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fray narte Feb 2022
π‘‘β„Žπ‘’ π‘‘π‘Žπ‘¦π‘  β„Žπ‘Žπ‘£π‘’ 𝑑𝑒𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑑 π‘šπ‘¦ π‘π‘Žπ‘–π‘› π‘‘π‘œ π‘ π‘œπ‘“π‘‘π‘›π‘’π‘ π‘ . π‘šπ‘Žπ‘¦π‘π‘’ π‘‘β„Žπ‘–π‘  𝑖𝑠 β„Žπ‘œπ‘€ 𝑖𝑑 π‘ β„Žπ‘œπ‘’π‘™π‘‘β€™π‘£π‘’ π‘Žπ‘™π‘€π‘Žπ‘¦π‘  𝑏𝑒𝑒𝑛.
this gloomy,
these cloudy,
the softness in,
these Fall days.
L Oct 2022
𝔗π”₯𝔒 π”π”žπ”ͺπ”Ÿ π”Ÿπ”’π” π”¬π”ͺ𝔒 𝔱π”₯𝔒 π”šπ”¬π”©π”£Β Β 
𝔅𝔲𝔱 𝔒,
𝔗π”₯𝔒 𝔰𝔬𝔣𝔱𝔫𝔒𝔰𝔰 𝔦𝔫𝔰𝔦𝔑𝔒 π”₯𝔦π”ͺ.
Sara Brummer Jun 2021
It begins with light
slanting through the seasons
and an azur sky
filled with emptiness,
a crane floating softly
among the clouds,
drifting shadows on the earth.

There are days I live,
frantic with life,
others where I float
inside a bubble,
breath moving quietly.
I hear the music of
the ancient pines,
filled with poems.

Something touches me
from that other place,
thoughts I don’t think
to say, reaching through
the high, still air –
silence washes away
the past as I breathe
quiet mystery into myself
« with a mind that’s forgotten
mind.Β Β»
LC Apr 2021
closing my eyes as the sunlight kissed the window
a blooming rose lightly caressing my face,
confessing his deep, passionate love,
wrapping his leaves around me,
protecting me with his mild, earthy scent,
loving me with softness and strength.
#escapril day 5!
fray narte Sep 2020
i am so tired of
my wrists being a battlefield β€”
the shrines for all the times i fell β€”
they all keep falling apart,
and nothing lasts long enough
for all these wounds
to turn into scars.

maybe the problem is that scars mean you're healing.
maybe the problem is that i'm not.

i have worn this skin away β€”
long shunned by softness
and each day, i cannot fathom how
i can ever manage to hold gentle things β€”
press them against my chest
when everything i hold
bleeds and breaks,
including me.

i wish my tongue was more made for poems
and not for dry-swallowed poppies;
the moon flinches at the very sight.

i flinch too.

and i am so tired of my entire skin
being a battlefield
when no one can see the casualties
buried quickly β€”
buried well.

and oh, what i'd give to be
soft enough to grow flowers on graveyards β€”
and soft enough not to break myself.
Cotton Candy Jun 2019
i let softness sit in my chest
cotton candy woven between ribs
sweet and light and a bit sticky to the touch,
hard to untangle oneself from

i let softness take a seat at the table
fold its hands in its lap
smile, nod, and listen with joy
such polite company, the kind you hope stays late

i let softness make its home here
to the best of my ability
welcome it openly and appreciate its presence
try and return its kindness
made this as my first poem hence my username lol,,, i'll try to write more often.
Michael H Jun 2019

Giving each other life
Closer and closer
Python in brains
Already there

Light blue
Animation with AI
Stark love

Reading fast
Choosing how human you are
Faux-morality dying
Meggie Delaney Apr 2019
That first night, I pulled out all the pulp of my swollen, pumpkin heart and showed it to you.
All full and wet and messy
You cupped in your hands the filling from your own heart
Much the same as mine

And we shared a likeness
Two souls born real and rich
Out of garden patch dirt
Full of gourds and crickets

I trusted your blossoms and your stems and your weeds
But you stowed it all away as suddenly as you came
And I'm still standing here
With all my stringy
Sopping soul
Charlie's Web Feb 2019
How many times must my fists smack your stiffness until you soften?

I don’t want to use my fists, I’m not violent.
Even in defense, words raised to take the hardness,
silently, repeat, repeat.
Raised to repeat, repeat.
I never wanted to be violent.

I don’t want to use my fists, but your stiffness is contagious.
I don’t know how to look at you without them,
smacking every corner, separating hard shells.

I don’t want to use my fists.
my hands,
They’re raw and dry, too sanitized.
and my shell is colliding, oozing, fermenting
into juices of the berries you forbid.
I don’t want to use my fists anymore.
My hands want to open, softly.Β Β 
Sweet unfolding fingers
offer demons blessed darlings.
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