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Maria Apr 16
You packed in yesterday
And all that you left
Is your touch on my hair
And only your breath.

You packed in yesterday
Just leaving behind
Kisses of your lips
And your cool "Unwind".

Maybe you want that
I'll entrust wholly
All my desires
To this night truly?

Just say me that!
And no other cue!
Nothing else matter
But being with you!

You packed in yesterday,
Leaving me memory
And this dead night,
Without you, but me.
This poem was born under very strange, not at all poetic circumstances. I was waiting for a medical procedure at an ophthalmological clinic. My eyes couldn't see. So I began to dig into my memory, into my past. I remembered a sad story from my life.  And that memory took the form of this poem.
Thank you for reading this poem! đź’–
Maria Apr 4
There was a time when I didn't know you.
It seems absurd to me now, really.
When I didn't smell your almond hair at dawn,
When I didn't look into your chocolate eyes nearly.

There was a time when I lived without you.
When I tore myself to pieces with no mean.
When I was alone at all and didn't imagined
That you're my fate, my part. You're foreseen.

I tried to cheat my fate more than once,
I teased her much. I was rude to her very.
And she saved me tenderly every time.
She awaited the while I was stubborned daringly.

There was a time when I didn't know you.
Maybe it was in my past life.
And now you're here, you're nearby.
And all my past disappeared without any strife.
Perhaps it's a little indelicate, but I want to talk about my love a lot...
Thank you for your attention! đź’–
Cheery, the does of charity
Caring for cope; like a saving grace...
Sweeter minds, compare liberty
To a beauty, with lucre to face...

World's of wishes
Working for wisdom's solemn might
Is like a house of reality's, is...
A heart of harkening, with time to be right?

Sakes be praised...
Philosophy, acceptance, and luck
Merit, a capable look at chastity's age
I am the times, with more to tuck...

Meager kinds, methodical why's
Of a simpler wish than trouble
Sweat, secret's, lovers that shy...
Wakeful vices, and the sincerity of waits habit, restitute and or whole...

The stares of time
To wonder, is a wandering could requite?
Long loosed, and seclusion, trying...
Could a harrowed light, be instinct so bright?
Said and wed; white hot tomorrows to lead: another deaf challenge? To a worldly bed, instead of yesterday...?
I pray for her safety,
The world is scary.
I pray for her happiness,
She deserves joy.
I pray for her,
That not even a hair will bother her.
I wish I could be there always
Le Toad Mar 25
Just because you might think me mental
Doesn't mean I want to be
An experiment.
I admit it, I thought Quiet Riot was cool.
What?
Tangled thoughts – I love
your beautiful strands of hair,
And not having them tangled in
my fingers, leaves me so stranded.

I can’t help these tangled thoughts;
thinking about your curls.
MetaVerse Mar 22
There once was a gal from Berlin:
The hair on her chinny-chin-chin
     Was thicker than wool,
     And it made her blades dull
Whenever she shaved to the skin.
Medusa (noun)
Sometimes the Greek myth gorgon monster, most of the time, I am—
Misunderstood. Unheard. A story twisted by trembling tongues.

They paint me a monster because it’s easier—easier than admitting what they did. Easier than facing the truth: I was not always this.

Once, I was soft—a girl with warmth in her hands and light in her eyes. But the world does not spare the soft. They touched without asking. Took without permission. And when I refused to break, they called me wicked.

I became what they feared. Not by choice—by survival.

Now, I wear my venom like a crown. I speak, and they call it defiance. I exist, and they call it danger.

But still, they watch. Still, they want. Still, they tremble beneath the weight of me.

I am the gaze that stops you mid-step. A warning wrapped in beauty. Venom in velvet.

I do not chase—I turn. I do not beg—I reign. I do not soften—I sharpen.

Once, my eyes turned from sweet to fierce, like an eagle. Once, my voice shifted from jolly to a roar, like a lion. Once, my personality changed from bubbly to gorgon—run for your life, boy, my snake hair will do the rest.

They whisper my name like a curse, but still, they look. Still, they want. Still, they fear.

I am the one they cannot hold, the storm they cannot quiet, the ruin they bring upon themselves.

I was not born to be kind. I was not made to be gentle. I am the consequence—the reckoning.

Stone-hearted? Perhaps. But only because too many tried to touch me with unworthy hands.

Misunderstood? Perhaps. Unheard? Not anymore.

I do not need to be saved. I do not need to be softened. I am the ending they never saw coming—and the beginning they cannot escape.

I am not your muse. I am your myth. Not the victim, but the legend. And when you dare meet my eyes—remember, I never blink first.
My sweet treat of choice,
Was a nice ice coffee.

But now nothing compares,
To the Cup o' Joe shade of your hair,
And the sugary taste of your lipstick.
The sweet taste of nature is the beautiful flavor of coffee.
My baby reads the,
Newspaper while twirling,
Her beautiful hair.
The 400th poem I've posted on here.
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