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Brown eyes
Brown on so many faces

But if eyes are the window
Straight to the soul
And every soul is unique
Then nobody's eyes are common

Honey on leather
Sat in the sun on a sunday
Right after noon
Sticky smile

Rich in the shade
Of a tree that has seen all
Full of life
And secrets
A bit cool and damp
And yet inviting

Leaves fallen and dry
Crunching and sharp
Drifting and floating
And landing softly

Glass bottle eyes
Shining and clear
A little see through
But bright and childish
Like rose colored glasses
But better

Textured and wooden
Rough and intuitive
See right through you
And hold you tight

So many browns
Dismissed and unseen
By people who don't take time
To look and really see
And absorb

Brown eyes
Brown windows
Looking in on every type of soul
Waiting to be written about
By someone who is looking
Sarah Pavlak Oct 9
When he’s standing in your doorway
Clean-shaven, distanced,
Recognize that once he was
Scouring the cracks in the blacktop,
Picking pansies with the weeds
And clumping them together to declare
The love letters he had written along the sidewalks,
Blue chalk sprawling beside her walk home.

And one day he was standing before her desk,
A medley of a bouquet lodged under his fingernails,
That he took to be the most beautiful piece of art.
Lips slightly chapped, chest rising quickly,
In a moment of unadulterated courage he ****** his arms forward
To present the best offering he could.
And all she saw was the dirt.
Iris Sep 2
maybe if I lay here long enough,
the dirt will seep into my bones,
it will race through my veins.
and the vines
will loop around my arms.
and when it rains,
I'll sink even further into
the muddy ground.
and when it the air is crisp and cool
and the trees light up in flames,
the leaves will cover me up
until there will be nothing left.
so please, leave me here in the grass
until even you forget me.
isabella Jul 21
Love is reckless, not brave,
Love is selfish and selfless all in one,
Love is faithful, stupid, kind,
Love is all the simple things, but rewind

And love is pain, confusion,
Love is a battle won but a soul lost,
Love is a storm, the pelting rain like stones
Love is the plunging distance between the sky and the ocean.

Love is the touch of skin on skin,
Smiles and laughter at the end of the day,
Crackling bonfires and whispers of secrets,
The smell and texture of her hair.

Love is the sound of bullets firing,
Love is the feeling of dirt between toes,
Love is the groggy bewilderment of morning,
Love is the walk down a hill washed with dew.

Love is being late to all meals, except for dessert,
Love is passing plates around, clinking silverware,
Love is the scrape of chairs and static of noises,
Love is the shape of his eyes when he glances around.

Love is the smell of the air after the rain,
Love is the droplets running down his face,
Love is the pen brushing across the paper,
Love is the bunk beds and sleeping bags and chatter.

Love is the sky, the river, the mountain, and the meadow,
Love is the flashlights’ light and the stars brighter,
Love is the loneliness in the field of the empty night,
Love is the loose circle of young and old.

Love is lullabies at night, crevices of her face,
Love is the sound of soft rain against the roof,
Love is the breeze blowing through the open window,
Love is teasing and joking and breathless joy.

Love is a warm feeling in the chest,
An intertwining of fingers, a touch to the hair,
Love is a braid coming undone gradually,
Love is a heart that is beating endlessly.
he finds it hard to see the dirt
overshadowed by the slow pervert
Confusion, Denial, Hypocrisy and the search for beauty.
Bhill Jun 29
suddenly, up out from his hole, the lizard crawled
crawled and wriggled over the dirt searching for it's prey
the prey that would sustain him for the rest of his life
he didn't know that it would be his final meal
he didn't know that behind that cactus stood a roadrunner
a roadrunner, who delights in savory lizard treats right from the desert floor
he had no chance...
the cycle of life circles on as the roadrunner scurries away with the lizard dangling from its beak

Brian Hill - 2020 # 176
The cycle goes on and on...
Lilith May 28
I want to unhouse this body,
tear up the floorboards of my flesh,
Allow the blood to seep out into the earth.
To break down to moss might be the most merciful thing I could do to
this prison of permanence that keeps me
above ground.

I am contamination,
I am illness housed in bone
slicing this skin to let the sickness seep out
to let the blood sink into the dirt
to return my borrowed body to the depths.
I never asked to be trapped
tied down in muscle and fat.
I am more corpse than corporeal
so bury me where I belong.

I have only felt joy while holding my breath.
The high of being denied oxygen makes me feel closer to you.
I crave your cold hands wrapping around my throat
ripping this skin open
letting me fall to pieces amongst the flowers.
At least the winds will whistle my name when I'm gone,
the sweet tune of the trees
soaking me in through their roots.

If I was not happy above the dirt,
let me fill these lungs with the funeral of the earth,
the carrion will make use of these remnants of skin
and I will be content to be cloaked and crowned in this castle of soil
CW: Implications of self harm
hybridstorm May 13
Try, try, try,
till you exhaust yourself.
And when you think you are tired,
try again.
Keep trying. Be patient. Realize the soft and serene and the hard and chaotic around you. Stay inquisitive. Stay loud.
Blackenedfigs Apr 27
In a dream,
the millipede pleads to me
for his freedom.

                                     I look the other way
                                     and as quickly as he
                                     emerged from the dirt

                                                                                 He is gone.
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