Enduring the enemy of,
Emory's heavenly energy
Myriad of memories,
Magnificent and merry
Cryptic the cartography of,
Caravans of Calypso
Squared the serenity of sierras,
Sovereignty of Einstein's secluded savanna
e = mc^2
*I love Emory University in GA. You can't blame a Southerner for that admiration.
I’ll fade to you,
In the Sierra Nevada blue
Your emerald eyes,
I will never recognize
Chasing the dawn,
Drawn the swan
Of our flourishing love,
Venus envies our dove
I want to drown in your heart,
I sincerely hope you’re smart
Interlock and chain,
Your pain in my geometric domain
I’ll solve it like my upcoming exam,
Acing it before you say “Aries and Uncle Sam”
Virgos love the best ;)
My poems are going mediocre again...sorry about the lack of inspiration.
P.S. Will look into this after med. school in 20 years...
*I took college geometry as an eighth grader; it was a breeze, honestly.
**My first (and probably last) horrible attempt to write a love poem to nobody in particular.
***I consider love to be honorable; no one deserves to have their heart broken by someone selfish.
The last note is especially dedicated to @sadnspicy0 and @Owen.
"She is the souvenir shop that He visits to remember how much people will miss him when He's gone."
She cries so often that She runs out of tears and the sobs escape her in the form of red disappointment that streams from her tiny little-girl wrists. She is the nothing but a landmark. She is the band-aid that He uses to feel beautiful after He is told that He is not. She is the thread that holds his ego together at the expense of her own. And every time She undresses for him, She knows that He is thinking of you. Because, when they're in bed, He's touching her, wishing She was you, and She's touching him wishing He was anyone else. And they're both just anesthetics to fill each other up with a feeling of nothing because somehow, that's better than any type of something. And He never says "I love you" in person, because She knows that He only loves her from shoulders to ankles, no hair in between, ditch the bra and *******, let that Brazilian fall in waves down her chocolate back as She gives him more and more of herself. But then He does say "I love you" it's only when He's still inside her; still a part of her; still taking from her. He'll say he loves her. He'll say it again and again and again. Like a prayer. Like a lamentation. And as He finishes for what was supposed to be the final time, She'll fall apart. Glass trinkets will fall to the floor, tumbling from the decrepit shelves of her heart and shatter all around them for his love of broken things. Like her. And He'll leave.
Kindred spirits with hearts to repair
Connecting with every story shared
Between the morning star and the crescent moon
We found beauty and strength in the rainy monsoon
we no longer achieve
peeling off our
skin like the band aid
that will sting as it is torn away.
intimacy is the art
of feeling like a monument torn apart,
hoping no one will tear you down
to create a better
i have become depressed-
repressing all the love i have to give
if only i could shed my shadows
and remember we are only flesh.
i don’t remember
how to be intimate.
The sunset over the Atlantic
As seen from my balcony
A sight that never tires me
Even though it doesn’t change
I don’t know where the ocean ends
And where the sky begins
Even when the colors change
They fade into each other
Instead my life confuses me
Sitting alone on my balcony
Even though the landscapes change
It always just feels the same
I don’t know where the present ends
And the future will begin
The seamlessness just frightens me
As if I’m missing out on life
But like sunset over the Atlantic
Teaches the view from my balcony
There’s more to life than sea and sky
And the sun will elsewhere rise
*Inspired by Sierra Leone*
— The End —