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Sarah Flynn May 7
you lost someone real.
you lost a genuine, good friend
who would've done anything
to make you happy.

I only lost someone
who never gave a ****
about me or my happiness.

think about this
and then tell me again
who was truly hurt by
the end of our friendship.

we both may have hurt,
but you're the only one
who lost something here.

I won.
If I am treason,
it’s you I kiss.

If I am desertion,
it’s you I blame.

If I am persuasion,
it’s you I rob.

And when we kiss dutifully,
smile in simile,
just whose road of promise
will it be?

If I am steep,
it’s your future I will not climb.

If I am winter sky,
it’s your way out beclouding.

If I am compromise,
it’s your eyes that hold no conviction.

And when we drift apart in apathy,
evade with euphemisms,
just whose road of decline
will it be?

If I am consternation,
it’s your dream driven away.

If I am turbulent sea,
it’s your ship high upon waves of doubt.

If I am fruition,
it’s your tomorrow that is sunk.

And when we drink to this tragedy,
get drunk on alliterations,
just whose road of surrender
will it be?

Written March 27, 1996
if i do not tend to my wounds they will become infected
inflamed, red, hot to the touch
rotting and dripping with pus

i know this, and still i let them fester
refusing to remove the soiled bandages because i know it will hurt
even though i am no stranger to pain

eventually the sickness will infect my blood
spread to the rest of my body and brain
maybe it will **** me
but i will not hold my breath

i have survived wounds like this before
i have the scars to prove it
i have no choice but to heal
and try again
i keep thinking that if i cut away enough layers of skin
i will reveal the one that has you hidden underneath and
scrub you out

it is a foolish notion
a false ambition
but one that i cannot seem to shake
one that, like you, i have been unable to sear
from my mind and from my heart

i am told that in time you will pass
but it takes seven years to shed my skin
and you have burrowed deep

i do not have that kind of time, i fear
and the longer you stay here
the deeper my discomfort
leah Apr 18
I’m fighting the urge to talk to you.
I keep typing out the message and erasing it at the last minute.
Hoping that if I keep doing that you might text first.

But you won’t.
Neither of us will.

It’s been settled now,
It’s all over

We said goodbye to each other on that late night drive last year,
Call it our own little leaving party.

We both live in the same area but will never talk again.

And that’s okay
It’s safer that way

For me at least

But sometimes,
I miss having someone to talk to.

I wish I could talk to you.
I want to tell you about the books I’ve been reading and the places I’ve visited that I know you’d love.

But I can’t.
And that’s okay.

I miss having you to talk to.

- Leah
Nic Mac Mar 6
As with flowers and with bone,
the life you lead will be sewn.
and under flesh and weeds,
will lie a soul filled with deeds.
and I hope, upon the greatest descend,
with no-more hearts left to mend,
Before the tears and the dirt,
you'll Smile, for all life is worth.
So when the rain falls and the sun sets,
you'd have loved it all with not one regret.
A fresh stage is set and I'm stamping this day
as the day I finally cleansed the clouds
and crossed your name.

You've taken a fall from your pedestal
and I see you now,
with your domino on the ground,
my fair-weather friend (that's a kind way to put it),
my boiling point can't cook up a better fit.
I've played your ruthless game for the longest stretch,
I let a ******* decade slip through my fingers;
and I've still lingered,
for the sake of something I can't recall anymore.
Your betrayals are the mindless hand to an hourglass
and I'm counting the sand you spilled.
No sea of apologies can wash away this wreck.
I'm done with pointing fingers and holding daggers to your neck.
I'll lay my shield and armour down, and walk you out.

A fresh stage is set and I'm stamping this day
as the day I let your hand and my grudges go
and asked your ghost to stay.

Copyright © 2021 by S. Y. Kalindara. All rights reserved.
Finally letting go of a friendship gone sour.
Maya Morales Feb 21
I found myself waiting
for love i already own.
Found myself in every reflection.
No recollection of home.
My heart called my name and this time I recognized.
heavy rains of mother earth
washed away my masks
so i bear no disguise.
ancestors became clearer when i looked inside the mirror
i remember my true beauty
reflecting so pure
i see nothing clearer .
i love myself...
i am love
i am light
i am energy so free and abundant
i am cosmic
i am source
divine creation of masculine and feminine combined
infinite intelligence
wonder and wisdom.
everlasting love, companion to life itself.
"break free, my child"
intuition whispers to me
voice as soft and sweet as sugar cane
no longer a victim of ILLusion and strife
i root myself deep and call back in all my power
so my friend, as you read this, consider it your final hour
what will your bring with you into this new earth?
wake up.
wake up.
wake up.
Cox Feb 3
Flowers and pain, a down- pour of rain.
Coffee in a cup, far too hot.
Reds and blues and greens, fields of flowers creating a colourful scene.
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