puzzle pieces
do not simply

There is,
I'm sure,
a hand at work.
She talks with rhythm
looks with purpose
looks, they curse her with
she is too good to miss.

The same stuff I fall for
can close my eyes, but never ignore
this life I adore
yet I am always fighting for more.
You keep your secrets up under my skin and I blush with the changing seasons, summer blooming into fall and my hopes falling twice as fast. I wonder how many other seasons have passed just as quickly, just as unassuming and poignant; it's funny how we never notice these things until we look back on them, never appreciate what we have until we lose it. I made the decision a long time ago that we won't become a part of that, I want to etch my skin with the rhythms we move in and I want a permanent reminder that I will never mark this along my walls like the other muted colors, I will paint you so vibrant these memories will be stained on your fingertips and imprinted into your brain for the rest of forever.

Forever is a long time, but it feels like less when I think of what I have to lose  now; isn't it funny how time changes faster & slower all at once, and when childhood naivety spirals down the drain it becomes routine to wrap our hearts with metal plates and crush beautiful things in our wake - isn't maturity a funny concept? I love how the children play in the shade, so blissfully unaware, but eventually they will become us, and we are too wrapped up in our own minds now to notice our dreams being spun into dust. If we paused a moment and took this into our hands, we might be able to salvage what's left of the softness that once consumed us: a softness that used to scrape our knees against sidewalks and bump our elbows against tree trunks, a softness that we played in without ever realizing the world would try to steal it from us.

I think I like you because you remind me of the children playing, their knees always scraped and their dreams being spun into starlight as they make-believe with their fingernails collecting dirt and their little minds fleshing out new fantasies of what the world may or may not be. I'm learning stamp out the tough skin I've maintained by numbing myself to the world, I'm slowly filling the gaps in time and space with a gentleness and you're teaching me how to become a masterpiece.

I'm gathering new promises and they're sticky on my fingers; we're collecting our half-finished dreams in woven baskets, counting them up & getting giddy-drunk as the heavy warmth seeps into our systems. We're laying our limbs down to sleep and you're holding my hand, and we're too far out now to notice, and I'm brushing my fingers against yours, and you're

holding my hand in the car & we're driving in the dark in the middle of nowhere and I'm thinking

you're my everything & I'm thinking
you're my new coming-home.
A random freestyle thing that came into my head...suggestions? Comments? Should I do more like this?
Dale 1d
All men's fall begin's at home,
Where room's lie cold, all alone,
Within these room's,
Empty and void,
Where lie their feeling's; emotion's toyed,
Beneath their feet lies shattered glass,
Fragments of memories long since past,
Of haunting fear's of smouldering ash,
Of there passion and light that did not last,
Cold wind's blow through the windowed room's,
Which harden all the liquid gloom.

Through the room's, far away,
A glimmer of hope shine's through dismay,
A gland of a better day,
So through the field of glass men tread,
Feeling's bare and oh so red,
A tiresome journey they all do dread,
But a task that must be done.

Men reach out and begin to run,
Light draws in, closer and closer,
Then does fade for a while,
Till men rethink for several mile's,
Of journey once done in future and past,
Blink's to find memories which do last,
Of friend's within those empty room's,
Which once was filled with but gloom,
For mankind will fall, forever alone,
Till a hidden hand pull's them through,
Because together, we strive true,
Through their own journey,
To raise another,
For them to rise and see each other,
In age's past and future's sight,
The cycle begin's to rewrite,
As tale's past from one to another,
A family tie, begins another.
IS THIS how it ends?
The crisp cool air settles on the lake
My voice travels along the water, a soft fog
Vibrant crimson
Lush orange
And the deep brown of the earth
Paint a canvas of life

Some of life's best moments are free
standing on a cliff's edge,
the pink ocean draws me closer,
i braced for the fall,
floating on air, falling effortlessly,
i prepare for the impact,
i touch the surface immediately,
and the unforgiving frigid water sucks me in,
i sink, deep into the bottom,
feeling the embrace of the ocean.
df 6d
i fell in love with
the way you
so passionately
rejected me.

ali brown May 15
I am stuck in this body that I do not have control over
in this body that I do not have any clue what to do with

most would say their bones ache from travelling all day
my bones ache from not moving from my bed for 24 hours straight

trying to grab something from the other side of my room
without getting up

not even fearing the fall.
Asher May 14

there is no light in this
place where i reside.
my eyes go black and

can you imagine being devoid?
a soul like nothingness.

what allows you to imagine?
what allows you to wonder?


once i had felt the light.
once i was the light.
now i am lost, eyeless.
if only i could unsee.
if only i could unspeak.

what to do when such
secrets blind you, silence you.


i thought i was sunlight.
i thought i was kind.
now i understand
         i understand.

nothing can be undone.
it can only be remade.
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