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louella Nov 23
my sweet girl, you have broken me
in two, in three,
in a thousand shattered pieces
blowing in the wild winds.
i would like to love the impossibility of you
shamelessly diving into the body of water
that is you.

my sweet girl,
there will be no one left out there to
doubt you.
you'll be understood by those you
respect the most,
loved completely by the world that tossed
and turned you
like a bobbing ship on the open seas.

my sweet girl,
you'll be singing up tempo songs,
dreaming broadway dreams.
you'll be happy and without liver disease.
the panic will fall off your bones,
leaking into the clear shallow streams.

why, sweet girl, must you waste such a
beautiful existence hating yourself?
why must you deny yourself the love
you truly deserve?
why worry your mother to death?
oh, sweet girl,
why must you contain yourself for those
you have never met?
oh, sweet girl, when i saw you crawl out
of your cocoon, i wept,
for the change that would only make a greater world,
was finally appearing.
to you. the one person who has truly always been there. do not hate yourself. you deserve love.

inspired while listening to george harrison songs.

written: 11/19/24 at 2 am
published: 11/22/24
Boris Cho Nov 11
The vintage shop sits quietly, unassuming in the heart of a small and beautiful town surrounded by a body of water and cliffs, its timeworn facade a gateway to a world where old becomes new under the hands of a gifted fashion designer. Inside, the racks are draped not just with garments, but with stories; threads of lives lived, meticulously chosen and revived by a woman whose creativity knows no bounds. She is not just the store’s curator but its alchemist, turning faded fabrics into expressions of something bold and modern.

Her ambition is clear in every stitch and seam. She reimagines each piece, blending the charm of bygone eras with her own artistic vision. To her, these are not mere clothes; they are canvases, waiting for her touch to bring them back to life in ways that honor their past but fit seamlessly into the present.

Her dedication is evident, from the way she moves about her shop with a discerning eye to the late hours spent sketching and sewing in her workshop. In her hands, something as simple as an old jacket becomes a quilted statement, a reminder that beauty, when crafted with passion, never fades; it evolves. Here, in this vintage store, old souls are reborn, one design at a time.



In the heart of Elora, she weaves her threads,
A seamstress of stories, where vintage is led.
With eyes that see beauty in worn-out seams,
She stitches the past into tomorrow’s dreams.

Her hands know the fabric, each fold and line,
Crafting with patience, her vision divine.
Upcycled wonders, they whisper of care,
Each stitch a promise, each garment a prayer.

In the warmth of her shop, the old comes alive,
Threads of yesterday help futures to thrive.
She’s more than a tailor, she’s more than a name;
A creator, a giver, her kindness untamed.

— Sincerely, Boris
Foolish love, they say, is blind,
Stumbling on hope, leaving sense behind,
It gives and gives, without a care,
Even when it’s left bare, stripped and unfair.

But what if love were pure like a child,
Unscathed by the world, open and wild?
With eyes that see not flaws but dreams,
And hearts that dance to endless streams?

For in my love for you, I find,
A foolishness that’s sweetly kind,
I know not the risks, nor guard my heart,
But trust in you right from the start.

I love without a second thought,
As a child would, love unbought,
Innocent and free from fear,
My heart beats loud when you are near.

So let my foolish love be wise,
Through childlike laughter, unguarded skies,
For though the world may see it flawed,
In your light, my foolish love is awed.
Dear A?e?u?a,

I’ve written something for you, a reflection of my thoughts on love—the kind that’s often called foolish but is, in truth, innocent and pure. Sometimes, we’re told that love needs to be careful, measured, and wise. But I believe the beauty of love is in its childlike wonder, in its willingness to trust, to dream, and to give without hesitation.

This poem is my way of sharing that part of me with you, a part that is unafraid to love fully, even if it might seem foolish to others. Because in loving you, I find a simplicity and joy that no flaw can overshadow.

With all my heart,
Iyekeoretin
Saint kaya Oct 2023
My heart is so heavy over losing you
I have not been able to make sense of this
I just know that this is all wrong
My existence craves you like no other, and to think I might have lost you
Is grievous
I am completely and utterly lost
I am open bare as each day passes and with you I have lose myself whole
I am filled with insurmountable grief
Over you…over us
I clutch to my very bed you stray so far away from
I have woken up dismayed
plagued by homesickness in my very home
I am turning on myself over the loss of you
My heart is no longer my own
Appalled and vengeful over my soul
Every beat of my heart belongs to you as if you were the very essence that gives life to my being
My heart is with you
In your name, blazing full of you
And I too, my love
halfmoonprxnce Mar 2023
It's raining outside
we're off work
we're lying in your soft bed
warm from both the covers,
and the heat of each other's skin

We wake up groggy
I place my hand on your chest hair
feeling the thumping of your heart beneath
as we lay there,
I use my fingers
To sweep away that long, beautiful hair
The hair your parents hate
While you sleep peacefully

As I watch you, I wonder
If you'll ever know how many times
I stared at your Facebook photos
How many pages I wasted in my journal
How much time I spent in a dream land
daydreaming just the two of us,
and our families
intertwining
Write a letter to your love. Whoever that may be. Tell them everything. Everything you wish you would've said. Everything you want to say. Spill your heart in 21 lines or fewer.
Eloisa Dec 2022
And the love letter sent to me
by the moon is here
Carried by the pure, white snow
Covering me with love
Her old vow
Fixing the broken promise
of healing
An inspiration to take even
little steps
While I continue to seek
real fullness
Sia Morweng Dec 2021
I wished for too long
to live in a space
built especially for me
where I could stroll around
and stumble upon my
innate favourite parts of living.
A place, different shades of hues.

And I did,
did live in that space;
every time when you weren’t asleep.

Darling, open your eyes;
I want to come home…
Semis
Meg B Oct 2021
I can’t get your words out of my head
Syllable by syllable I’ve reread
Them a dozen times,
And now I contemplate why
And how I never knew
You felt how I do.
Cathy Devan Oct 2021
I wrote a loveletter to my ghost
I hope this finds you fine
Don't brush me off yet
I hope you kept that smile
The scars that grazed past my skin
They were my momentos
Hover over my loved ones
Be a guardian Angel
And when they ask about me
Or their hearts shatter
Because of our memories
Remind them to hang on
The good times
Make the lights flicker
Or shake the granny clock
On our chipped wall in the living room
That's the language of the ghosts
Ain't it?
©Cathy Devan
Ig rogue lover
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