no, i was not a poet then
because i glazed upon my skin
and saw it as paper i could easily cut.

no, i was also not an artist then
because i painted over my scars,
hoping to become a work of art.

yet, i bear the title of a poet
and wear the badge of an artist,
for indeed, i am a poet and an artist,
but far from the spectrum that society
has manipulated and stapled into your head.

therefore, i'm only human-
one that has always been a work of art,
and a luscious garden of poetry at heart.
i am simply a nuclear fusion
of calmness and chaos,
with a spark of uniqueness.

@boonthemoonluv

Every time I see you, it’s the first time again;
like déjà vu rewritten in softer shades,
and I fall, surrendering as though I’d never known
the way you can both heal and haunt me.

I step into this circle, unbroken and sweet,
each glance a welcome wound, a familiar ache,
as if my heart has never learned
the shape of letting go.

I’ve tried to leave,
to walk ahead or fold back in,
but I’m tethered to the memory of you,
an orbit I can’t escape,
falling faster each time I rise.

I want to remember you less, but find myself
lingering in every echo of your name,
bound to relive each look, each touch;
this time loop of you, pulling me deeper,
until it’s all I know,
and all I want to leave behind.

— Sincerely Boris

Today, I close a door left open wide,
But never locked, in case one day, you seek
To return to the place we called our own,
A space once shared, now distant yet near.

On my side, memories linger, healing
From the bond we nurtured, fragile yet full;
But missing still, a knock from the other side,
A sign that you remember too.

On your side, your hand lingers on the handle,
Hesitant, unsure if the past is worth revisiting,
Afraid it may remind you of a love once tender,
That slipped through our fingers like sand.

Our hands meet; two souls on opposite sides,
Turning the **** together,
Opening the door once more.
What begins as a polite greeting
Melds into an embrace,
A hug that stretches time,
Filling the air with memories.

We are carried back,
To a time when we stood on the same side of the door,
Happy, united, alive in our shared warmth.
We leave it unlocked,
For whatever future may come.

A door is just a door;
And though we close it now,
It will never be locked,
For the love and friendship we once knew,
Still lingers, waiting, on both sides.

— Sincerely, Boris

We often fail to realize
That we are always at a cross roads
Gazing at the unrelenting precipice
Of decision and consequence
Each moment one away
From falling farther or rising above

Act One:

It takes a year to learn loss,
to feel the weight of each day without its rhythm,
what once was, is now only a shadow,
what was here, has slipped away.

It takes a year to understand the space
you still hold in my heart, in my mind.
What was once hollow, now aches with memory.
What was once vacant, is now filled with longing.

It takes a year to fall in love,
and a moment to take it for granted.
What was once ours, has drifted beyond reach.
What was once ours, belongs to the past.

It takes a year to regret the deepest mistake,
to lose everything; even yourself.
What was once within grasp, is now gone,
what once was life, is now distant.

It takes a year to mourn the loss,
to feel again what was missed and forgotten.
What once broke me, has now faded,
what once shattered, is now still.

It takes a year to feel the sting of absence,
to realize the love you held is no longer yours,
and in the stillness of that truth, we find peace,
carving space for new beginnings, for what’s to come.

Act Two:

One year ago today,
I spoke those words,
I never thought I’d say again;
‘I love you,’ and in that moment,
My world had forever changed.

— Sincerely, Boris

Time has passed
I have moved on
but one word still glimmers
Hope.

Let me make my own mistakes,
and let me learn from them.
As ice freezes over lakes,
I will harden like a gem.
.
I don't regret leaving my heart out
to get scorched, crack in the cold;
a lesson needed to sow doubt,
to make caution take a hold.
.
I've learned, I've grown
through the pains;
I am now more my own,
experience in my veins.
.
And now I don't even feel the break:
like a computer gone offline;
a reboot needed just to make
this new update truly mine.
.
I will survive, I always do -
my shipwrecks an eternal theme -
and I'll re-surface, start anew,
with new stitching along the seam.
.