cry but it isn't also something worth for laughter. It is something that brings peace in my mind, a moment of solitude. That big fish is an acceptance - a reality. The only reality that makes my heart heavy but at the same time, halfhearted.

How can be something brought you silently in pathos and in equal time, brutally in felicity?

I dared to dream about hoping for more. I dared to dream for a bigger picture of us. I dared to dream of having you beside me. I dared to dream for everything for us. But I did not dare to dream for a reality, all I dream was an exaggeration of my own fantasy.

Now, I don't want to know the price I'm gonna pay for dreaming that way, cause this reality and pain is enough. Or maybe for now it isn't, but I hope it is.
I finally have the big fish. It is finally mine. I don't what to feel but, I know this situation will lead me to something better. I am now going to start letting him go. This is that start of a rough-tough ride to acceptance.
haley Oct 2017
when she was eight years old
asked her mother
have you seen the girl with
lashes  like butterflies against sharp cheekbone branches
a dandelion sprouting from sludge covered gutters and streets
streets, where you feel that bitter bland nothingness in your stomach

it feels buttery to stare at her:
see how snow outstretches arms and twirls tippy toes, envies her grace
see how balloon sized raindrops pop, target the freckles on her arm
see how her forehead crinkles when she concentrates, nothing more than a beacon
(self proclaiming)
for she trickles with stars

when she was eight years old
her parent's violent protests slipped bruises under her skin like pennies in a coin slot.
but they could not contain the celestial girl tucked under her ribcage
she would still lookat her like she was the breakfast sun on a weekend
whistling by the creak, catching glimpses of dresses from behind the legs of trees.
see how this is special love, sweet as strawberry fields under soft sun
they would never feel on their forked, sour tongues
She looked through the book
I'd brought to show her:
it was a book about birds.

She'd had taken me
to a small park near her home
in the village.

I'll take you home
in a minute,
she said,
but I want time with you
alone first,
because once
we are at my home
my mother will be watching us
like a hawk.

I said,
watching her sitting there,
turning the pages,
stopping now and then
to scan a bird.  

What bird's have you seen
in real life?
She asked.

Most of them,
but not the hawks or eagles
or all the gulls,
I said.

This was the second time
I would be going to her home;
the first time was when
I turned up one Sunday
a few months ago.

I wondered what her mother
would make of me this time.

I like this bird,
she said,
pointing to a photo
of a Bullfinch.

Yes, I like that too,
I like all the finches,
I said.

She closed the book
and leaned in close
and kissed my cheek.

Can't do that at home
or school,
she said softly.

I'd kissed her first
some months back at school,
one lunch time unexpectedly.

Now she was used
to being kissed
and we kissed
when we could.

We can go to my home now,
she said,
my mother will probably
scan you over,
but she will be all right,
despite my younger sister
blabbing about us
sitting on the grass at school.

So we walked from the park
and towards her home,
down a country lane,
wondering what
her mother would be like
all over again.
Asha Hassan Feb 20
As reward for my patient years
Of sorrow, laughter, joy and tears
Life's handed me (to my surprise)
A "me" I cannot recognise

Her hands are bigger to catch pain
That weighs her down like heavy rain
Her eyes brighter, so she can see
The world I found a mystery

Her heart's stronger than ever mine
So she will handle life just fine
But there's so much she doesn't know
And so much more she needs to grow

So, when I think of years of yet
I remind her to not forget
That though she stands a better chance
One day she'll need a stronger stance
I wrote this when I was 16 because I always saw the ways in which I could continue to improve although I appreciated my growth.
And now that everything is great I'm just waiting for the storm to come and destroy my beautiful moment.
Sad I guess.
I wake up- the scent of fine powders, perspiration, and arrogance all laced around me, permeating.
Duck under the sheets, shield yourself from the sunlight. Come back up for a breath of air.
Mornings are repetition at its finest.
Grab a fruit on your way to the water; peel it with sharp fingers; rip and tear.
You open your eyes to a world in which you are born anew, puffy skinned and amazed.
All the colors are a slightly different shade, more attached. Pale opalescence shines before your eyes.
All sound is but a whisper now.
Sweet release from a long sleep. Tire me again tonight, joy will come with the dawn.
fika Feb 3
Your love song
This makes me feel like
I'm waiting for a train
That never comes
Even though
I hear it coming
Audora Jan 24
And you're never coming back to say your final goodbye
and that's when i knew the cigarette meant more to you than me.
Patrick Jan 17
Summer nights, wind combing thu
Our hair, shitty stereos pounding
Hard as our hearts the first time
We sucked on a damp joint

Wandering the haze of adolescence
Nothing looked right, high school divas
Drank from our veins like vampires
All for a soulless ten minute fuck
     In her Dad’s Sequoia

Eight to three learning for learning’s sake
Friday nights swaying drunk in the stands
A section over from our parents who
Drank away the same problems

Kindergarten sorted us by height
Now the oligarchs send us on our
Way with a two-digit destiny and
A rock to roll up our hill  

Empires rise and crumble to dust
But just as the seasons are such
The cycle of vanquished youth
Blooms and dies evermore
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