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Herena Rosas Aug 20
I'd like to tell you
the story of the eyes
that changed my world.

It wasn't hazel but instead
it was sunken bloodshot eyes.
His eyes were heavy-lidded and
fringed with incredibly long lashes.

It was deep and empty yet
it was penetrating my soul.
Invitingly mysterious and all
I could think of the first time
I laid my eyes on it,
I was love-struck.

It was restless yet it
makes me breathless.
Allured by a round burning
I for sure was bewitched by
his unusual ***** of sight.

I was lost in a hollow
passage of his soul.
The colors that are painted
beneath his eyelids was full of
sorrows and chaos.
They are beautiful but
it was cold and dark in it.

It carries his heart and
draws everything in it.
It captures all that I am
and makes me see things
some can't.

A hurricane in his eyes yet
it laid my nerves calm.
A very familiar and miraculous
jellylike pair in a bony orbit.
It harbor the lonely skies,
enigmatic as the universe

His eyes were unconquerable.
You get lost and you get found.
I was 15 when I wrote this.
Herena Rosas Aug 20
Where the heart is; sometimes a familiar place
Most of the time has heartbeat and a pair of eyes
A room filled with ray of hope; your favorite space
Arms that wrap your flaws while you cry

Hands that touches your soul and make you whole
Walls that protect you and make you feel safe
A fire lit that keeps you warm when you lose control
Thine soul who embrace and accept your imperfect shape

Solid foundation that carry your weight of regrets and mistakes
An open door where you find the sense of belonging
Dim light that brings comfort and stop your aches
A warm breathe you will always look forward in the morning

Wherever that person go; it felt like coming home to a being
Home isn't a place; it's a feeling
moria May 29
in a society where we are not allowed to speak to one another;
how does one know if they are being seen or truly heard?

the words spill out as letters on a blue-light screen,
bright enough to make me see;
but am i understanding the depth of the people around me?
Dark Dream May 21
I want to been seen while I hide in the cave
To have some drama as I dig my grave

Exposed in all my own shadows
As I dream in your forgotten gallows

No other stoppages breaking free
I want an experience that’s not about me
Raven Feels Apr 21
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, don't really know what I'm trying to say here;}

every word in poetry

I want written on my stone in the cemetery

they fly in the perspective

in every human eye changed-disrespective

no faults on the creation all undeniable artistic behavior

faithful not for me loyalty not a word to my savior

hands barely reaching a touch

others marvelous not asking much

Paint your ink all over me
We’ll see how things go eventually
But I think I’m drawn to the way you breathe
To the way you see me

Pick me up like your paintbrush
Like a habit you’ve had though we just met last month
Now all I’m thinking ‘bout is us

We’ll get lost in conversation
The world’s so hurt but maybe we could change it
You know I’m drawn to the way you think
To the way we dream

Pick me up like your paintbrush
You know just how to hold me with the softest touch
And still make me feel so much
Madisen Kuhn Mar 27
come here. i’ll wrap myself around you
most of the time i’m sure i’m a sliding glass door
obvious like a schoolgirl crush
never able to hide the pink in my cheeks
or bury the truth behind enough broken parables
i’m about as vigilant as a chihuahua
perched on top of a sofa barking at the mailman
forgetting for a moment that you could pick me up
and put me down on the floor but
i promise i’ll just jump back up again
never fully accepting the plainness of my bluff
the winters crack my knuckles but
i don’t want to buy another pair of gloves
i’ve got ripped fingernails turned ******
and a kitchen sink full of unwashed mugs
and you’re pulling my hands away from my face
trying to show me how much we look the same
Madisen Kuhn Mar 27
have you ever held the sun in your hands
sometimes i carry it around in my pockets and forget it’s there
sometimes i feel so full of it that i believe in god again
what else is there besides
the streams of light peeking through magnolia leaves
who am i to the baseball shirt
to the blazer or the black fishnets or the crooked bottom teeth
it doesn’t matter
i smell lemon verbena laundry detergent and it’s like time travel
i’m in our west hollywood apartment again falling asleep on my right hip
sometimes i am forty-two but i am always fourteen
do you see me on the page or in the sidewalk cracks
i wish i didn’t care but i always do
where does it come from
the longing
the need to be loved by the things that we love
i hear a song or read a poem and i’m on my knees
i hate being looked at but
i’d do anything for you to see me
little lion Jan 27
there are millions of people that I have seen for the last time... but how many of them actually saw me?
Lanna K Dec 2020
After a while, the sweet kisses you once left on my body, turned into scars, of your memory.

The once, beautifully simple moments we lived out together, are now beautifully tragic.

The bass of the music that blared through your speakers, the same blunt force is felt on the pieces of me that you touched.

your love is like a merry go round, and you left my wheels spinning.
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