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akshitha May 26
do men even love anymore?
coming from a woman who gave it all—
who still couldn’t fathom what is at the heart of men.

she had the love,
was it difficult to appreciate?
the late-night paragraphs,
the never-ending patience of hers,
the letters,
the affection—
she loved him, even in her chaos.
she wanted to be loved too.

she had the doubt,
was it difficult to reassure?
the same repeated cycles
led to trust issues.
she betrayed her dignity
to love you.

she had the effort,
was it difficult to reciprocate?
she who gave it all
was content with the bare minimum.

she, despite all the things that hurt her,
couldn’t unlove one
who she once loved.

she waited,
until she couldn’t anymore.

To the men-
make em feel loved, without em begging.
-akshitha
to the men who read this, love her fiercely and don't make her beg for it.
Agnes de Lods May 14
Is this water still water
in the photo taken a moment ago,
or is it reflecting the sky
in a dark mirror of wishes,
drifting through the mind?

Do the thoughts wear the words?
Do they embrace stillness and truth?
There is no single pattern to interpret.
Alternative facts appear credible.

What was predictable, a sweet certainty,
became a distant mirage of memories,
touching softly reality and its interpretations,
sealed tightly in the crystal bottle,
sinking slowly into oblivion without regrets.

Canceled words are so infinite and quiet,
bringing a deep indigo relief,
inexpressible and so beautiful.
No doubts. No screams.
Just a peaceful self-reconciliation.
Zee Apr 26
The person you are trying to reach.
Is unavailable.

As in emotionally distant.
As in you can't get through.

There's no use in leaving.
A voice message.

As it wouldn't get through.
So you'll try again in an hour.

Please leave a message.
Please leave a message.
Please leave a message.

Yet there was never a message.
That was left just for you.

As you're left wondering.
What on earth to do.

Surely even god answers a prayer or two.
owls at dawn Mar 1
I’m hopelessly swept up in you
I try to keep my post
but I can’t find it
everywhere I look is your face
everything I feel is you

it’s ok, they tell me
all you are is as it should be
your post has changed
we never walk d i r e c t l y
with absolute knowledge
into our new selves
our new lives

you’ve just taken a great big blind leap
into a very bright light
you can’t even imagine
who you will be
once your eyes adjust

so take a break from your becoming
and just be what you are right now…

love struck
kokoro Feb 24
every time i open my computer i have to force myself to not look down to that green box, letting me know if you ever found the time to message me back.

I put my web browser on full, so i don't get tempted by that box.
i go on do not disturb so i don't immediately get back to you like how you don't get back to me when you see my text.

I have to pretend that i don't care about my phone,
because every time i log in the only notification i'm greeted with is "no new notifications."

I try to ignore it like you ignore me for hours,
but I physically cant.
it lingers in my brain, minutes feel like hours knowing your just waiting, and even if i text you, you wont understand, will you? because i'm sitting here crying on my bed, wishing you would ever make the time to see me, wishing that you could just talk to me, but i can't do anything about it, because i know on your phone,

i'm silenced.
What makes a piece of art beautiful are its imperfections
Smirks and smears that callously redirect ones attention
When the piece can transcend societal norms and march upon new land
Constructing a new sense of understanding that bashes boundaries many never understand
It is in that instance that creation reaches its epitome of aesthetic

Melanin……
I reiterate MELANIN, God bless the skin that it’s enriched in
Imagine being birthed with a substance that halts the aging process
That personifies strength and out runs the confines of carnivorous opinions
Easily absorbing and reflecting the sun’s kisses as if its purpose was to point to the right way with light rays
Just the thought of being born lit is enough to brighten up a black person’s day!
And dear I say God looked upon you and thought to himself
You deserve a few extra dashes of my chemical X incarnate

As if your bronzed caramel skin wasn’t enough to garner sin
Those spots that delicately mark your face
They intrinsically provide a map to where any and many can find an escape
They are scientifically classified as clusters of concentrated melanocytes
But to any human not gifted with scientific insight
They can be categorized as imperfection whose greatness is directly proportional to the chaos of loss
The L taken by any X of yours that couldn’t step up
For any passer-by that is struck in awe by your gaze
Then immediately sullen by the fact that at that moment
Those seconds were a part of their last happy day
Because to go on living in a world where those cautiously coined clusters cannot be seen at one’s leisure
Is one life that is bereft of joy and filled with everything meagre
…..where one never wakes up eager

I pen this poem with the burning desire to let my fantasies run rampant
To the minds of the individuals whose faces are blessed canvases

So that they know they are walking statues of vigour and vaulting hues
Specifically my Black Brothas and Sistas that were blessed by the Gods
And given a torch that burns more radiant than the polygamous escapades of Zeus’s heart
I want you all to know that you add something extra to this world
That your beauty marks, moles, scars and freckles are a sight to behold
So continue to tread this earth carefully as children that hold the keys to its Gates
You all are indeed the Melanin Kings and Queens that leave nothing but courageous attitude and aspirations in your wake
And Lead with everything that Melanin can provide in its namesake
Yearning for a much simpler time,
yet the ticking clock only stops,
when the overlord behemoth's thumb,
presses the languid clicker at the top.

Churning are these guts of mine,
bones ground to juice that flops,
a remainder of all things in sum,
mass ****** equations; divide, drop.

Burning are high stakes of thine,
the living inferno never, ever stops,
bullet holes spew from a smoking gun,
a blue prison; is all you'll ever cop.

Returning to the scene of the crime;
are the leopard gecko's slimeball spots,
no contrived camouflage under the sun,
could disguise what you haven't got.

Spurning longjevity in life's grand design,
ageing knees and elbows; envy baby cots,
yarns left woollen trails as they're unspun,
concepts were a 1 in 400 trillion shot.

Learning to make the most of light ashine,
the gloaming thief of joy; takes the lot,
every evening He turns his back to shun,
the roving wanderers without a **** or ***.

Earning a reputation for standing in line,
we all fall head long; as we come-a-crop,
the tasers are always set to stun,
as high priests of power scheme & plot.

Unturning are; unlimited tides of time,
oceans render; we sailors, besot,
waves of deathly wordplay; minus puns,
it's the sum of; every jet & flot.

No matter how many bottled signals,
we've received or sent,
time always sends;
the final message in the end.

Yes, my friend, no matter how many bottled signals,
we've received or sent,
time always sends;
the final message in the end.

© poormansdreams
I just wanted you to know,
You're not alone,
And I couldn't say it to your face,
Because I was scared.

You're not the first person out of you and me,
To try and dive (die),
And make it to a better side.
It's why I'm always trying so hard to make her feel good
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