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Crimsyy Feb 2017

He is a truly sublime being,
his "I love you's" like
sticky notes, stickers,
every embrace leaves
an imprint on my arms,
every kiss clings to my tongue
until I taste him again,
His love, an adhesive,
a sudden wallop of rapture
flowing through each
cremation chamber,
making my heart hum hum hum
a little faster faster faster
love knows no punctuation

- Crimsyy
Kim Elaydo Jul 2016
You stuck to me
Like a cute sticker
On a 4-year old's arm
Showing the world
That i had you
That you were with me
And I was with you—
That we were inseparable.

But when you walked away
You left tiny residues
Of what you were
And where you were
In my life
Showing the world
What i had lost —
What once was mine
Spur of the moment kind of thing.
svdgrl Apr 2014
Today, I accidentally spoke to a stranger.
Seated at the round table with my laptop,
I stared at a couple speaking my language.
He caught me looking, and seemed confused.
I was embarrassed for staring
so I explained, "I understood them-
there aren't many other speakers that I know,"
and quickly looked back down.
And the feeling of regret welled up inside me.
It was far too late.
I can see him staring at me, now.
Burning holes into the back of my screen.
For a second I thought he might have been mute.
Why stare at me so hard without uttering a word?
I'm not wearing anything particularly interesting.
He must know that I see him in my peripherals.
What if he really is mute?
Maybe he needs some help?
Should I look up? I can't.
Why not? Because that would mean
I'd have to speak more.
You shouldn't have spoken at all.
I was embarrassed for staring.
He should be embarrassed for staring, too.
I hope I didn't "speak his language."
He probably isn't even looking at you.
We're the only ones at this table.
He keeps looking up from his book.
Maybe if I look at him quickly I'll know if he's looking
at the empty billboard behind me instead.
I just looked up.
He's looking at me.
And not a word was exchanged.
Now this is that much more awkward,
I'll never look up again.
I'll just pack my things.
And never speak to strangers again.
But wait...
what if he knows me?
What if he's waiting for me to recognize him?
I don't know him, I'm sure.
He won't stop staring.
I close my laptop
and see my motley stickers.
Some with writing, some with pictures.
Sigh of relief.
Just my stickers.
I'd look, too.
Packed it away
and went to class.
How silly was I, just then?
But I still won't speak to strangers, again.
What if he knew I wrote this poem about him? What if he can read minds? I hope he never finds this.

— The End —