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Forlorn puppies hunt through the trash in search of food
Incessant honking pounds my eardrums
Putrid hints of smoke and diesel followed by the overwhelming stench of rotting trash scorches my nostrils
Uncontrollable spice followed by sour lassi irritate my tastebuds
Dirt rests in the barrier between my feet and the floor

Bejeweled saris radiate from neon lights
Quiet mantras echo off the walls of the yoga studio
Aroma of fresh baked dosa weaves up and down streets
The wetness of one pomegranate kernel refreshes my mouth
Slippery canary yellow kheer oozes out of my fingertips

I want to leave but also to stay
Red
Red
Red is Mondays, swirling in a poisoned cloud
Like the aether
Ready to grab my hand
And throw me into the middle of the week
Before I know
What it is exactly that I have touched
And before I am ready as well

Red is apples
Macintosh melancholy
And candle wax galas
Red is an explosion
Of dark magic
Red and black, the perfect duo
Twisting and weaving in their dance
All low notes
And timpani rumbles
And middle C
And like the dueling harmonies
Red is too loud
Too bright
And at the same time
Always present
Always safe

Red is blood
In the same way my emotions are of pearl
Luminescent and shifting

If you see them
Something’s wrong
It's the smells,
The woody, earthy laden lift in the air.
A scent guilded in memories of twigs breaking under feet,
As I walk to the One Stop with my dad,
Wet, amber leaves stuck to his holey shoes,
The air is damp and unfaded, but lightly coated in the smoke from his roll up.

The smell,
More floral now,
Warm, heavy rain drip dropping onto vast leaves in Mexico,
The floor drier and peppery compared to it's English cousin,
My eyes locked onto the stars through pointed dancing clouds,
As if the sky has been dipped in glitter and laid out to dry in the jungle.

And now its moss,
Moss and pine and your hair.
It's both of us gazing through the foliage to catch the eye of a bird,
Our fingers brushing and clinging,
I can feel my mouth lift,
As you pull me towards your nose,
And whisper 'I love us.',
We walk,
Warm in one another's stories,
With wet socks,
And pink cheeks,
We inhabit the trees.
Wolf Oct 2018
Listen to the pitter patter
Paws of black padded pink
Hear the raindrops spray once again
To rest on silky fur
Taste the honey on a spiked tongue
Coating paws in bittersweet
Smell the dry sunlight whisk away sour memories
As the cat carries on
Watch the puddles catch every step
Paces always constant
Feel the blood pool beneath
The cat leaps off the path
We spend the weekends together,
and send "good nights" during the week.

Lonelier than ever,
yet loved more than over a year —
You're the only one that knows.

If I have to catch myself at least once a day
to not
let those three little words spill,
I know I've made a mess.
I can't feel like this!
But feelings don't listen, dear.

In just six months I know we'll be apart:
"It's better this way", I tell myself.
But why does it hurt?
Why am I scared?

A strange limbo
I cannot explain
No, not even to myself —
Then how could I confide in friends?

I cling on to the hope
that we'll find our way back
because I think, I feel,
I hope again:
All senses that I had lost the last years.

But at the same time
I remind myself,
of how I did feel.

Maybe over time
we are just meant to
crumble to less than friends
and then lovers again,
and again.
A poem about the lovelimbo I find myself in
Taylor Renee Dec 2018
I didn't say what I was thinking,
I let you have the last word.

I bit down on my tongue and let that awkward
silence get the best of me.
And you one upped me.

I gave you the strings & let you pull them.
I handed you the controller & you played me.
When things got out of hand, I placed them in your palms & let you get a grip on them.
I was fishing for the words to convey what I was trying to say, so I used my hands, but you told me to sit on them.


And I followed suit.


I didn't question it out loud,
But my body ached, my mind replayed the incident over & over.
My stomach turned.


I became deaf to what i was saying, and held onto your every word.
Turning a blind eye to anything that was wrong.
John Glenn Dec 2018
Your eyeglasses
Are a stimuli
And I
I hope you
Keep wearing them
So your heart sees clear
That you're beautiful
With them on.
Daniel H Shulman Dec 2018
The hands of time
Count our endless moments.
The hands we hold
Energize love through touch.
The hands that give
Take away our torments.
The hands that heal
Can remedy so much.
The hands that bless
Bring grace upon our soul.
The hands that serve
Make sure we’re not alone.
The hands that write
Use words to make us whole.
The hands that love
Are the best hands to own.
Instagram @insightshurt
Blogging at www.insightshurt.com
Buy “Insights Hurt: Bringing Healing Thoughts To Life” at store.bookbaby.com/book/insights-hurt
Nathalie Németh Dec 2018
look at the flowers
in the sky
marvel at its beauty
one last time

smell the roses
next to you
remember their soft caress
as you make your way through

touch your beloved
one by one
feel their skin
before you’re gone

lastly
hear the world
and say goodbye
death is imminent, my love

you stayed your while
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