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Twenty four and a few more
The woman has grown -
Even flown,
In her new normal
Gatherings of friends
Music and dancing
A strange, drunken costume party
At last!
A soirée in the real -
A gentle joy she dared to steal
It’s been a while, I know, but here is the next in my Retrospective poem series. Twenty four.
MsAmendable Aug 11
"OhPlease", I say,
Looking deep into the darkest nights
Searching, reaching for the faintest lights
.
Let my downfall be my softness
Let it be that I loved too much
Let me find the beautiful parts of broken souls
And let those souls consume me.
.
Let me feed the hungry.
.
And scandalize the righteous.
To hold those deemed not worth holding
Let me become the monster
Who might forgive the unforgivable
.
Let my trust in the betrayer
Throw me from my throne
I trusted the traitor,
Let me not be alone
Nikita Aug 4
In a world full of daggers
I want to be a flower
I know I will get cut
I know I will be torn out
But how can I live life as a dagger
Without a chance to grow again
Softness is often mistaken as weakness. There's real strength in remaining gentle in a world that favours the brutal.
I didn’t plan to make it this far.
the road was long, and I was tired.
Life never promised me softness,
but then there was you ~
folding sunlight into my hours
like it had always belonged there.

You, who can fit
a decade of joy into a single day,
whose laugh pulls the dust from old corners
and leaves something living in its place.
Your eyes ~
they undress more than skin.
They peel back the years I wore like armor,
and somehow,
I do not mind being seen.

You say you don’t like your greys.
But I ~
I never thought I’d wear time like this,
like a shared jacket
slung across the backs of two souls
sitting on a porch too small for regret.
Each silver strand a mile we’ve wandered,
each wrinkle a map I get to trace
with grateful hands.

If this is what age can look like;
soft, surprising,
filled with the kind of joy
that hums low in the bones,
then let time come.
Let it etch you deeper into me.
Let it bring more of your quiet magic,
the kind that rewrites endings
before they’re written.

Whatever waits for us next,
I will greet it smiling.
Because somehow,
you made forever feel
less like a promise,
and more like a present.
I didn’t write this for the version of me who was trying to escape life - I wrote it for the version who stayed. For the kind of love that makes survival feel like an offering instead of a sentence. Aging isn’t always decay. Sometimes, it’s a second beginning. And sometimes, someone arrives and makes the rest of the story feel worth writing.
lisagrace Jul 20
She stands, it calls her
From the cold and damp, stale air
These walls - a cage now
Orange flowers a scatter
Past the plethora
To the quiet green, she moves
Shadowed sussurus
Of leaves, root and soil afoot
They whisper. She stops,
And settles into the grass
Her eyes, blinking slow
Cool gusts move
through her fingers

Softly, she exhales
She didn't know she'd withheld
That breath -
Now a tear
A poem about escaping what’s heavy and letting the earth hold some of it for you.
Sometimes healing starts with a whisper through the trees—and a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding.
lisagrace Jul 19
I must look ridiculous
to these other café patrons—
just a woman with orange-dyed hair
blinking back stubborn tears,
trying not to cry
into her honey, lemon, and ginger.

But I sit there, half-failing
to maintain my composure.
I look anywhere else—
up at the ceiling,
out the window,
trying not to meet anyone’s eyes.

These tears dare to seep,
but this sadness needs to steep—
not pour.
Or else they'll overflow
in overwhelm.
I must take the helm.

So I take a sip:
that warm, sweet bitterness
rights the ship.
And the gentle calm
soaks back in.
They may glance over and wonder
What must be on her phone
To evoke such emotion?

Oh, don't mind me
I'm just writing poetry
about a silly girl,
and her hopes for understanding
Falling onto deaf ears yet again
and again,
and again,
and again
One more long swill
A sharp intake of breath
They prickle at my eyes,
Again

My teacup is empty -
I think I'll need another ***
For the sake of my sanity
I cannot let them see it pour
For a flood, an empty teacup
Has begot
A poem about writing a poem in a café – literally TODAY, trying not to cry. It's about holding it together when your heart is steeping in too much.
Warmth, near-overwhelm, and one more *** of tea.
My precious velvet donkey,
my dreamt plush toy, pure poetry,
a  cotton skin, so soft.
As tender as a warm cloud,
that dreamlike Platero, pure jet black,
as sweet as an angel's sky.
Oh, to have a Platero in my life,
to walk beside me in green meadows,
to mingle among wildflowers,
to lie down with me, to be my friend.
Oh, to have such a sweet little donkey in paradise,
all beauty and tenderness, love in its purest form,
to caress you and feed you,
ambrosia for my friend.
Together through the world of perfumed earth,
trotting in nature's heaven.
How I wish I could have held you
in my lap,
my little donkey,
together
in that world.
A gentle world,
where all is good,
in the world of my dreams,
where we are all so happy,
where that other Platero and I reside.

---
Mi precioso burrito de terciopelo,
mi peluche soñado, pura poesía,
piel de algodón, tan suave.
Tan tierno como una nube cálida,
ese soñado Platero, puro azabache,
tan dulce como el cielo de ángeles.
Quién tuviera un Platero en mi vida,
que me acompañara en verdes prados,
que se confundiera con flores silvestres,
que se recostara conmigo, que fuera mi amigo.
Quién tuviera un burrito, tan dulce, en el paraíso,
todo bello y tierno, el amor en estado puro,
para acariciarte, y darte de comer,
ambrosía para mi amigo.
Juntos por el mundo de la tierra perfumada,
trotando en ese cielo de la naturaleza.
Ojalá te hubiera podido recostar
conmigo en mi regazo,
con mi burrito,
juntos
en ese mundo.
Un mundo amable,
donde todo es bueno,
en el mundo de mis sueños,
donde todos somos tan felices,
donde vive ese otro Platero y yo.
lisagrace Jul 17
The woman scrolls her usual scroll, not looking for anything in particular....then she sees it - not perpendicular.
Ethereal,
Quintessential.

Moons and stars and coloured gems all
glinting in the afternoon light.
The woman afixes them to her curtain rail
The girl gasps - her eyes wide.
Rainbows danced across the walls, a shifting, sparkling tide.

She breathes. She is delighted.
It's such a little thing, she knows,
The girl and I -
She is me and I am She.
The girl did not die in the fire

She stepped out, glazed with gold.
She still gasps at rainbows on the wall—
proof that wonder never grows old.
A soft reminder that it's okay to be a child at heart.
Sometimes healing means letting yourself play, notice, and believe—just like before.
Broken Halos Jun 27
They didn’t quite know how to express it, but deep inside, they, too, were afraid of losing someone they love. Pride often stood in the way, a shield built from past pain and lessons learned the hard way. They had always promised themselves never to repeat the mistakes of their past, never to be as vulnerable as before.

There was a longing in them, a quiet desire to know what it felt like to be cared for deeply, to be love like a child for once. But in trying to protect themselves, they may have gone too far. The very walls they built to keep heartbreak out had begun to suffocate those who tried to get close.

They didn’t regret building those walls; they were necessary, a form of survival. But a part of them did wonder, had they shut out the very experience they longed for? The chance to be loved for who they truly were? Perhaps. And yet, even with that bittersweet truth, they carried on, not with bitterness, but with acceptance. For now, that was enough.

N O I R
My thoughts lately
Lance Remir May 27
Those soft, delicate hands of yours

That once held me with such love and care

Wrapped me with such warmth and safety

That felt small and fragile when held by me

Those slender fingers fitting perfectly in mine

Tracing my face and lips with eagerness

Tapping me to wake up for a morning kiss

Caressing me for our nightly love

Those soft, delicate hands of yours

I can still feel them after all this time

Wishing that I held them a bit longer
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