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Afiqah Sep 19
life is this crazy
whirlwind
of morphing, wistful colors
sometimes,
it simply just sets
your very soul introvertively
as life’s dealings slowly
maturate and stretches you on

-a.
fray narte Aug 22
midnights still find me retracing the moments
that led to our thousand lakeside kisses;
they were secrets left in a summer dream.
each second — a bowline knot
leading straight to our
late night drives
and vehicle breakdowns
and last minute goodbyes
at the break of dawn.

midnights still find me sleeping
next to a shoebox of the books you left;
i still hear your voice
when i read the lines
of your favorite paragraphs
the clock hands, mocking,
leading me through a maze of
memories and parking lot conversations.

midnights still find me rewriting histories
with resin-pressed flowers,
maybe the petals will point to where
i started losing you —
and maybe it's in every direction.
the black, bold numbers have become my crumbs
leading to road trips and
to all the bus stops we missed,
kissing;
now i still miss my stop
without your lips next to mine.

and midnights still find me
writing poems like these
but clearly,
you're too far off
for these words to reach.

and now, midnights still find me wanting you back.
and 'til now, midnights still find you gone.
Afiqah Jul 25
addictions can unbelievably
materializes itself
and look like many things
and sometimes,
the most pressing ones
nervelessly have
heartbeats

-a.
Afiqah Jul 16
for even when I am gone,
know that,
these pages have favorably
always been one that has warmly
breathed your name
and I hope these words I have
soulfully written for you
lends you a heartbeat
just the same as I do
each time
you come about to read them

-a.
fray narte Jul 15
my idea of love
is diving headfirst
into the corners of your mind.
fray narte Jun 27
With me, you don’t have to dip every word on a honeycomb or flip through tattered pages looking for unused metaphors or make sure that every line is in its most poetic form. Darling, I don’t even want poetry or structured sonnets and all that cliché crap with coffee cups and sheets.

With you, I want the raw — the grammatical slips and the illegible penmanships and the 3 am honesty and the ****** up, messed up thoughts when you’re angry at the world. Darling, with you, I want the things poets don’t write — things poets don’t read.
Afiqah Apr 16
and here I am,
carrying
these heartbeats of almost
inside the corners
of my introverted heart
after all I am left
to hold all of these love to you now
stays rewriting itself
in my du'aas

-a.
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