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The first time your love has to be hidden, you'll understand that "I love you" is a commitment.

You've always told of abstract loves: people, dates, fun that never yet happened. But he... he's different. This boy is not abstract. He's your first. Your first, and your secret.

The first time you met was an early day for you both, but beautiful nonetheless. The first date; the first time you've ever shown this vulnerable side of you. Holding hands and flying high -- so high you are in the clouds. You've never felt so free. Nothing, nothing holding you back. When he closes in to hold you as the horizon approaches -- as you fall into a state of carefree desire, brace yourself. You can't help but think, "where will we go next, him and I?" To-be scenes so vivid flood your imagination. And you know what? It's quite a sight, to look forward to a future brimming with life; a future so bright it makes your heart soar, as if heaven itself was right at your feet. You could try forever to describe it but... you smile because what's next to come is everything you never knew you've always wanted. This is it. Right here, right now.

Your first art project with another person, your first theatrical event & first request to be someone's boyfriend just as the clock strikes midnight, your first everlasting pitter-patter of your heart over someone so deserving, your first Valentine's day that you aren't contentedly alone but are happily in a relationship, your first shower with another person, your first haunted attraction experience, your first sleep-over & first waking up to someone so lovely, your first sneaking a boy through your house & first hot tub adventure whilst your family sleeps, your first "time" with him, your first midnight rendez-vous, your first SeaWorld fun day & first Busch Gardens extravaganza & first circus adventure, your first time meeting his sister, your first sharing of aspirations to someone else, your first asking him to revise your homework with you, your first dinner date & first saying "I love you" in the back seat of his car as tomorrow sends you back home, your first planning of a vacation that too soon will be postponed, your first planning a week together once school is out to sleep-over and everything else, your first discussion that ends as an argument, your first crying over someone who loves you under conditions only, your first make-up "act", your first Ikea trip, your first waking up too late for another more-or-less important commitment but to you he was the most important, your first serious phone call, your first break-up.

Your first time saying "I still love you" in your dark, lonesome closet, awaiting a reply, an echo, something. But you know that your love is unconditional, while his has its limitations; unrequited love will never yield your dreams. The pain of losing him is not abstract, it's concrete. This pitter-patter love won't go away. 

No... the first time your love has to be hidden, you'll understand that "I love you" is a burden.
I feel like an open book
not just some words on paper,
with still some story to tell
trying to mean something greater.
perpetually surrounded by stories but finding one for yourself is almost like a needle in a haystack!
I just wish I lost the stuff I hate
as often as I lose
the things I care about.
I wish I could find my favorite pen
and lose this fear of failure,
or lose my horrible Christmas sweater
and find my long lost self-esteem.
Kelsie Apr 17
There is power in the voice
The words that are spoken ever so softly
Finding meaning and purpose is conveyed through her poetry
Her mind full of chaos she just begins writing
Pages and pages start flowing, as the words just keep coming
Her art becomes a confronting and meaningful piece
Shared to others who need help finding connectedness and peace
A talent she holds close to her heart
Feeling greatful she has the ability to share life through all of her poetic art.
Mr Quiet Apr 17
Life is an artwork; it is not obligated to give you a meaning or purpose. So what do we do about it? Give it interpretations.

Alot of us don't realize the privilege that we have of not having an objective purpose, we are not eternally bound to do one thing because that would be a curse rather than a gift. Life gave us a chance, and that chance is to give a meaning to life itself. So what is the point of living? The answer can be as ambiguous as the amount of stars in the universe.

Do not cage yourself into one meaning, instead, explore the vastness of meanings that each living creature interpretates from the greatest artwork of all time: life.
Hello, everyone. This will be the last poem/letter that I will upload in this blog. It has been a long time since I've last wrote here and my life has definitely changed tremendously. Thank you, everyone. And if you're interested in what I'm doing lately, all my platforms are in the link in my bio, I now make my own music. Stay safe and keep improving.

Farewell,
Mr. Quiet (Dave Sison)
Ryan Apr 16
13.8 billion years
spark, space, and dust
boiling ball of gas
cold dark rock
an impossible miracle
70 billion dead
7 billion alive

me
a crystal lattice
of chemical bonds
ups and downs
forever dissolving
into a pool of entropy

a small heart
trying to make sense of it all
where have i come from?
where will i go?
in the infinite nothing
who am i? how do i know?

in the void of my anxiety
i see your beaming eyes:
two perennial stars,
a breathing soul that feels
and i know
that if death is the end
if life is but an illusion
you, my friend, were real
When the complexity of life overwhelms my anxiety, this poem helps ground me into what, I believe, is most real.
Oda Apr 14
Is this life all a fallacy,
People playing make belief,
Stuck in
dillusional false releif.
Lying to themselves,
Saying, "This is my reality,
Do not tell me anything
Of insanity
And intrude on my normality."
A lethal self-imposed ignorance,
Moving,
Tearing through life
Destroying themselves
and everything they come across.
Is this life just a fallacy,
As I watch them
playing make belief,
Falling in love with vanity.
All so superficial,
Shallow,
meaningless,
Full of poisoning emptiness.
Taking loves purity,
Making one belief
It is just a cruel thing.
But true love will conquer,
Shinning brighter than
a million galaxies.
Bringing Light
To this empty
Consuming
Emotionless
World.
“When an old man dies, a library burns to the ground,” African proverb
Ylzm Apr 13
Death begins the day the newborn cries
Not its choice, grew up believing
Clinging to futility on death's bed
As if another life brings the dead to life

Affirmed as gods, life stroked, seduced
Painful dissonance yet believing
Chance is king but Will supreme
Striving to the death for one more chance

Failures chastised, pride conceals, boastfully
Offering ashes, gods obliged, believing
Truly only Money matters, Chance *******
Life ransomed too, not today, surely tomorrow

Love or transactional ***, legal or not
Life's answer or preachers' lies believing
Perhaps only masturbatory self love is true
Justified indulgence entirely in one's own hands

Meaninglessness, life’s honest and brave end
Else denial and delusion, make believing
This moment till death has despair to work
Alas many flail cowardly, ironic futility grasping

Will strong, flesh betrays, in hypocrisy
Peter wept, shamelessness hardens believing
Death discerns not its own stench
Life's fragrance repulsive and offends

Life imposed freely from the beginning
Conned and chose to pay for believing
A shadow of what will be but tempted to be
And the Accuser justified and God ******
The most intimate thing you can ask a poet,
Is the meaning behind their poems...
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