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EP Robles Mar 2020
"AND what of me?" asked fear.

"I have no thing that hugs nor kisses or desires me."

Compassion stared then gently replied.

"But you are not real therefore of no concern.
When this is realized then shall you be set free."

:: NO FEAR ::
Mary Shanti Feb 2020
Maybe it is the slow beats
Humming from my headset
Maybe it is the nap
I took today
Maybe it is the painting I look at
Reminding me every day of you
Reminding me to take breaks
Never end it
Take breaks
Never end it
You left
I never got to say good bye
Now I do it everyday
I was angry
It is ok
I was angry
And It is ok
I am allowed to be *******
Even though your six feet under
Well, there are ashes from what I know
I didn't get any
Odd, yes I wanted some
Something to have , to look at
Something to register
With the grey that is within
Something to look at
And know this is real
It still doesn’t feel real
How can it not ?
After 3 years
I look at pictures
I hear music
Your words are still in my head
I know you will be ok
You are strong
Everyone tells me I am strong
Yes
I am
Yes
Do I always want to be
No
No
No
Can someone reach into the depth of me
Set me free
Allow me to longer be
In grief
In grief
Still can’t believe
Still can’t believe
You left me
You left me
Spare me the story
Of the pain
We all have some
I am not going anywhere
Even though some days
I feel you calling me
To join you
No
I won’t
I won’t
I am strong
I still want to cry
Is that okay ?
Yes that is okay
I want to rewind
Rewind to that one day
You told me how you were feeling
I didn't really listen
Now my ears are wide open
With silence
You bring me silence
I know you would have anyway
I know you would have anyway
Have to tell myself all the time
It doesn’t stop me from wishing
I had said something
Something
Even though I know you would have anyways
A poem, a conversation in my head about the death by suicide of my best friend
Nigdaw Feb 2020
we make camp at the coffee shop
turning a table and four chairs
into temporary home
decorated with a decor
of scarves, coats and bags
an invisible wall
focusing in on our refuge
the intimacy of the cups, saucers, plates
and conversation

in the corner
a man on his own
invades the whole room
conversing into his mobile
which I am not convinced
is in a call
nudging everyone into looking
beyond the realm
of their comfort zone
Dhia Awanis Feb 2020
"Do you believe in love?"

she shook her head.

"Well, you know what love does to people—destruction," she whispered quietly.

his astonished eyes stared at her with wonder and confusion.

"Being in love means you'd be willing to sacrifice and risk everything for it; or even worse, fight against anything that against it. All my life, I only witnessed the kind of love that ruin one another."

"Look at Bonnie and Clyde. Look at ******'s love for his Arya race. Look at Confessions of a Shopaholic. Look at Gollum. There's a thin line between obsession and love, and sometimes you can't tell which one is which."

her eyes looked far across the city; as if she was longing for something. perhaps, he thought, it's true that woman is an open book, it's just most men don't read and it's written in ancient Greek.

"But how about your Mom? How about the owner of animal shelter? How about the Environmentalist? How about the firefighters and crisis call center officers?" he responded.

and in that very moment, she knew she was in safe hands.
do you even believe in love?
Maha Jan 2020
I don't know
If my answer will always be
That I'm afraid of thinking about
Is it safe to say,
you should read this one backwards too. It's a conversation between two people.
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!
Sara Svensson Jan 2020
My friend left in the middle of our conversation
I’ll never know what else he might have said
He was interrupted when telling his story

Who knows where else he may have led
A dear friend of mine passed away this past summer. It was really late at night and he was on his way home from a party. He and the friend he was with got mugged by three individuals when they were waiting for their next bus. The reason my friend is dead is he tried calling the police, the killer stabbed him in the chest and then the three of them ran away. He died outside of a McDonalds, while his parents were on vacation. He was only 18 years old. His name was Tobias. I loved him.
Ronnie Jan 2020
“It’s nice to meet you.”
He hugged me awkwardly
and I hugged back, just the same
things were a little simpler then
or so I thought in the moment
just a couple
of friends

“Sorry I’ve disappeared,
things have been hard recently.”
I could see that he meant it
in those hopeful eyes
and sheepish smile
“It’s okay. Don’t worry.”
“Is it, though?”

“Thank you for being there for me,”
I said this time, sad and unsure
but in his arms again
and this time around
it felt like coming home
somehow

“I don’t know how I feel about this,”
we thought, “and I need some time”
in those endless summer months
spent miles apart
physically, emotionally
far from home
if home is where the heart is

“I love you,”
he said that one night
as he put the blanket around me
planting a kiss on my cheek
and an inkling of hope in my heart
making my house his home
with a sign saying: love grows here

Last night, he had no words
absentmindedly touching me
as if it was second nature
smiling when he met my eyes
looking up from his things

and for some reason
that spoke to me the most.
experiences from the last few months.
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