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I try hard to love myself
The person that I am
Everyone tells me I am beautiful
Don't know why I never can
I want to love myself like i did when i was little
Eyithen Apr 12
I love the person I've become/but I hate the person I had to be to get to her/ I wouldn't write the younger years out/for fear of who that would shape her to be today/that is you would find a completely different person/still bathing in lukewarm water/or lost at sea in a turbulent trapped mind/unaware/and yet I wish I could pick and choose/to remove those images, those words, the fighting/not all the bad/but the biggest of these./Who would she be?
Do you ever wish you prevent certain things from happening? Who would you be now? For better or worse?
Broken Pieces Mar 30
This is my personal poem to you,
One that I will keep private and new.
You have helped set me free,
In a way I never thought could be.

You showed me simple things that mean a lot,
I won't let the darkness have a hold, I cannot.
You've helped show me I can fight this life,
You've helped show me I can go without the knife.

You've let me see the person I can be,
You've let me grow so I won't drown in the sea.
I thank you for the simple things you've done,
You've shown me this battle can be won.
When thunder is replaced with the screaming of an unborn child
And clouds choose to rain tears instead

When this dunya becomes a graveyard
And the seven seas give birth to one ocean of death

When the empty stomach of a black coloured men makes for a white supremacist's money bag

And when your lungs are used to carry the ashes of my faithful men

Then don't read to us from tales that greyed out your chest
Read of the walls that collected broken limbs
Read, from heart to chest
Read red to us
Kassan Jahmal Feb 16
Masterpiece of a passion painted, a lady mistress of
her fairest dame; So gentle of heart, and a love
all to wish acquainted; In the trends of oldest fashion,

Of her bright eyes of angelic fire, gliding, whereupon
two stars are dancing; Man takes hand to a leading
guide; His soul and eyes stolen— As amazement was
what he found; For by God, you are His art piece created,

Yet so disturbing to my mind, as words to express have
me so defeated; Worthy it is, speaking of you, tastes like
Lyn Jan 26
feels strange,
as if it was stored somewhere,
as if, it was things
that I can hold,
but, I,
lost it,
the memories,
thought I can hold it
yet, I lost it
it walks away,
followed you,
Ally Ann Jan 16
The water makes me forget,
yet I remember
the waves lapping on sand,
except we haven’t had enough rain
in years for the lake to reach the shore,
this is my favorite place
but it feels just as tired as I do,
living up to expectations of the past
barely meeting requirements of placehood.
I’ve lost the special that once consumed me
dilapidated buildings and broken promises
link the memories between
place and person
deterioration reminding me
that I am not the only thing
searching for peace
and finding loss in its place.
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