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ℑ𝔱 π”΄π”žπ”° 𝔢𝔬𝔲𝔯 π”£π”žπ”²π”©π”± 𝔱π”₯𝔦𝔰 𝔱𝔦π”ͺ𝔒,
𝔱π”₯𝔒𝔢 𝔴𝔒𝔯𝔒 π”žπ”«π”€π”―π”Ά π”Ÿπ”’π” π”žπ”²π”°π”’ 𝔬𝔣 𝔰𝔬π”ͺ𝔒𝔱π”₯𝔦𝔫𝔀 𝔢𝔬𝔲 𝔑𝔦𝔑.
𝔅𝔲𝔱 𝔴π”₯𝔢 𝔑𝔦𝔑 β„‘ π”₯π”žπ”³π”’ 𝔱𝔬 π”°π”žπ”Ά 𝔰𝔬π”ͺ𝔒𝔱π”₯𝔦𝔫𝔀,
𝔫𝔬𝔴 𝔱π”₯𝔒 π”±π”žπ”Ÿπ”©π”’π”° π”žπ”―π”’ 𝔱𝔲𝔯𝔫𝔒𝔑.

β„‘'π”ͺ 𝔰𝔲𝔯𝔒 𝔢𝔬𝔲'𝔳𝔒 π”₯π”’π”žπ”―π”‘ π”žπ”«π”‘ 𝔱π”₯𝔬𝔲𝔀π”₯𝔱 𝔱π”₯π”žπ”± β„‘ 𝔑𝔦𝔑 𝔰𝔬π”ͺ𝔒𝔱π”₯𝔦𝔫𝔀 π”Ÿπ”žπ”‘ π”žπ”€π”žπ”¦π”«,
π”Ÿπ”²π”± π”₯𝔒𝔢 β„‘ 𝔧𝔲𝔰𝔱 π”°π”žπ”¦π”‘ 𝔱π”₯π”žπ”± 𝔱π”₯𝔒𝔢 𝔰π”₯𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔑𝔫'𝔱 π”°π”žπ”Ά 𝔱π”₯π”žπ”± 𝔱𝔬 𝔢𝔬𝔲...
𝔑𝔬𝔴, 𝔩𝔬𝔬𝔨 π”žπ”± π”ͺ𝔒 𝔫𝔬𝔴. β„‘ π”΄π”žπ”° 𝔱𝔬𝔩𝔑 𝔱𝔬 𝔰π”₯𝔲𝔱 𝔲𝔭.

π”“π”―π”¬π”Ÿπ”žπ”Ÿπ”©π”Ά π”°π”žπ”¦π”‘ 𝔦𝔱 𝔬𝔲𝔱 𝔬𝔣 π”£π”’π”žπ”― 𝔬𝔯 π”±π”―π”žπ”²π”ͺπ”ž,
π”Ÿπ”’π” π”žπ”²π”°π”’ 𝔢𝔬𝔲𝔯 π”žπ”°π”°π”²π”ͺ𝔭𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔦𝔰 π”žπ”©π”΄π”žπ”Άπ”° π”₯𝔲𝔯𝔱𝔣𝔲𝔩 𝔱π”₯π”žπ”« 𝔱π”₯𝔒𝔦𝔯 𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔑𝔰.
𝔗π”₯𝔦𝔰 𝔴𝔦𝔩𝔩 π”Ÿπ”’ 𝔱π”₯𝔒 π”©π”žπ”°π”±, β„‘ 𝔴𝔦𝔩𝔩 𝔱𝔯𝔢 𝔱𝔬 𝔫𝔬𝔱 π” π”žπ”―π”’ π”žπ”± π”žπ”©π”©.
π”…π”’π” π”žπ”²π”°π”’ 𝔱π”₯𝔒𝔯𝔒'𝔰 𝔫𝔬𝔱π”₯𝔦𝔫𝔀 𝔩𝔒𝔣𝔱 π”žπ”± π”žπ”©π”©.
It was you who pulled the trigger again, this wasn't what I originally wrote but hey it's gone now. I remember writing how the tables were turned after they called you disrespectful - But maybe, prolly, actually, out of anxiousness I lowkey stopped them because I know you'll blame me again. But guess what, I know you always did whenever I'm the one who started... whatever you do along the way doesn't matter, right? Today I was even told that I fear you more than my mother, nah I don't fear anyone, it's just that I'm tired of your cutting assumption, perception and words that is slowly making me believe that I'm always wrong. I don't want to care no more, because out of all - I hate to lose myself.
Aquila May 10
I waited on many mothers with their daughters today.
my last table had a prada shopping bag with them.
they stayed an hour after my shift ended.
did they think
I didn't have a mother
waiting at home?
of course, my mother wasnt at home.
she, too,
waited on many mothers with their daughters today.
i wonder if she realizes,
in another life,
we would be at the table
with a prada shopping bag
give me a few years, mom.
we'll get there.
they didnt tip either
Itunu May 4
Shapeless love.

Can I call it love?

My parents co-exist.
My parents are strangers in a legal contract and they are destroying me slowly.

I am burning up, I am burning out trying to stay afloat
I am trying to hold onto a hope that is not them.

Bound merely by chance and children, in a loose hapless form.

Why won't she leave?

Mum, neglect is abuse too.

Mum, manipulation is abuse too.

Open your eyes, I want to scream to her.  I want to pry and hold her eyes open till they begin to tear up from the wind of his destructiveness.

Mum, please put your first.

She has given till she has no more, and he's taken till he has no satisfaction.
I am hurting. For my mum, for myself.
Alio Apr 6
Malicious, malignant
Crude, cruel
Your punishment for me
When didn’t tell you things I felt
Was to treat me like a dog

Call every thirty minutes
Not allowed alone with the kids
Else the police will show up
Make sure you’re not dead

I didn’t tell about the darkness
For fear of what you’d do
And as it grew it seeped out
Creeped up, out of the blue
And just as I thought
How did you respond?
Well let’s just say now
Im a fish without pond
I’m a hare without speed
Im an eagle without wings
I’m a person. Without air.

Feeling worse
More alone
More hated
More close
Just days ago I thought
I knew the worst

But β€˜lo
I was wrong
And now I’m just wrung
Without fun
Seen as dung
Just a fungΓΊs

I wish it were done
Or that I’d never spoke at all
Everything was better
When it was all behind walls
Anais Vionet Mar 18
β€œ***”. I said, looking at my phone with wide eyes, β€œ***”.
β€œWhat?” Anna, asked, blowing on her too-hot pop-**** breakfast.
β€œTony, my ex-boyfriend’s coming - TOMORROW - for the university tour. - He’s asking if I want to meet up with him.” I said, twiddling my thumbs over my phone keyboard. Tony’s ID had flashed on my phone last week - but I hadn’t picked up. His tour was set for 8AM.
β€œDid EVERYONE at your high school get accepted here?” Anna asks.
β€œApparently.” I moaned and found myself biting my lip in concentration.

Last summer, before I’d left for college, there’d been a brief window, when the pandemic looked beaten - if you were vaccinated. There were parties upon parties after the long virus lockdown. I’d decided it was time - I wasn’t going off to college as the only ****** in the ivy league. It was a summer of kisses and other things - with Tony.

In the end though, we never even got a chance to say goodbye because his dad, who lived in Arizona, was in a car wreck. Tony had to escort his little brother out there. We were pickpocketed by circumstance and parted on imperfect terms.

Now, suddenly, as if it were a surprise - there I was - and there he was, stepping out of an Uber. I moved toward him, tugging at my hair that chose that moment to writhe, like a live thing in the wind. I cursed myself for not digging my best clothes out of the trunk under my bed. I’d told myself that I didn’t need to - I wouldn’t - put on a show for him but now I was sure my reward for stubbornness was looking like a scarecrow.

His parents were climbing out of the other side of the car. His dad first, whom I liked and then his mom, who is a straight up *****. I overheard her sourly calling my family β€œforeigners” once. For some reason I hadn’t pictured them there.

Tony reached me first. My initial response to seeing him was joy, then it turned to a vague dismay. Tony, who’d stepped forward for a hug, noticed the shift and faltered. Our hug was off-kilter, as stiff as the embrace between two mannequins. Still, He managed to lean in and kiss me on the cheek, without saying anything.

When I’d imagined our meeting, I hadn’t accounted for adrenaline, for shaking knees and sweaty palms. I gripped my skirt with my hands, to stop them from quivering and dry them.

β€œI’m nervous. Why am I so nervous?” Tony said, laughingly.
β€œDon’t be,” I replied, trying to sound casual, β€œwe’re old friends.”
His face showed a flash, a microexpression of annoyance at the word β€œfriends,” and he said, β€œOld lovers, actually,” low enough that his approaching parents couldn’t hear it. He towered over me, could he have gotten taller?

As we walked across campus, to the welcome center, there were a lot of other groups of parents and students. Spring break is when most tours happen, when nascent, ivy league dreams come to be evaluated. Tony and I walked in front, and I fell into tour-guide mode, trying to entertain. β€œYale’s old campus follows the pseudo-Gothic style, like Oxford University, in England - but the style originated in France - with cathedrals and abbeys.”

After a couple of minutes of similar pablum, I asked, β€œWhere are you guys going next?”
β€œHarvard,” his mom said, adjusting her purse proudly, as if she’d personally been accepted. β€œAhh,” I said, Tony and I exchanged a look rich with silent communication: β€œIgnore her, please,” he said with his eyes.

β€œHarvard is built in a flat, ugly, red-brick, neo-Georgian style that was originally used for colonial outhouses.” I mocked. Tony and his father chucked - instantly getting the ivy league rivalry humor. His mother pursed her lips and soldiered on.

After a moment she said, β€œIt just goes to show.” I waited to hear what it went to show but the thought would remain forever incomplete. I finally delivered them into the custodianship of professional tour guides - right on schedule - and took my leave to meet Leong for coffee.

As I settled in, Leong asked, in Chinese (our private gossip language). β€œZenme yΓ ngle? (How's it going?)”
I started to give her a rote answer, but posturing, with Leong, would be dumb. β€œZhΓ¨ shΓ¬ yi chang zhΓ¨ngzΓ i jΓ¬nxΓ­ng de zainΓ n ” (It’s a disaster in progress), I answered, despondently.

Why was I doing this? It was full-on awkward. But deep down I knew. I’d wanted to see him again, badly enough to endure seeing his mother (who, on some unconscious level, I had to know would come too.).

Later, as we waited for their Uber, Tony studied me and Yale’s manicured lawns. β€œI tried to picture you here,” he said, β€œand couldn’t. What’s it like here?” He asked.
β€œOh, I’m livin’ the good life,” I answered at first, but then I added, β€œEveryone studies hard, hardly sleeps and is ravenous for fun.”
β€œOh, like everywhere,” he says grinning.
β€œLike everywhere,” I agreed, and we laughed.

β€œNow that I’ve seen you here - you fit - you seem at home.”
After a moment of silence, I admitted, β€œI couldn’t stay, and risk another lockdown.” I didn’t know if I wanted him to exonerate me or confirm my guilt over leaving.

β€œI get it, I’d have left too,” he shrugged, β€œforget about it.” Hearing him say that brought tears to my eyes, we clasped hands and after a moment, the Uber arrived, and we hugged goodbye.

As they drove away, I felt a relief. You have to live in the moment here, not in the past. Summer kisses only last as fond memories.

Besides, we’re headed for spring break in Paris in - I checked my watch - 2 hours!
BLT word challenge of the day: Nascent: "coming or having recently come into existence."
Persephone Mar 15
I lost my faith in religion when I lost faith in my parents
If they couldn’t save me, what chance did god have?
Weddings and honeycombs.
Why do they give us the hives?
The keeper knows.

There's a buzz in the air.
It belongs to
the rudimentary happinesses:
The minor miracle of father's smile,
a morning breath of honey,
painting toy lips with
blood from mother's finger.

Deathless protagonists,
Mom and Dad,
our propolis.
They love us from afar.
They love us with what they are.

There's a buzz in the air.
There must bee!
They can't help loving
us little monsters,
who sting
and then say goodbye,
sting and say goodbye.

A linn begins to form
in the corner of their eye,
as wheat fields sway in the wind.

The innocent
and the beautiful
have no enemy, but time.

fm Feb 17
you look just like her
your body, your face, your hair.
you look most like her
when you’re defiant,
an attitude that rivals her.
you’re stubborn and you’re wrong
but father forgot to mention
that i look just like her.
my body, my face, my hair.
i look most like her
when i’m yelling my face red,
an anger that rivals hers.
i’m tenacious and confident,
i have faith in myself.
yes, father forgot to mention
that i wear my mother well.
they had their good parts, but I got their bad.
Zywa Feb 1
Dad never writes me,

oh dear, I start forgetting --

to be forgotten.
"Vindeling" ("Findling", 2019, Vonne van der Meer)

Collection "VacantVoid"
hya Jan 26
dearest you,

my mind is like a blank paper, seems to be waiting for someone to write it a letter. i do not know how to think, what to say, or how to even breathe. in the past, i have seen the hard things in life pass right through me, and i haven't even bothered to react. it looks like i have never been hurt.

this is not a poem, but rather a letter to my parents telling them that yes, i may be young but i know the feeling of debilitating effects of numbness. that yes, i may be young but i understand the feeling of wanting to drown your overwhelming sorrows in alcohol, smoke, or the company of another person.

this is not a poem, but rather a letter to my family in which i express that the things i've been interested in aren't wrong. this isn't something i picked up off the internet or from a movie; this is something i've felt my whole life. i've come to the realization that i can love anyone the same way i love myself despite their differences.

this is not a poem, but rather a letter to my first love, in which i confess my desire and embrace the tender heart that dwells within me for you. while i understand that you may not believe me or ever see me with you again, the love that i have for you remains in every word i've written to you since it is only when i write my true emotions come out. however, the love that i have for you will only live on in every letter i send you.

this is not a poem, but rather a letter to my mind, in which i convey my view that it is alright to overthink, but that it is never tolerable to forget to breathe. you can't imagine your life without the adventures and warmth you've enjoyed. there is no way to live without conflict or hatred, just as there is no way to live without grieving or shattering. all of this builds to your self. so what's the point of changing it?

this is not a poem, but rather a message to my heart, in which i ask why you are acting as if you don't worry? scared to emerge from the shadows, scared of being crushed, why are you acting as if you are unable to love, as if you are unable to change the world, and as if you are unable to follow those dreams that are passing behind your closed eyes?

this is a letter to them, in which i wonder as to why they are fascinated with who to love at such a young age. why not just wait for it to cross the border? and if it's lost, why are you still there? being in pain and staring as if you are not wanting to try make it today.

this is not a poem, but rather a letter, written to you and your heart and mind in essence. a letter to anyone who wonders while they slumber their laments floating away into the night.

this is a letter from someone who is full of hope and desire to make a difference and leaving a word that you will not be entirely fine if you are not going to beat the whispers from hell.

always and forever,
haven't write for a long time but these words are the thoughts that i wanna say after so many years of living
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