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Itunu Mar 2020
I almost loved you
more than life itself

But while  I loved you,
I lost myself

You idolized my body
with fervent desire

You whispered words of desperate love
and I allowed you to consume me

Each time we touched
I pressed my body close, wanting more
needing more

I wanted our hearts to be one
to connect, to unite

And when you looked into my eyes
I was consumed by your stare

And I fell so desperately and hopelessly
In love with you

Almost more than life itself
Aaron E Mar 2020
If I were on it, I'd align and live
a day worth the dent,

But if it's obvious or not I sense
created consent.

I try to fabricate a way in which
to break from the grip,

But it's appalling how inactive wings
will stay in the crib.

I see a season peeking in and out of clouds,
twiddle thumbs at my reflection
waiting numb at the direction of the wind

Brittle lungs hope to wrestle the distention
My complexion shows the symptoms
My assumptions were it's manifesting sin

It's the stagnant pool of water
It's a faltering foundation
guiding hands to feed the slaughter
Drawing lines to frame them in.

I make my mirror into butcher,
draw conclusions from the surface,
tunnel deep into the portrait,
judge the avatar as worthless.

We're just lonely little boxes,
on the surface,
if we only see the surface,
but the ocean drowns the treasure
for the divers to uncover

Will the tyrant butcher keep us boxed in cages
dancing superficial cadence
here to languish
never speaking to each other

Or can we assume the seasons feed the roots,
beneath the surface,
seed resurgence of connection,
see a new escape begin.
Stay Connected.
John McCafferty Jan 2020
The girl in the dream will never be seen
An immovable force hides my true self away
Sitting beside her, alone and astray

Our eyes meet, the curtains close
Words from the head jumble into an
inaudible breath
Shadow self weeps not feeling complete

I'm for her if she is for me
No outlet, pathway or key
Just ask her aloud if she's free?
Nothing flows out as I try to connect
but wasted words left for the dead

Words come from thoughts and
actions from words
My thoughts will never be heard
She's the girl from the dream but
will never be seen
(@PoeticTetra - instagram/twitter)
Shradha Sagar Jan 2020
You just sit there, together, share little nothings, and suddenly in the very next moment, a whole lot changes. You just sit still, absorbing everything they say, the honesty, the ferocity in their conviction, forces you to believe in every spoken word and sentence that draws you down the rabbit hole.

The thin line between knowing someone and thinking you know them enough just blurs away.

Have you ever felt a mystic human emotion? I surely have! There is always that diffidence that lurks somewhere deep within, it keeps you from looking straight into their eyes, the transparency- it surely kills. To be able to listen to them without holding any emotion, to hold nothing for them, no expectations, no reasons, no questions. It feels like an archive, where you can stow away all your thoughts and wonder about the uninhibited, free familiarities you share.

Crazy, I know, that is how everything sounds and just builds an atmospheres in that instance!

Everyone I have ever met has a story to share. But in the art of urban loneliness it never passes through you. You somehow just try and defend it by equating the situation and chaos of thoughts coursing through your nerves. There is an inexplicable rage and a need to turn things and construct the worst possible scenario in front of your eyes. Where and when these conversations occur they are too hard to take. I never feel the urge to listen to their side of the story, mostly. I just want to avoid any human contact and pretend that I am lost in my own dominion doing my own thing.
This may come from the fear of giving them admittance to my realm, or to come across like a bare human trying to deduce and find meaning in their stories, their hardships and struggles that make mine absolutely mundane and lacklustre.  But once in a while, you feel that feeling of the known. There strikes a conversation so hard not focus on, it’s different, where from once you actually listen. They play the good one, riding you in the palm of their hand and all you can do is see them.

There have been thousands of answers to why or how we feel what we do. May be it is an advanced form of attraction or infatuation, where your mind visualises things and you feel connected in terms of your expectations or experiences you share. Or maybe, your soul has connected to someone from another point in time, from another dimensions or say a parallel universe? (Queue some sci-fi music here!)

Another reason, your views and theirs match, your likings match, or maybe you unknowingly just share similar personalities. It gives meaning, it makes you feel like ‘you exist’. We always seek for more connections, more validations whilst looking to complete ourselves, and wait agonisingly for when our thoughts will be transformed to words that someone understands, comprehends and most importantly relates with.

Insecure and unappreciated, everything seems so overrated while you are ensconced in your cocoon till you find that connection and the minute they speak to you it all disappears. This is how I feel in the moment, trying to re-collect all the words, before I forget them in this fast-moving world. And If I ever want to talk about it, laugh on it or even cry about it, I hope I can still reach them, smile and look at the unchanged sheen in the eyes and feel content and hang on to the stories that they have gathered over time.

Till then, good bye, adios to the stories of the time when we were just strangers!
Maria Etre Jan 2020
TOGETHER
TO(GET)HER
BACK
Bring my Lebanon back.
#LebanonRevolts
Dave Scott Dec 2019
Let’s be alone together
At the Starbucks a mile from here
It doesn’t matter which one because we are all together
Making sure the connectivity is near

On our laptops we tunnel into reality
I predisposed emotional wasteland of hopes and dreams
Do we work or do we escape out of this present piece?
Of time and space we manifested in this dream

The English language cannot describe everything
Simulation is such a weak word you see
It seems like something that is on our screens
But in reality we are the screen
Poetic T Dec 2019
We may ink, or pen,
          or be vocal on the
        
                                   words,

that turn to emotions.

                Invoking our
                                fear,
                         love,
                    sight..

Beyond the view that
            we never realised
that even if our legacy is
                               momentary.

If we can move one,
                move a moment,


then we know that we have
               meant something.

       That's helped someone connect
to our emotional state when we,
                                     I wrote this
                                                         piece..
Devin Lawrence Dec 2019
I write my words in cursive so they know how to.
The lines that bind us together can seem so thin,
like a dash of ink, it can be wiped away.

An island only knows water for the way it extends beyond the horizon.
The peaceful splashes of rippling waves can’t pacify the feeling of loneliness;
a passing bird squawks as it carries on its journey.
And the sun keeps rising day after day.

Have you ever felt the jolt of holding someone’s hand?
The spark of life that is embracing them in a hug?
We were made to connect,
yet so many of us sit aside
unplugged.

The singer on the stage begs us to sing along;
and for a moment, every stranger is bound by word and sound.
That post-concert depression hits hardest during that long drive home -
riding solo.

I write my words in cursive so that they know how to.
Because if they do, maybe you will too.
Gabriel Nov 2019
As the call ended
So did we
Between our phones
Not only the connection broke
But also the hearts,
that were connected as well
Marker
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