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ANTONIO Ainnoot Dec 2023
Glass half empty, half filled, I cannot philosophize how much of a fool I've been.
To reminisce what we once were, then,
I continuously stare at pictures of you.
My most hopeful assumption is you're blossoming—that you're much happier.

All praise is due to the most omniscient.
Sometimes I wish you weren't so firm in your position.

May your garden be adorned with galore, all your memories recorded, and when you hear your calling, may you not ignore it.
May all your bouquets be orchids, and cups filled to the brim.
I hope that you're in love with all that you've conceived,
And when he sings how much he loves, may you believe in him.
Jamesb Oct 2023
I was ever affection over expectation,
A gentleman to the core,
I wanted love and the real deal,
Not *** with a willing *****,

Affection over expection true,
But laid upon a bed of want and hope,
Of Cupids arrow in my heart
But aimed and fired by who?

And there's the rub as I turn to dust,
For Cupids flight was elsewhere,
Not near me nor near mine heart,
His bow and arrows dormant,
And starting now
To rust
Exploring love that might have been
audrey Jun 2023
A life of my own,
   where the light shins through curtains
   and remnants of rain on the veranda
   where we danced last midsummer
A little corner in the world,
   where my childhood dreams
   become the lens of reality now
   dancing in the limelight
   of an overachiever's dares
A coffee shop down the street,
  a seat unoccupied
  a muffin left uneaten
  a glance at the heavy door
  a coffee stain on the oakwood floor.
we each bought
a burrito from
that same van
i would visit back
when i lived there
two pork burritos
one with added
sweet potato
brazenly requested
the other simply
the expected guac
my overconfident request
should have cost more
than I was charged
but the man serving
could not bring himself
to demand the full cost
for "just" a burrito
we sat and ate
on the bank of the river
that i used to
think of as mine
we bit
we chewed
we swallowed
catching up
as napkin-less
salsa-dripping hands
were licked clean
and wiped dry
across the thighs of
already marred jeans
Eera Apr 2023
Sitting outside in my grandpa’s veranda,
he passed away before I could appreciate his presence;
he wished for me to come see his art;
his garden, a green maze of trees and bushes,
from marigolds and periwinkle to mango trees and whatnot.

As I lay here on the mat,
close to my grandpa, I might gladly add;
seeing the ants crawl up on the periwinkle blooms
and wild butterflies dancing overhead;
with a bulbul on a mango tree branch
and crows chattering near food dumps;
with a sweet scent of marigold in the air
and crickets chirping in the background;
with a mongoose running on the broad fence
and a squirrel eating rice that my grandma kept;
with the sun rays hitting my face through the trees
and a couple of flies hovering beside my novel;
with a moment of pure serenity,
that brings a peaceful calm to this tranquil space;
my heart feels full and my soul at ease.

As a gentle breeze whispers by,
my hair seems to be afloat.
As the fresh air clears my mind,
I feel alive like never before.
As I hear children playing nearby,
memories of my childhood days come alive;
one of the best moments of my life;
in this veranda forever entwined.
As I feel a soft breath of crispness on my face,
I reminisce about the times I had lived with him;
the village isn't as bad as it seemed.

This is the land where my ancestors lived;
and where I feel his presence still,
he must be smiling sitting on the chair beside me;
finally, content that I appreciate his accomplishment.
my grandpa put all his effort in his last days to rebuild the veranda
Debajit K Jan 2023
Her embrace, ever so gentle,
Yet filled to the brim with passion
Her eyes, a warm void
My eyes, my gaze, drowning in hers.
The urge to resist I have not,
For the urge to resist, I want not.
The comfort she brings, the pain she numbs,
A remedy undeserved, a remedy desperately needed.

I feel her heart beating,
A tender, gentle rhythm,
As I wrap my hands around her,
My fingers meeting behind her.
Her sweat, rolling down her cheeks,
In contrast to the cold weather outside,
Our bodies covered in woolen fabric,
Us however, so vulnerable.

We both wish time could stop,
This moment entrapping us.
Forever in each other's embrace,
Like statues, indifferent to changes.
But we both know how it all works,
We are, but survivors,
Molded by everything around us,
Molding the love we share.
Ismail Nasution Dec 2022
Roses are red
Violet are blue
The more you think of it
The more it haunts you
Katie Oct 2021
How long has it been since I put this pen to paper?
My works have dried, as empty as the soul that wrote them.
I've come so far, yet gone nowhere. Should I write on, as per?
Scratch out bitter whines and cough them up like phlegm
Intoxicated by blood and hate and scream at God?
Those were the actions of a fallen soul. A child lost in data
Too cluttered and obtuse to see past the firing squad
Of my own accursed creation. I was undone, in beta,
Unreleased because I wasn't yet ready to be me.
Everything about me was wrong, hidden deep
Within smoke and fog I made myself so I could be
Whatever I needed to be. But the truth will seep.

And maybe now I'm ready.
I'm ready to be Her.
Maybe now I'm ready to write.
I forgot about this page for a long time. I wrote this whilst I looked through my past works. I wanted to post my two parter before this because it was old too. This is where I want to start.
Isaac afunadhula May 2021
Listen dearest to the signal of distress
days left me longing to wonder about the situation as l lay in bed with an open eye groaning with broken soul
help dearest l call on to you to pull me out of this sorrow help for the reminiscence hurts and enemy too has considered me weak to take the fight but now that you here l feel safe in your arms
LaToya Martin Nov 2020
He went on and on about his childhood
About how he walked miles to school barefoot in snow
Oh how we chuckled to his many stories
Grandpa spoke about where he and grandma first met
He rambled about life
And how the news was so important to watch
How saving money was mandatory
And material things wasn’t
I remember the smell of his homemade biscuits
baking in the morning
Long before the rooster crowed
He attended his garden faithfully as if resting was a sin
Grandpa’s words were heard miles away
Even if he spoke in silence
As a child he didn’t have presents for Christmas
So he explained that we should be thankful
Even if nothing was wrapped with a bow and given as a gift
I remember as he sat in his recliner
And his gray hair shimmered under the lights
And how all of us kids would laugh when he and grandma argued
This year will be different
Now it’s our time to reminiscence about him
He has decided to finally rest
Because Grandpa won’t be here this Christmas
                                           -LaToya Martin
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