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Xallan Jan 15
Their youth has not grown old, not yet
tired, only their age
because their numbers don't add up
They is too big or too small, for this
body or this mind
they cannot be sure
Assurances is not a class they can take

after absolutism was abolished with the sun
uncertainty guides them
and they let it

What they loves is the night, and they
loved their day, and they loves the breath of life
They is not one here for adventure, but seeking it
They finds joy in the sound of silent heartbeats
and in the glow of closed store window lights
and coffeeshops and money not well spent
in excuses and experiences
down aisles and between crowds
of excessively loud and side-eyed people
infused with unseen smoke and voices
that hang in the air

in pointless conversations
about self-care and self-hatred and self-acceptance
because connection does not happen
with shared cables or hugs or fingertips

it's gotta be the craniums
tuned in to the same radio color
They smile at the time lost
and the temperature fluctuations
at warmth and unread newspapers
at insulating their takeout with their poor choices
even drinking forbidden coffee at 10 at night
vintage or handmade thrills
They laugh at the idolatry of merchandise
and the idolatry of spirituality and religion
even as they bow to the ground for their god
and they pray

listening to his ears for revelation
or any enlightenment left in his neurons
Input without limitation, and enjoy now
all of it is a distraction from the restriction
from the wrong place and wrong time

from the wrong skin
concealed by binding clothing, huff, huff
They inhales the world, and all the kindness but
only to exhale carbon dioxide

and that is the breath of life
Rose Nov 2017
Lull me to sleep,
Sudden soft rapping on tin
I can't say I never think of you herein
Of Tahoe nights 'round mudded hills
By the train's winds
Which have since, blown still
Each time I wish
I wish I'd been alone like this
Arianna Oct 2018
"The golds and greens of childhood
Are tinged with the blues of might-have-been."
I think the worst of it
Is that you.. forget
Who you were before
Memories slip away
And feelings
Until you're left with this
Vague sense, this innate
That you used to be more
You used to be something
With more substance
Than this *ghost
Amber Bent May 2015
When your heart still pounds
Upon hearing their name
Is it love?

When your mind still races
Waiting for a reply
Is it love?

When you still hold your breath
With every little look
Is it love?

When hours still feel like days
When silence causes great pain
When the world still stops  
and the feelings still wont wane

After three long years
After countless sleepless nights
After constant sorrowful wishing
When it feels like it would be right

Is it love?

— The End —