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May 11
it was the sunset that promised you a new day, a better day
the colour of her smile after she made a silly joke
the adorable giggles she hid and the shy confessions she made

the warmth of her hugs, words and her eyes
it was the comfort that bloomed when she told me 'everything will be okay'. the safety I found in her eyes when I nodded, believing it too.

the sleepy goodnights and cheerful good mornings. it was the orange love between yellow smiles, forehead kisses and red-burning flames of passion

love that was always there, even when the sun went to sleep.

it was the all-encompassing flutters in my chest when we were together. orange butterflies racing against one another.

orange was the colour of her love, like the sunset, that always promised a better day
orange hugs. forever missing you.
the trouble is
sleep doesn't
ever seem to last
long enough
no matter how many
hours are lost
to its nothingness
discarded willingly
to the vague
and the vacuous
some might say
for dream's sake
but debate remains
around the benefit
relevance or reverence
to be found
in that logic
waking up always
brings with it
a desire for more
for a return to
a form of non-being
where presence
and nullity
have equal sway
to be
not to be
free of interference
from that backwards
   of consciousness
With the hustling of leaves falling onto the ground and my hands used to the cold weather of Maple Street, the same sky where little strange souls like us meet—under the waves of clouds thickening our sight and our smiles splattered all over the place—remains.

I stirred my coffee, and you drank your now-cold chocolate drink. Your eyes carry the burdens of the stars and gravitate towards mine—I have been awake and alleviating the presence of old souls surrounding us, and I broke down. You embraced me like the classic song you are.

A lighthouse guarding travelers attempting to overcome the sea, I caught your hand and pressed it closer to my chest. Doors opened, unfolding a new chapter for us to climb higher than usual, and you looked at me like I used to look at you in pictures I keep for myself—lulling this young, brave soul to sleep in dull hours where you softly snore in a damp bed while the moon speaks in a softer tone to let you close your weary eyes and darkness begins to unfold within.

Sometimes it makes it harder to breathe the very same air you inhale—and these two young hearts live in another world, closer to home, and you held me, finally, the anchor I once dreamed of, and now your presence I could see—your skin I could be comfortable with.
wrote this for you, my love.
They talk for a new day
But the Sun has already extinguished
And he's lost in an unidentified darkness
Where the Moon is present
But doesn't accompany him at all...

And those twinkling Stars
Seems nothing more than his fading heart
Yet he's crawling along that dark path
In the little hope of a new Moon's ray
But he's unknown that a distance of 3,84,400 Km gapping them apart...

Again in that blank darkness
He sees some rays but this time Red
Unaware of the danger, he continues to step ahead...
They tell him to bridge the gap between him and the Moon
But he's burning down all of the Bridges
And thinks, he's going to build something new...

But it's just a thought, so, he decides to recall, all the things...
Before he prepares himself to see his own downfall..!
Let me say that things are strange,
I am a strange man in a strange world.
I am barely here,
A Wraith
Seen only in reflection
Moving in shadows
Seldom acknowledged
Yet sentient.
Are you there? Can you hear me?
My invisible form wishes to be seen.
My existence justified only by function.
"Love me...
Like me...
Hear me..."
I say without sound.
How can I manifest in this world?
You called me, your “Moon,”
and enjoyed every bit of moonlight...
But the moment you saw the “Sunshine,”
you ran behind it while the “Moon” continued to wait,
even after losing its identity..!
It's the sunlight that overshined the moon, but the moon never lost its presence!
Zara rain Jun 2022
All those little trinkets,
bracelets, rings and even a boombox,
that he had others bring to me,
They were all stolen goods that vexed people would come and claim back from me
time after time.
I never had the heart to tell him to stop.
He reminded me too much of a stray cat who’d finally found a temporary home
where he would bring tributes to
his mistress feet.

When I asked him what he was doing sleeping outside
my front door.
He blushed and mumbled,
that he would protect me from bad guys who could break in
and steal me away.
How crazy and scary of a notion was that?
And yet....
He made me think of a dancing bear who finally could scent freedom without chains.

The day
when they came to take him away.
I tried to tell them that he would never hurt me.
That he merely collected broken shards of scattered treasures
that deep inside him spoke about who he really was,
before the drugs castrated his future self.
When going through the rubble he left behind,
I found the glimmer of a hauberk
forged for an Avalonian knight.
I'm a "soul whisperer" meaning that I'd rather speak with people whom I can identify some kind of sincerity from. Some broken spirits I have met in life, I do strongly believe they were the voices of Heaven.
LC Apr 2022
when we fall deep into the never-ending abyss
where biting, caustic words nip at our shoulders,
we forget how to ward them off, but we can.
we can with these ingredients:
- aloe vera infused with compassion
to nurse the acidic sting of those words,
- honey that sticks to toxic atoms,
protecting us from further damage,
- a flame to remind us of our humanity
so we can join with **** sapiens across time,
- and coffee to give us presence of mind
to stay in this very moment.
We can take what we need,
whenever we need it.
Escapril Day 8! Prompt: ________________ as medicine.
I was inspired by self-compassion research (especially Kristen Neff's research). I hope you enjoy this poem!
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