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Kalliope May 27
Did you love me?
Or was it just my laughter at your jokes—
my habit of giggling, even at your half-shady pokes?

Did you love me?
Or did I just have the time?
Did you think, “Yeah, she’s not half bad. This could be just fine.”

Did you love me?
Or were you just scared—
tired of doing life alone, craving a body that cared?

Was it real for you? Or just another game?
Was I a plot point in your story
because the chapters had gotten tame?

These thoughts still haunt me—
and the truth I’ll never know.
Mostly because I’d never ask—
and I wouldn't survive you saying “no.”
Some flowers bloom but never grow,
Their roots too shy to let you know.
Your lunar petals, pale and bright,
Still haunt my garden every night
Kalliope May 26
I've watered this garden for ages
Yet nothing ever grows
I've consulted botanical mages
They haven't the time for my trivial woes

I've pruned with bloodied fingertips-
Soil so stubborn, refusing to shift
I've given every pamphlet a flip
Still no signs of a horticultural gift
At the very bottom seam
of my very favorite watering can
is a rusted hole
Kalliope May 25
If you're so selfless,
Why does it bother you no one notices?
2 am
Kalliope May 22
All my time spent
yearning for the shore,
just to crave the ocean
once my hair dried.
If I can't make time to drown,
I guess drowning it out will have to do.
Magi Candelaria Sep 2024
I hold up a mirror and
reveal what you are
   and you lash out at me
It is your reflection not mine

    --- Magi
David J May 2024
In the crooked hallways of my mind
I lean my head to look down at my past
I don't know what I aim to find
Yet, sit at the mirror and reel out my cast

Shelves of sorrow, and records of glee
Though, unsure which I came to see
I peruse and I browse, these times now gone
reflecting, like the moon with light of dawn
But this too shall come past
As life for me now can move so fast
At the end of the day all I can do is reflect
And hope I will learn to give time some respect
AE Mar 2024
I twist this discomfort between my fingers thinking of how to find the places I would be holding onto maps of all my searches
If I was in this world, by myself
where would I be but under the weight of it all?
Sinking into loss, folding all these thoughts and packing them away
trying to pinpoint the moments
in which I could define love
The falsehood of this bravery
grasps onto my steps, forwards and backwards
I keep walking in the same spot
sitting among moments and memories
and everything I've yet to define
knowing, however, that I recognise love
and everything it is
since the moment I could breathe
it's been in the spaces between my mother's fingers
waiting for me
Jellyfish Jan 2024
I'm still ripping out my eye lashes
It makes me sad.
I lay and wonder about the woes I cast
and why I feel so bad.

Reflection is a tricky thing.
It can bring up so much, but is never-ending
Like the hyphen between never and ending
Reflection is a process that loops.

You can feel as if you're on top of the world
Once you've climbed out of a pit after reflecting...
only to fall into a ravine after taking a few steps outside instead of running.

The journey to healthy is a tough one.
I feel like I'm splashing in this gorge
Flapping and flailing around,
trying to escape and get warm

Overtime, I slow down more and more
until finally, I want to give up
Succumb to the bubbles...
and perhaps, never wash up.
Tony Tweedy Oct 2023
Over half a hundred years
and still I journey on.
At times I'm left to wonder
Where all the years have gone.

Memories that hold the proof
that this life was really mine.
Reflecting as I sometimes do
was it fate or predestined line?

Did I make real choices
that took me down this path?
Or did some cosmic scheme
shape every tear and laugh?

Is all I am and all I've been
of unique and individual shape?
Or was I made to be like this
taking part in manufactured jape?

If some hand does guide it
and I be but actor in some play,
What point in this life I have,
for it to be played out this way?

Of course there is no answer
that I can ever be sure to know.
So I just blindly journey on
to wherever this line might go.

Random course or predefined
my day to day follows every bend.
And over half a hundred years,
I am so much nearer to its end.
Do you suppose reflecting on your own mortality is something we all come to do?
Is it the drawer of the lines way of preparing us?
Then again.... it could be just me.... might be why I don't get invited to parties anymore.
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