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We drank coffee and smoked cigarettes as the sun rose.
We spoke in philosophical rhymes, unaware of the passage of time.
I realize now that the love we had is lost.
You reach for me, but I am a phantom. Long ago, I stopped reaching back.
Still, what we had—the raw and unearthly attraction, the bond forged between our two souls—is unlike anything I’ve ever known.
I will be alone until love strikes my heart like it once did.
I want a love that burns me to ash and then resurrects itself from the remnants.
I want a love that bleeds, gives, and never makes me question my worth.
If I can’t have that, I am content with nothing at all.

-Rhia Clay
my sadness is evanescent
soon I will forget how it made me feel
I used to feel empty everyday
now I feel joy and contentment
my sadness is evanescent
drifting away
out of my memory
the feeling of sadness
will be a foreign emotion
evanescent: soon passing out of sight, memory, or existence, quickly fading or disappearing
Above the horizon
A canopy      
          So dark
Words cannot separate

Even when in
      Negative image

The single full stop
                              Of a moon
             Gives nothing away
Magazines strewn amongst,                                                         ­                         
                                       ­                                                                 ­            
mis-matched coffee cups,                                                            ­          
                                                                ­                                                  
white rings on the tabletops,                                                       ­                                 
                                                                ­                                                      
We are just getting
up                                                               ­                                             
                   ­                                                                 ­                                  
You yawn & look at me,                                                              ­                  
                                              ­                                                                 ­                making your way, groggily,                                                        ­                        
                                        ­                                                                 ­         
rub your eyes sleepily                                                         ­                   
                                                                ­                                                       
  as we exchange, ''good
  morning ''                                                               ­         
                                                                ­                                                
Hair sticking up in the air,                                                             ­           
                                                                ­                                              
neither one really cares                                                            ­              
                                                  ­                                                           
 Noisily pulling out a
  chair,                                                        ­                  
                                              ­                                                                 ­ 
both of us, with feet
bare                                                             ­                 
                                               ­                                                                
Coffee smells
permeate,                                                        ­                        
                                                                ­                                                    
as it drips &
percolates,                                                      ­                                    
                            ­                                                                 ­             
begging us to take a
taste                                                            ­                      
                                                                ­                                               
  Aren't Sunday mornings great?
Salwa May 5
Flying through the abyss,
Nothing but darkness.
Everything wilted—
Not even eyes glow with fondness.

A dark hue in the air,
An aroma thick as musk.
This odyssey has left me stuck—
In thought, in place.

This land where even stars don’t fall,
The moon swallowed by a thought long gone.
These nights where no light is found,
Where heartbeats are not meant—
Is where I’m most content.
—s
nicole Mar 24
cigarettes after *** playing in my ears
I look up
it's cloudy
I lose my footing
and smile to myself

it's warm again
jewel Mar 3
there’s a clear distinction between getting what you want
and wanting more than what you can get, she says,
kneeling in front of a piping hot kettle and a small bowl
accompanied by a humorously small bamboo whisk.

Bug-Eye looks at me. the meaning of a sentence is lost in the hexes of her wings, her spindly thin abdomen, the way her fragile limbs twitch.

she tries to smile. she doesn’t. i turn to the murky pool in front of me, losing myself in the way the petals relax on such a delicate surface. the air is thick with heat. i collect more than enough sweat upon my forehead.

you need not ask for more than what you have. nor ask for less than what you deserve.
but why? my reply lingered between us like an afterthought.
why ask when you could have more? the clink of china, the unsteady stirring irritates me with her ungraceful, jerking movements. Bug-Eye relaxes. silence. the grove is clear.

she turns the cup in her hands, once, twice, thrice; her spindly fingers tracing the grooves of a world not yet explored. her eyes watch me closely. all five hundred of them. i turn away
to watch how the koi fish do not swim through the water, but
become stagnant in a place the water feels best.
we kneel on the grass, sipping the green tea as quietly as one can. that is all i am left with.

perhaps this is the reason why i do not ask for more;
nor deserve any less, because
we simply are given with all that we need.
copyrighted, poemsbyjewel (2025).
What’s with the incessant cacophony? Commotion? Noise?
Why stimulate oneself with content, clip after clip?
Why play music in silence that needn’t be filled,
speaking when no words need be spoken?
It’s rather silly, isn’t it? It’s not your fault.
Since there’s no need for any of that…
let’s take a moment to pause.
Yes, just like that.
Slow down,
breathe.
Now…
rest.
Written on 2025-02-14.

I thought of the beginning and end of this one evening, seemingly randomly. I typed it out as quickly as I could, realizing the idea I’d gotten was a poem that “quieted down” as it got to the end, both visually, linguistically, and topically, right down to the ellipsis making the penultimate line just a bit wider than the one below.
Malia Feb 12
I think it is a good day
I feel okay, and that’s all
I feel, no sense of greatness
Nor self-hatred, no free-fall.

I look into the mirror
No fear, just looking as I
Realize that I have acne
But it’s me and I feel fine.

Right now, I am just okay
But one day, I will appear
From silk and I will be her
From those words, so far but near.
tried an awdl gywydd today.
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