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memoona kazmi Mar 10
to the lost ship of my love,
you are the only lighthouse i can see......
-memoona kazmi
your soul is the only path,
my feet can walk without getting tired.....
My heart was pounding
Such an occurrence never happened to me before
That isn't even the worst part
For you see,
a small part of the old me was still breathing
Still begging the other half to not give in to others
My old self had learned to trust no one
My new-self had no reason to listen

His eyes, his smile, his voice
Everything about that man made me question my own sanity
I never felt such emotions before
I taught myself not to
Maybe I would cry from time to time
But that is nothing

I knew that he was nothing like the others
I knew he was kind
He was just playing a character
A character for a show

But I knew the truth

He wasn't like them
Yet a part of me was still afraid
I wasn't like anyone he knew either
That I am sure of
So, what is stopping him from fearing me?

I hid
I hid as if my heart was just stomped on by another man,
and I was afraid of what would happen to me if I once again came out
But, something deep down inside of me told me to come out
He seemed so friendly towards the people who claimed to be his fans
I was extremely jealous of that
So, I decided to talk to him

Maybe he loves me
Maybe he does not
But, not matter what he is feeling now
I know that we belong together
Nothing will stop me from taking what is mine
The sweetest love
Burnt my heart
The greatest passion
Set me on flame
But unfortunately
It's forbidden love.
by anonymous
and whenever i get sad,
i want to put my head on your shoulder and explain my problems to u.....
memoona kazmi
i want to take your cold hands in mine
and rub them until they get warm.......
memoona kazmi
Eden Quinn Feb 18
I was born with a voice
and still,
I can´t make a noise.

It is my fault
that I am still
rubbing salt
into the wound,
getting quieter
and quieter
with every day
that passes.

Which is why,
I am now lying
in my bed
at 12:23 AM
feeling the light of my laptop
burning through my eyes.

Being quiet;
leaves me
with so much
on my mind,
with things
left unspoken,
left unexpressed,
left unuttered

I am not mute
but I am
and that is
I write.

To confess
that I am

Why am I so quiet?
Aaron Feb 18
I won't write a story of perfect love,
Where we sing our praise to the heavens above;
Where blue skies fill every day,
And there's no such thing as gray.

I won't write a story with only white,
For there's equal meaning in the night;
Perhaps the point of a plight,
Is to prove you're prepared to fight.

I won't write a story where there's no dark;
For though each moment leaves its mark,
It merely makes the light matter more,
And instills an essence never seen before.

I won't write a story without dejection,
For it could never be true;
But what need have I of perfection,
As long as I have you?
Aaron Feb 18
Here's a poet's plight:
To force words to come is a fight;
Gorgeous nothings hold no light;
Meaning shall not bow to might.

Thirty thousand words or more –
All just sounds heard before;
But somewhere deeper there's a door,
A certain feeling from some core.

Or, in clearer words:
I have nothing Great to say,
but That shouldn't stop me anyway
From speaking when I feel I must;
No other way to reverse this rust.

Perfection is a savage
Curse to ravage the mind
'Round and round in circles, growing blind.

But of all the stones and stars
Or overpriced, shiny cars
The greatest gift of all you give
Is that you let me gently live.

You accept me as I am,
Tarred and scarred and marred with gray,
There's a thousand whispers, but they're all okay
When they won't be judged anyway.

There's this frustrating little tic
Where no words can quite click
Because no lovely language can compress
or stress enough meaning into a tiny little space
That could give a hint of a trace
Of the meaning that was felt.

Suffice to say it seems somehow insufficient,
Nothing Great, simply true:
You're wonderful as you.
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