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Sadie 6d
I wish my existence could be as poetic as my subconscious,
As graceful,
Elegantly dancing through life,
Like metaphors on a page,
Rain filling puddles,
Mud filling cracks,
Swaying arms of willow trees.
I think that I used to be that way,
I appear to be in the hazy happiness of my memories,
But I don’t trust my mind.
I look back on a life lived in pastels,
Baby blue skies,
Blush pink cheeks,
Sage green eyes,
Lilac dreams.
It’s all daisy chains and braids,
A freckled face,
Ferns and worms,
Rolling clouds and running streams.
I wonder now if those memories are just dreams,
Did they ever really happen?
Was I ever really happy?
Or was it all just manufactured to protect me,
A safety blanket,
A quilt handcrafted by my mother?
I wonder now if my life is just an amalgamation of stolen moments,
Memories stitched together by glorified nostalgia,
Fabricated by a veil so thin,
Made entirely of imagination,
A fictitious eulogy written by me as a child to remember the life I wish I had,
A life I’ve never lived,
A tortured poet trapped in a painfully privileged portrait.
Who can I trust if not myself to remember my own life?
I grew up cold,
Stuck in the rain with a broken umbrella,
With stormy eyes and a stormy mind,
Deep greens and blues,
Scarring scrapes from the sharpest scraps of misery.
I was born in the image of hatred,
Generational distaste that I inherited,
The quietest violence,
Gentle wrath buried beneath the softest reflection.
Tell me I’m beautiful,
Oh, how sweet,
Tiny and weak.
Admire all the lies I’ve told myself to stay alive,
Hiding my agony in metaphors,
Tucking it neatly between stanzas,
A great illusion,
Fallacious lines describing a person I'll never be.
thyreez-thy Mar 7
Oh little Caterpillar, 10 years old
Yet has a soul of solid gold
How can such a young being be such a joy
A spirit so welcoming, in a life you enjoy

Such a sad backstory yet you stand your grounds
Such a wonderful personality, your kindness knows no bounds
How fitting a cold, withered tree, was privileged enough to host such a loving caterpillar
And said tree also hopes to see her grow into a giant pillar
Your wonders run deeper than the orange river

To keep you in a jar would squander your abilities
To lead you too far would hinder your quality
You lead your life to your very own melody
To a song I learnt of too late, which led to a self made tragedy

You will become a butterfly, I know this to be true
Because you already have great morals, and a loving family too
I miss the little caterpillar that told me of her future
And I thank the heavens for the pleasure to have known her
Standing and hoping another fated meeting would occur

Alas, little caterpillar, you are but only a child
That had the ability to widen my smile
For 10 months I lacked joy, and your presence awoke my spirit
You left all too soon, before my heart and words could erupt

I come to wonder what happened to that little caterpillar
And if she ever contemplates the time we had together
Will the butterfly see me as nostalgia or a distant memory?
Will I be the oak tree of destiny, or just ancient history?
A girl I met a few months back in December of 2023, She had inspired me to live my life to the fullest. A kid I wish to truly see make it in life and have the same joy I did when spending time with her.
I heard the blaring wails
Of strangers playing pin the tail
On the donkey

Reminds me of a time
When we use to play
Swing the flail
At the monkey

We were young
And feeling spunky

But when the morning comes again
I’ll see you then

Today I’ll wear my positive attitude
Just for you

Till the soil in the flowerbed
Even if I’m feeling blue

I know it may seem old school
That I’m still sipping sweet vermouth

The memories flair up
And I’m returned to youth

Come upstairs
I’m on Floor 2
The one that has
A distant view

Just a couple steps away
From knowing where you are
I feel your presence fade from me
You seem so very far

The little talks
And street lamp walks
I thought would bring us closer

What was I to do?

Worry not your pretty head
None of it was true
selina Feb 28
someone i know was stuck in singapore
when her father passed away in china
and lately, i think i've developed a fear
of flying, but for all of the wrong reasons

so while others' stomachs perform flips and
all the engines and babies incessantly whine
and while someone worries about their own death
i sit, wholly at peace with the possibility of mine

but still terrified for everything after you drop me off
i am so terrified to just board this plane and fly away
every time i have to turn and leave home again
i am terrified it will be the last time i see your face
selina Feb 28
i fall asleep in the back of ubers, to the sounds
of middle-aged drivers talking to their loved ones
giving advice, the smell of spice, my temple on the window
just playing a mental jeopardy with the meanings behind
those accented words of languages i don't understand
perhaps, once upon a time, i did, but now, no longer

i sleep like a stranger in my own home, climbing
into my bed without caution, with atrophying bones
it's a debilitating exhaustion, it's characteristic of aging
of falling and forgetting about the friendships and benefits
that broke through my bed slats, plus the flash-lit attempts
to fix the unfixable with feminist texts and crumpled cash

i dream about my mother as another, and her neck
remains untouched, perhaps only adorned with pearls
so wide, and so bright, and the garage door is always unlocked
it's comfort, it's nostalgia, it's the furthest i've been from home
and when the radio turns on, i wake to unfamiliar laughter, and
"i miss my dog, and i miss falling in love," and everything's amiss
and all i can do is sit here, tipping a stranger as i reminisce
nothing like a long uber ride
Dylan Feb 23
Just before midnight on scant-traveled roads,
the stream of each streetlamp hypnotically flows.
No one dreads the hours ahead
for onward through darkness we silently tread.

Nocturne and noontide, our wayfaring tsoris
dissolves in the preludes of a botanical chorus.
Echoes of muzak crackle in waves
as rhapsodies soothe our youthful malaise.

Over the moorland, into the canyon,
under the silken moon.
I love the time of year, in the town where I  live,
When dark fluffy rainclouds block out the sun,
Raindrops sprinkle down in periodic fits of showers
And the colors of life look more brilliant than ever
It gives me the feeling of living in a fishbowl
The air itself seems to adopt a verdant green hue
Signaling the rainy season is in full swing.
I love you all. Hope you're doing well. God bess your day!
Dylan Feb 19
Pale gleams flutter
upon a lap of fluttering streams
and in a dream, the sun melts
as the moon sets at the end of my bed

Island marooned, the mana consumed,
and with ancient runes a song is stitched
as love is woven in the white of wool threads.
keneth Feb 1
do you remember when
all that mattered was
holding his hand

and smelling the sun
on his sunburnt skin
laid on sun-set sand

do you remember when
the only song you knew
was his second name

and now the only dance
your feet understand
is a stance with his toes

can you take me back
the night i cried
like how lampposts died

asking myself why
your moon only shines
when you speak of his smiles

could you take me back to sun-screened streets
where all that mattered were
our touching feet
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