tonight i swam in the water
color canvas of sunset
blue to orange
orange to pink
pink to red
red to black
it's almost like going
to sleep
light to dark
a warm body squeezing
back into the ****
maybe
it is all a dream
a twenty-four hour trance
and i'll wake one
reserved january morning
clammy
and clawing for air
‪please,‬
‪accept my apology‬
‪in advance:

‪i’m impossible,‬
‪in every possible way,‬
‪and i don’t know‬
‪how to hold on to people,‬
‪because i’ve never,‬
‪really,‬
‪been held on to‬
‪myself ‬
موت خود مرنا چاہتی ہے۔
مگر اُسکی بےبسی دیکو، اُسکا صبر دیکھو۔
تم بےبس نہیں ہو لیکن، تم بھی زرا صبر کرلو۔

میں جانتا ہوں زندگی ابھی بے مقصد سی ہے، بے معنی ہے۔ اور مرنے کی خواہش ہے بہت۔
لیکن خواہشات کا مرنا ہی خُدا کی اصل عبادت ہے۔
تُم بھی اِس اِک خواہش کو ختم کرلو۔ صبر کرلو۔

Translation:

Him: I want to die

Me: Death itself wishes to die
        But look at it's helplessness, look at it's patience
        You are not helpless though, but you too be patient

        I know that life is now purposeless, meaningless.
        And the desire to die is overwhelming.
        But the death of desires is the true obedience of ***.
        So you too extinguish this desire (of death), be patient.
The poem is in Urdu.
Title - I want to die
The title is based on a question someone sent me anonymously. The poem (or whatever it feels like it is) was my answer to it.
I hope it helped that person and anyone who has the same thought in in their mind. Peace.
Star BG 6d
I undress my thoughts
onto page.
Scribing to make self *****
to other eyes.

Body of prose glistens
to match moon light
as verses build.

Cloths fall away
replaced with
cool breeze that fuels words.

I undress my thoughts
layer after layer
aligning with poetic gifts to sing.

I disrobe myself
making way for thoughts
to gel and freedom to be mine.
Wanting to think unbiased but working reproduction into their logic regardless.
Hunting forged us and no longer does it. Work in a world that from outside would seem alien to us.
But the very people themselves haven’t changed much. They stay the same in a world of change but not change in some places.
The more they have, the more they have. That’s it. But no, they need more. They need to fight for more or lose less in the more.
We worked together to live but now what? We have built what fundamentally destroys ourselves. But do we?
We indeed only make the things that come to us.
A Prose poem about our evolution as a human race.
I do not have any interactions of love with me but I do imagine how my life will likely to evolve to someone as much as my dad always praises mom's delicacies eventhough it was sometimes salty or sour, and my mom still blushes with dad's cliché lines (I think he read it somewhere) like a teenager wearing shiny pumps and glittering fitted cocktail dress and her lips coated with red lipstick.

I do imagine how our dates will be like. We'll flirt inside of a fastfood chain and there's a possibility while I'm sipping my soda, it will spill because of too much giggle in his jokes and comedies of his life. I may also include on how exaggerated his narration will be. Watching movies that do not suit our tastes because we just want to cuddle or maybe make out throughout the movie at the shadowy corners of the movie theater. We will secretly eat bagels inside of the library because we cannot afford to miss the time to review our tousled notes because examination is rushing behind our backs.

And I will likely to express these silly situations out of my mind through poetry because as much as I wanted to love someone, I'm too wrecked right now to devote myself.
Man River
They flow down. Red is the pen and ink.
A look and a foot flag upon their boat corpses.
Planting into their skulls with the fragments as the crumpets in the soup.
“We are better than they which we killed!”
For if one is to survive the river, and come to the flag planters
They are said to be not the same
The flag planters only now allow flag planters.
Not the Cloth makers or the Cross wearers.
Nope, just the flag makers.
They are inherently better than everybody else.
That is not mean that is the way they know it is.
They have been bred with that thought in mind.
No matter the Innovators over east, they won’t win.
Or the one man army
Or the One man Country
Or the Saharan land
Or the previous house of Wisdom.
Not all humans are created equal.
Just the flag planters can lie about that.
A Prose Poem Criticizing American Exceptionalism.
Baylee Kaye Jan 8
when I fell in love, I became depressed. it snuck up on me, so subtly I hardly even noticed at first. I began to wonder what went wrong, or if anything had actually gone wrong. and nothing had.

I became depressed when I fell in love. not because of him. not because of what he did because he did everything right. I became depressed because I was afraid that I was messing up. ruining our relationship before it could even start. I was worried that I would **** this up, and I was scared because this was the one person I didn’t want to **** things up with.

and that’s why I began to be depressed, the moment I fell in love. the deepest realms of my mind began to tell me I wasn’t good enough for someone as perfect as him. that soon, he would leave me just like the rest of them. but he’s not like the others and I know that so well. he’s different in the fact that he loves me purely, not for some material reason. with all my heart I love him, and I know he loves me too, but these sinister parts of me haunt me to my core.

when I became depressed, I knew I was in love. such a morbid indicator but it meant something. it meant that for once I knew I had someone who loved me more than anyone else had. it meant that I loved them too. I loved them so much that I was afraid of ruining it. I dwelled on it so often I sent my mind spiraling out of control. an unhealthy cycle of doubt and worry. insecurity tangled with feelings of not being worthy enough. for how could I, someone so scarred, be entrusted to somebody so perfect?

I tiptoed on ice around my feelings that danced like ghostly figures. they whispered nothingness into my ear that I tried to push away, but couldn’t. I held so tightly onto the three words he spoke over and over and over to me, clinging with all my might that just maybe that warm feeling that radiated through me with each syllable would somehow overpower the darkness. and it did.

every time he said he loved me a stitch was sown onto my broken heart. each smile, every laugh slowly pieced me back together again. he fixed me, just as he promised. his gentle spirit, his kindness that brought me to my knees in tears and relief healed every broken thing inside of me. his constant reassurance, his selflessness and his patience in times I didn’t deserve it, fixed me. though doubts and fear still come my way, leaving me helpless and uneasy, I know that the darkness lies, and it always has.

when I fell in love, I became depressed. but the longer I loved, the more joy that began to fill my heart. with every tender touch and gentle whisper, he restored my soul again. and in loving him, one so perfect and kind, purified my heart to love without fear and to love him unconditionally. because I am enough. I’ve always been enough.
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