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brynna 1h
let me lay a kiss upon your temple

count your freckles, soft skin so simple
short one i found in an old journal
you write to me
about our kids and the hill we live on
you write to me
about the "honey, I'm home"s and soft loaves of homemade bread
about making soup as a family
about working from home living on the land
about swatting hands away from dinner until its ready
about eating outside in the light summer evening
picnic baskets soft glances as you do
homemade jam and uncut meadow filled lawns
and even though we haven't talked in weeks
I see it so clearly that I'm overwhelmed
tears of craving that
of wanting that
of wanting you  
I had forgotten how quickly I bend for you
gentle words about a tender life
I'm bending
so far, for you  

but you leave
long gone
too far to whisper your soft words
I will shatter
like I always do
break in half
even in two
id choose that
id choose life with you
Isn't that terrifying
fray narte Oct 29
to lie down next to you in all of the perpetuity,
moss will grow all over our skin —
as if mushrooms, feeding on
dying, young aspens
and maybe the forest will claim us for its own.

to lie down and watch light slowly go mad
at the sight of the fog that festers,
at the feel of the skin that rots:
a macabre sight to the outside world, yet —
a lively feast to a ****** of crows.

soon, sweet one, candles will die
and i'll be lying next to you —

the feel of daylights, forgotten.
fray narte Oct 10
i am fluent enough to understand emptiness when it speaks to me; if you dust off my skin enough, you'll see traces of the sighs we exchange — spilling down gracelessly, they bruise a fragile skin. i have mastered the art of naming them after wild lilacs.

maybe for once, i can say that i am soft enough to grow flowers on my wrists. my lungs. my sternum — all the parts of me that hurt.

but i know too well all about screaming in barren lands. i have thrown my poems in a forest fire. i have forgotten how to breathe without hands around my neck. i have wished to fall on a sword, way too many times to still call these open wounds as bruises — these bruises as flowers — these flowers as soft.

i am fluent enough to understand emptiness when it speaks to me — kindly, and yet, how can i tremble over gentle things? maybe pain isn't what it always is, and i wish to unlearn this language — the mother tongue, whose every word i know by heart. and maybe one day, when it sighs my name, i finally will stop sighing back.

but now, this bed is caving in under all these lilacs and glassy, distant eyes. oh, such a classic case of a girl gone mad at the sight of sunbeams on dying flowers — aching in silence, as she watches it all.

i am fluent enough to understand emptiness when it speaks to me. and outside, the sun rises in vain.
call you miss peach
mushroom princess
sugary sweet
my fairy child
cottagecore queen

goodbye i think it's time that i leave
i know that now's no good for you and me
we'll be together one day baby (maybe)
but until that time i'll set you free (oh)

did you cast a spell
because i fell head over heels
i know your type well
fairies and elves get me hurt
because i fall too **** hard

(hi there) hello
looks like it's time that i go
you and me won't work out too well
we'll be together one day (unlikely)
until that time you won't be mine (oh)

call you miss peach
mushroom princess
cottagecore queen
not trying to be mean
but you're just a little too sweet

(hello) goodbye i've got to go
i think it's time that i leave
now's not a good time for you and me
won't be together baby
until you decide to fly by me (oh)

call you miss peach
mushroom princess
and you'll never be

not trying to be mean
but you're just a little too sweet

my cottagecore queen
max Apr 28
i have a wish to be calm

to live in a cottage in the forest,
to acknowledge all the things that we dont see in the city

sing with the wind,
watch the sky change colours,
watch the clouds move with the breeze,
see the stars in alignment

a wish to be calm

to forget all the troubles life hands us

to forget what worries us
fray narte Apr 26
and yet, what are we but mere mortals
somehow caught in the world's anger?
what am i but just another girl
weaving these words
in the corners of a ceiling
where the moon doesn't shine —
hidden by dust and out of reach
and you are a victim,
walking straight to spider silk;
somewhere in the sky,
artemis is perched on the moon —
watching, warning.

and for all we know,
she knows, that apollo, too
had written poems for all his lovers;
i will borrow these words,
fumbling to write all the things
i cannot say.
but in the end, how can i write
about your love and its softness
when all i've known are wolves and shredded baskets,
when my legs are made for chasing the fog,
when my hands are made for ripping red cloths
and poorly folding them into roses?
alas, darling,
these are my pressed tulips and chaste kisses
delicately folded into words.
this is my testament;
these are my whispers in their softest.
these are my fingers in their gentlest.
this is my love for you.

dana hughes Nov 2019
I crouched by the flowers beside the dirt path
holding one gently as i breathed in its scent

I heard you call from further down
looking up, I feel the warmth of summer on my face

I stand and breathe
the air is fresh and warm
the only noise is the birds chirping along the treeline, and us, walking along arm in arm and discussing everything and nothing

— The End —