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Salwa May 11
It flew away.
I stood there, helpless—awfully aware
Of how close I was to the edge of despair.
I watched the wind steal the thread
I had held onto for so long with my bare hands.

My eyes darted across the scene,
The red thread dancing with the wind.
I turned,
Tried to catch it,
Or at least follow its traces
To find what I did wrong—

Only to see the ground crack beneath me.
The once peaceful house,
Burnt to ash.
Windows broken,
Wood burning,
Smoke rising—
Damage that can’t be restored.

Memories escape
With every last breath the house takes,
With every curl of smoke, every scattered trace.

It flew away—
The last bit of hope I had.
All I owned, burnt to ash.
The dreams I had now seem so small.
I lost myself
In the name of saving what I love..
But was it ever mine to hold?
-s
For the moments when holding on feels heavier that letting go.
Orjeta May 11
People do lose me like the candle.

Elegant, quiet, shaped to fit their mood—white, or sometimes colored to soothe or impress.

I am placed where they need the glow, where comfort or atmosphere is wanted.

I offer it without demand.

There is no darkness when I’m lit—not even when everything else fades.


But they forget that the shine has a cost.

That the flame, though constant, feeds on something finite.

They admire the light but ignore the burning.

They think presence means permanence.


Then one day, the light is gone.

Not with noise, not with warning—just no longer there.

And only then does the absence reveal what the glow never needed to prove.

Not everything that illuminates announces its worth.

Some things, by the time they’re missed,

have already become memory.


And memory, unlike flame, does not warm.
Some things give without announcement
Lynn May 11
He called me a star
But how can that be true?
My light is only there when I'm next to you

My dad calls my mom the moon
It's supposed to be romantic but to me he's a fool
The moon is a piece of rock
My mom is the whole world

He hold my hands
And tells me I'm the sun
I don't believe him
But it is true love
Kalliope May 9
Once I was a caterpillar,
Curious but often naive,
Observing from the ground,
Waiting for my time to leave.

Then I was a luna moth,
Silhouette whispering to the moon,
Drawn to the heat and fleeting warmth,
Of men who did what they wanted to do.

When I was a black widow,
A man eater they'd say,
I lived recklessly in my villian era,
Until my empathy got in the way.

I think I'll try again as a hermit,
Not very brave but tired of bleeding,
I traverse through this sand,
Longing for a shell that won't demand meaning.
You'd call this an easy retreat,
I call it surviving what's left of me.
Damocles May 8
Would it be enough,
If the wind between us was but a breath apart
And I could smell your perfume as clear as
An ocean breeze upon a private beach?

Could you feel content
If our tender hungry lips
Finally collided like warring ships
Tongues twisting like Kraken tendrils
A war on two fronts until it hit a crescendo —
Of panted breaths and red heated flesh
Left feeling needy?

I am restless with intent
Intended to undress your tension
In kneading palms against knots that know not —
The ways I work magic in sculpting fingers.

So sh, silence those eyes
And lower that protesting volume
I know it’s been a while,
But I will love you like a fairytale
And you can tell me what you want in the ever after.
Just a simple love poem, nothing too fancy or candy-floss about it.
Datore Fargo May 5
I know a girl,
who runs,
without watching,
her step.
She just,
goes and,
goes.
I admire her,
how careless,
she is.
Her hair,
in the wind,
and the sparkle,
of her eyes.
She doesn’t,
yearn for anything,
but I am,
always,
looking down.
Watching my step,
making sure,
I don’t fall.
What do,
I miss,
in this,
world?
Just look up,
so I did,
I saw the girl,
fall,
but it wasn’t,
for me.
Even beneath a billion stars,
The little boat floats, hollow at heart.
Afraid of the sea’s unspoken wrath,
It dares not drown, nor chart a path.

Its only friend — the silent helmsman,
Yet even he cannot break the hush within.
It waits... for the moon to light the tide,
For the wind to hush, and fear to subside.
Aliya May 1
I hate pools, oceans, lakes, rivers.
I hate the feeling of the current against my body.
The fight to stay in one spot when the water wants me to go with it.

I hate how it whispers let go,
Like surrender is serenity
As if I haven’t fought too long to be here,
On my own terms

The chill that wraps around my limbs
Not gentle, not kind
But insistent —
Pulling me into depths I never chose

I hate the weightlessness,
Not the freedom, but the absence of ground,
The loss of edges,
Of lines I can hold onto

And I remember the diving board —
Toes curled over the edge,
The sky too big
The drop too deep

The water below dares me to jump,
Like it knows I don’t belong in the air,
Like it can’t wait
To swallow me whole.

I hate the silence before the splash,
That breathless second of doubt,
When the world holds still
And I almost believe I can be free,
Free to fall.

But I never am.
I step back.
The plunge is not worth the drowning.

In water, I am always unrooted,
Always drifting,
Always one breath away
From vanishing
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