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Chan Dy Jan 2015
Fly
Sometimes I wish I could fly
But everytime we talk I feel so high-
High enough to feel like I could touch the sky

I haven't been to moon
But I swear in that moment
I feel no gravity.

(C.D.)
instagram: @chandyspoetry

Thoughts? :)
Chan Dy Jan 2015
You wear your best suit
You wear your best smile
You wear your best perfume

I wear my high heels
I wear my high hopes
I wear my red lipstick

You are so sweet
as the maple syrup
in my pancakes

I'm like a butter
spread in the bread-
melting when you look at me

This love tastes like a coffee-
Bitter-sweet,
Strong and warm

But the I realised,
You took me in the heartbreak hotel

(C.D.)
instagram: @chandyspoetry
Chan Dy Jan 2015
It's been three months
since the very first day
you said "Hi." with a smiling face.

It was until three in the morning
and we're still up
talking about the most stupid things on earth
to most earnest matter
There's no inbetween

Three days have gone and past,
You are a rabbit hole
And i am Alice-
I fell
I know
I did

It was your three words that caught me off guard.
Little did I know,
It was a love shared by three.

(C.D.)
instagram: @chandyspoetry
Chan Dy Jan 2015
HOW
I often wonder how on earth
can a 500-gram ***** called "heart"
could shatter my 100 pound body,
all cells comprises my existence?

For me it's always a question of how.

(C.D.)
instagram: @chandyspoetry

idk im bad at biology, well.
Chan Dy Jan 2015
I saw a little kid crying on the corner of the street. I asked her why and with eyes of crystal tears she answered, “My ballon flew up, up and away. ”
I feel sorry. I gave her some penny enough to buy a new one but with pure conviction she said, “It's okay, I didn't hold it tight. I should have tied it around my wrist”

I smiled and remembered you. I am the balloon and you were the little kid.
instagram: @chandyspoetry
Rod E Kok Dec 2014
I don't live in
a black and white world,
but there are days in which
my pallette is ******* up.

Love and passion
are no longer red,
but hues of grey
fill my soul.

Blues are no longer
beautiful,
but are muted versions
of angry self-loathing.

Nature is not reflected
in pastels,
but my mirror is broken,
for no light exists
in the shadow it creates.

If I truly cared to believe
that the grass is greener,
I could learn to look past
all the melancholic colors.

— The End —