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Maryann I Mar 5
She has lived, she has wandered,
loved and lost, dreamed and fallen.
She is not untouched by time,
nor unshaken by the past.
But if she stands beside you now,
if she looks at you with eyes that see
not just who you are,
but who you are becoming,
what else matters?

She is not perfect—
neither are you.
Together, you may stumble,
may fumble through the dark,
may misunderstand and misstep.
But if she makes you laugh,
if she stirs your thoughts,
if she is unafraid to be real,
to be flawed, to be human—
hold onto her.

She may not think of you
every moment of the day,
but she will give you the one thing
that costs her most to lose—
her heart.
So handle it gently.
Don’t try to change her,
don’t measure her love against expectation,
don’t ask for more than she can give.

Instead—
smile when she brings you joy,
tell her when she makes you ache,
and when she is gone,
miss her.
Maryann I Mar 5
They told me I was loved.
Said it like a fact, like a given, like air.
And I nodded, let the words settle on my skin
but never sink in.

Because love—love is hands reaching,
but understanding?
Understanding is knowing why mine pull away.

I sat in rooms full of people who swore they cared,
but no one asked why my laughter always came half a second too late,
why silence fit me like a second skin.

They called me beautiful, said I was smart,
but never saw the way I flinched at echoes of my own thoughts.
They held me when I cried, but no one ever asked
what the tears were trying to say.

I used to think I was ungrateful—
to have love but still feel lost.
But now I know:
Love can be loud, can be warm, can be everywhere—
and still not speak your language.

So if you’ve ever felt this way,
like you exist in translation,
like love is the ocean but you are still thirsty—
I need you to hear this:

You are not wrong for wanting more.
You deserve to be understood.
Zywa Mar 3
I play the gora,

mother is silent, she sees --


that I don't hear her.
Poem "Die donderstorm" ("The thunderstorm", 1873, Diäkwain)

Collection "Finethreads"
MuseumofMax Mar 3
Celebrating Ramadan amidst the concrete rubble

String lights illuminate hungry faces

To be surrounded by oppression and violence yet sit together at a table to share a feast

That is true resilience.

Love radiates from the dishes, food scarce so they share

No matter the evil, the deathly threats,

They stand together united, all as one,
Their connection un-severed.
Material things, they have none.

To have such joy in dark times
Is to resist the occupation, to be freed
Body, Soul, Spirit, Mind.
My thoughts after seeing the images of those in Gaza breaking their fast.
𝙄 𝙙𝙤𝙣'𝙩 𝙢𝙚𝙖𝙣 𝙩𝙤 𝙨𝙘𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪.

I loathe to see your eyes
when they're frightened
by the flames in mine.

𝙄 𝙝𝙤𝙥𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙄 𝙨𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙚𝙙 𝙮𝙤𝙪.

That the sound of your name
did not get ignited
by the words on my blade.

𝙄 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙𝙣'𝙩 𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪.

For rage replaced love
that wasn't provided
by the ones of my blood.

𝙄 𝙙𝙤𝙣'𝙩 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙞𝙢𝙥𝙖𝙞𝙧 𝙮𝙤𝙪.

Seeking out my cocoon,
in circles I cycle
by the pull of the moon.

𝙄 𝙙𝙤 𝙬𝙞𝙨𝙝 𝙩𝙤 𝙬𝙚𝙖𝙧 𝙮𝙤𝙪.

All over my skin -
a lovers revival
of the yang and the yin.

𝙆𝙞𝙨𝙨 𝙢𝙚, 𝙄 𝙙𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪.

Unlock and explore me.
You've tasted the title,
but my 𝘁𝗵𝗿𝗼𝗮𝘁
𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺.

¿

• mica light poetry •
Sofia Feb 27
i love you so much that it hurts.
please,
let me rip your heart out
and consume every part of your body,
because I see no other way
to stop my love for you.
Let me feed my hunger
so that you will stay
inside me
forever.
hey, its of course all metaphor! please don't take it personal. hope you like it <3
Sam S Feb 22
When was the last time someone asked—
really asked—
“How are you?”
Not just the words,
not just a passing phrase
dropped in the space between hello and goodbye,
but a question that waited,
lingered,
held its breath for the truth.

When was the last time someone cared?
Not out of habit,
not out of duty,
but because your silence felt heavy,
because your laughter didn’t reach your eyes,
because they noticed
what you’ve been too busy to see.

And have you even asked yourself?
Past the noise,
past the rehearsed replies,
past the I’m fine that feels like a locked door.
Have you stood still long enough
to sit with the answer?

Let’s put the banter to one side.
Easier said than done, I know.
No need to overthink, no need to fix—
just breathe.
Just be.
And if no one else asks today,
then I will:

How are you, really?
It’s good to check in now and then.
Jeff Bresee Feb 22
There’s a swirling in the sunset
and a swirling in my soul.
A swirling in my heart and mind
that never lets me go.
 
It calls me down a winding path
that twists and turns and bends.
I don’t know where it’s going
but I do know in the end
 
that it will lead me to the shore
where I can sit and see
that wonderous swirling sunset
that was painted just for me.
He is her mirror,
The one she stands before
Whether things are good or bad.
Until she walks away,
She doesn’t understand
The cracks spreading
Across her face,
Ignoring the obvious
She applies more makeup.
Though she’s gone,
Her presence lingers,
Soon to follow.

In front of her mirror,
She could speak as freely
As she wanted,
Be seen for who she is.
In front of family and friends,
She’s quiet,
Acting out of appearance,
Ignoring the space, she thought
Was empty.

She doesn’t think about it
Until a friend brings it up.
Talking about her own love life,
A place she feels secure.
Her friend’s smile, big and bright,
While she speaks.
She thinks of him,
Her mirror.
No matter how bad she feels.
He finds a way
To make her feel better.
If something is off,
He’s quick to point it out.
He’s always there when
She needs him.
She never had to speak
To be seen when he was around.
The only place she only felt whole.
The cracks on her face shows
I want to see you as a person,
Not your body,
Nor the way your fingers curl
Around my side
When you hold on to me.
I want to see you for who you are,
Not for what I or the world wants to see.
I want to hear your heartbeat,
For reasons that may feel selfish to me,
But are selfless to you.
Your own truth,
That has no reason to be,
Except for the fact that you wanted it
To be.
Like a child taking their first step.
No matter how wild, they are free.

Even if that means separating from me,
The further you step.
For some, a minute feels like an hour
And a day feels like forever,
But the fire in your eyes that starts
when you smile
Keeps me warm,
Whenever I think of you,
And keeps the shadows away.
Until you return
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