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You liar
You **** of the earth
Trying to get in my room
You disgusting excuse
For a piece of flesh
You user
You narcissist
Took without thinking
Without care
You robbed me
Of my childhood
Of my innocence
And let me
Blame myself
For all of it.
It felt like crossing      
all things cross, right?

It has been many years since we have walked through that tunnel
and into this land
where the hands of spirits became the wings of ancestors over us
and the quiet inner gust became an orator of truth  

Truthteller could you tell me again my name
They have given me so many on the northern journey,
disguised me to be one of the multiple
flickering pixels on a television screen

eyes darker than their own
but who has darker eyes

She is the barefoot daughter of the Pachamama
womxn of many tongues
womxn whose tongue was not cut off
so you hear her sing when the sun comes up
and sway with the blades of grass
onward in the direction of the voices and the wind
and all the things that cry and laugh out loud  

They made you cross, too
and at the same time
But they made you forget
about the birds,
the wind,
your name- our name
and the alphabet
silence is the alphabet used to speak truth  

They made you forget your name.
Ask them your name as you look up at the sky
cloudy or clear
as  children lay silently next to demarcation lines
housed in steel bars
gloomy and lost
ask and listen
to be humbled by your name  

The spirits call again
can you hear them now?

back through the tunnel of innocence,
they whisper your name.
Amy Oct 5
she was once a 'good girl'
who followed the rules
which were created by fools
dressed a specific way
which led her astray
you took that as a chance
to lure the good girl in your trance
and stole all her sweetness
and left her rotten in the end
Caroline Oct 4
There is a little man
Staring at me,
Cradled in my arms,
With eyes so wide
It is as if
They could hold
All my stars.

And yet, to him,
I am the universe;
All the darkness
Folding gently
Around his innocence.

And in this galaxy
I will hold
His hands forever,
Cloaking these tiny fingers
In the astral winds
Of memory.

Always, my little man,
Clutched to the shores
Of my skin,
Forever sheltered by
The indestructible force that
Once born,
Cannot be undone;
A gravity of love between
A mother and her son.
Written for my son when he was a tiny baby. How he has grown; yet, I feel the same <3
Enas Sep 22
Near dawn she opened her eyes..

The moon glinting in the sky and the sun about to rise..

He threw a stone at her window; something he had to say..

a strange feeling led her all the way..

She climbed a tree down as they held hands..

They ran across the beach and played with golden sands..

They built a fancy castle as their eyes unable to meet..

blushing cheeks and glances incomplete..

When she turned away, he felt dead..

So he took his breath and said..

all the words at her smiling face..

about how she made his heart race..

He counted every pulse his heart beat..

and her face reddened in summer heat..

as they stared at their own tiny feet..

The stars were fading..

The waves were breaking..

and the castle was erased..

as they quietly embraced..
Cassia Lione Sep 20
What if my fingers weaved a trail
Somewhere lost within your hair
The fear, the anger in your heart
My love, we'll turn it into art...

What if I draped my arms around
Your heavy laden shoulders
The burden there, would it remain?
One kiss, and I'd steal it away...

What if I trailed my fingernails
Like roadmaps down your back
Scars from those who hurt you, love
I would heal them with but a touch...

What if I kissed your neck like mist
Which breathes and twists and coils
The pain of anguished, desperate nights
To flee from flames I would ignite...

What if I ran my lips, my hands
From your collar to your waist
Healing wounds like arrows pierced
With a passion searing and fierce...?
du du du...?
Justyn Huang Sep 17
“How heavy is the light you carry?”
, asked the kid.

The light itself weighs nothing
but is easily seen by all:
the good, the bad, the wandering
and eventually touches everyone
which makes it an easy target.

To bear the light, one must
wander through the consequence of their own desires.
Everyone can spot the light easily,
but darkness masks itself in many forms.
Eventually every individual is chosen at some point
in their lives to seek their true path.
But they must navigate the dark on their own.

The Universe has no wrong timing either.
They send each soul out when they are supposed to go.
But everyone encounters different things.
Some see dragons, others see pigs, or even
the shadows of ghosts - but in dealing with these,
each is granted their own weapon of choice
Which is sharpened and made stronger with each foe they slay.

Everyone is matched with monsters the
same size of their bravery and no one is pitted
against the things they cannot overcome.
It is believed to be of highest honors when
an individual is chosen to journey, and
during this time the people closest to them
must let go. Friends and family look away,
and the more they hold on, the longer it takes.

“What about those colorful stripes? How
did you get those?”, the kid asked tracing
the edges of colors that decorated the light bearer.

Oh these? Every time someone loses a battle
and falls to the darkness, they are marked with
a bright color - making them more easily spotted
by their enemies and must start over.

But every time they start over they have
gained the wisdom of practicality to navigate
the darkness better and begin glowing a hue brighter.

“Oh that’s really cool! You remind me of a
colorful Zebra and feel like a Daddy to me!
I’ll call you ZADDY!”

Oh, gawd. Please don’t facepalm

“When I grow up I want to be as colorful as you!”

Ah, for your sake I hope you keep your one true color.
A bush rustles nearby
Quick, look! There’s a shiny bulbasaur over there!
Let’s go catch it!!

And the light bearer flings parts of himself upon the ground
illuminating a glowing path for all that wander nearby to see.

"Everyday is like walking on magical rainbows with you"
A short story.
childhood cannot be described by a child
when we are grown
we never can truly remember what it feels like
to be a child.
only glimpses and memories remain...

everywhere was wonderland.
imagination and curiosity sharing a dazzling limbo.
magic powers and crumbling towers and dragons and princesses and beautiful, delicate, precious things.
mystical mythical monsters roamed in the corners of our eyes.


we created them then.
they create us now.

they take form as
bosses and
lovers and
parents and

'it isn't real'


the absence of realness,
of reality,
is innocence.


the sweet naivety of a sunflower,
petaled face turning to catch light wherever it strikes her.
butterscotch optimism.

we haven't seen her for a very long time.
ignorance played too tricky a game so
we said goodbye to her blissful kisses.

did we give up our innocence or was it stolen from us?
could it be both?
who can say...

all we know is what we feel

what i feel?

i think there must be a guardian
who watches over a child's innocence
and at the
she decides to lock up the gates to wonderland
and swallow the key.

whenever she laughs,
we remember what it was like
to have been free.
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