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I didn’t fall in love with you.
I was falling in love with myself again, and you supported me as I patched these broken things.
And you loved me, and reminded me that I am worthy. You were the first to treat me the way I was deserving.
But I held you at bay, consistently afraid. Even when I began to let you in I dug my heels in, resisting change.
Until I started breathing and began releasing. I stopped white knuckling, and resisting.
And, remember. I didn’t fall. I made the choice to risk it all.  
I leapt over the cliff, where my earth cracked and crumbled to bits by the last. And I chose to love you even after all of that.
I choose to love you every day, getting know you as the seasons change. And through it all I plan to stay.
I filled every void with my own love, and then I made room for you.
Wishing I didn’t have to title all of these dang it
i tell myself i'm independent and strong and made of metal
but the minute somebody comes into my life and holds me
the minute arms press against a heavy hearted chest
the second lips kiss a tired body
iron turns into honey
and they
the bee
midnight cuddles are no joke
lake 6d
is this what they call fate
and can it ever change
is that what they all say
the opinions stay the same
that bar just keeps on raising
and i'm shriveling up like raisins
been like that since the beginning
but by the end i hope i'm grinning
cause birds gotta leave their nests right
so i'm gonna live my best life
or drop like a deer in headlights
paralyzed in my dreams and nightlights
Annie Oct 4
Still here,
beating.

I stand over the girl from my past.

My shadow is a mass, but I am Liberty,
in her stance,
in her strength,
in the sunlight.

Twice struck,
second one has stuck
in deep,
enough to blur the world around me-
around him.

Never mind the darker hours
 (they aren’t important);
what is crucial, is the breath in my lungs.
The fourth poem in my annual series of poems I write for my birthday.
Amelia 4d
The wilted leaves of the plant you gave me
begin to peel away
lingering on the sunny window ledge
starting to fade on this day.

I laughed at its structure
and how it reminded me of us:
started out blooming and blossoming
but soon we lost our trust.

Today, I feed a new plant
with the tears I cried over you,
and with the warmth that I never received,
I began to build something new.

I smiled at its structure
and how it reminded me of myself:
started out small and feeble
But I am no longer just a decoration on the shelf.
Di Verce Sep 17
Every note bleak here
Not a one is real
Each new mirror eviler
Dead end looking superior
Each and every day
With each new form learned
I get sleepier, more weary of the earth
A place where life is weepier
And death is just a church
No answers giving, no people neither
Negatives in all but me
Surrounded by the unclean
Cloaked in many toilettes
No end but waste,
To breathe is an offense
To God and to taste
And God Himself a waste
Of breath on the tongue
In the heart or the mind
An empty vessel
Just like his sheep
All've been fleeced
And everyone's a thieve
The only answer is in me
The rest of you are feces
It's obvious before our face
You've never did a **** thing
Real or lasting for the race
All you have is stink and smoke
And all the things you've killed
Pretending to love
Feigning to weep
You have no heart
Just gametes and cheeks
Like an animal farm
You deserve your pen
I'll never love you
Not again
That lesson I've learned
Of my own accord
No thanks to you
I've cut the cord
We don't thank vermin
For the pain they've given
The difference between devils
And angels is we're forgiven
What was the point
Of giving all this blood
To a world of pigs without love
But to self-reflect and -respect
And to learn a few rhymes
And how to butcher
And be immune to
Every unclean thing
Under the sun
My Father isnt solid
He was never really there
I am the son
I created him
I found me
I farted you out
And I'll flush you soon
With rains, with tornadoes
Fire and fear
What use are you now?
When all your lessons were what not to be
Oh inverted souls
My ******* is more reliable than you
No, let's change that, it's something I can count on
I won't mention you again
Give glory to what's good in me instead
Focus on what's right and real
Not the nots that are not to mention
Nothing to me now
The truest accomplishment
To give up on what is nothing
To focus on what's real
Something everlasting
Something that doesn't steal
I only need me
And eternity
She's my girl now
The only real girl
And im the only one she's inviting in
The only one who's real
If you wanted punctuation, you could have given me a computer.
If you wanted niceties, you could've given me love.
Thus is Truth embedded within Art.
Every "mistake" in grammar or spelling is also intended, for the sake of Perfection.
Sometimes i wish..
"Wish what?"
I wish that I was interesting enough to make you stay. Make you want to talk to me as much as I want to talk to you. I just wish I could make you care about me like I care about you.
I just wish I was ******* enough.

-i wrote this a month before you declared your independence
Sciresen Sep 8
We bask in the burning sun no longer shadowed by trees or softened by layers of cloud and dust. We relish the heat and gloat of our strength.

"I can bare the sun."

"Look how weak its rays dart forth."

The palm tree dries its delicate arms, and the willow falls with a final exhalation.

Man doth need no shade, for a strong man weathers the sun. A great mountain boasts before the wailing shimmer, and the roses soak up the heat at their leisure.

"I am my own person."
"I am strong and independent."
"I don't need anyone."

But the roses cry without the rain, and the mountain crumbles before the trembling earth below.

The sun withers them all alike. It burns the fields and torches cities. It churns and wails and scorches the lilies.

Oh man. Poor man. How do you plead? For you built no well you lonely sinner. You lie in pain, but you cut down your shade.

You need the sun. You need the rain. You need the shelter, the friend, and the pain.

The rose was born for your pleasure and the sun to keep you warm.

So, sob in the rain, but the palm was born for shelter. Burn in the heat, but the willow reaches out.
As an American, I know who deeply ingrained independence is in our culture. We live and breath for the strongest individualism. We uphold the self-made man. We praise the single mother who made it all on her own. And these are wonderful success stories, but they should bring us to tears!

As an American who travels a lot and has lived in multiple communal cultural contexts, I understand the need for one another. I understand the baffled looks when I explain Americans habits to pay each other back to the cent. I understand the pain in my friend's hearts when they hear me talk about the beauty of a strong and independent American. They hurt. They see pain for me. They see immense loss for my American brothers and sisters. How could anyone want to be so independent?

As a guy who met a girl, who thought he loved a girl, who was told by this girl after dating for some time that she was "just too independent - always having one foot in and one foot out - afraid of commitment - wanting to make her own way in life..." I understand the pain too.

I am the willow of this story. Millions of people in Asian and African cultures would see themselves as the willow in this story. And my poem is to Western culture. More specifically, to America. Most specifically, to you.
The Dybbuk Sep 8
In mathematics,
A set of vectors are linearly independent if and only if their null space
is comprised exclusively
by the origin.
The only solution, is 0. Nothing.
There is no real way to describe them, other than, "because,"
And that's as good of anything I suppose.
Because to be linearly independent is a Godhood in of itself;
You cannot be defined in terms of the other vectors in your set,
Bystanders to your mathematically perfect
freedom.
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