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I could never finish writing off your name, with your strawberry scent vibrating towards mine and your hooded eyes that covers the wrinkles and your cheek dampens when you crook a smile, I could never stop writing you.

Maybe I was just drawing a thin line with heaven and a tightrope with my eyes close and hell bent towards the unending loophole of my forsaking fantasies, I guess I might stay here. There was something about you that I cannot forsake nor repaint with foreign colors and another texture — you were as a majestic being in my lucid dream.

That even though I cannot recount my fingers one or two or five or ten, I can picture the deepening hole of your dimples whenever you give the world another unbreathable cheeky beam and I sulk here, waiting for another neon glow of that majestic world in my dreamlike prophetic future.

Something told me it was you. As I bear witness another beauty in the realm of my alternative home, maybe then, peering at the sky while I was on a tightrope is worth every penny of sleep and drowsiness gulping another 90's wine.
Wrote this waaay too long ago. I just turned 21 this month. Still not fine, doing a little better, improving and growing.

Hoping for a better future. Hugs to everyone **
I S A A C Apr 10
lavender, lilac, and strawberry
I taste energy like yours rarely
make my cheeks redder than cherry
you have an essence, it is a blessing
you taught me lessons, such a blessing
I thought I was unlovable you showed me the contrary
make me sing like the giddy canary
was too used to solitary
read my feelings like a library
a taste of frozen snow
how about pistachio
chocolate fountain
or vanilla chateau
could be strawberry fields
maybe mixed
with honey and wine
or collected from
the lower slopes of
confection perfection

call it what you like:
Dondurma,
Kulfi,
Cornets with Cream,
perhaps like Agnes,
Queen of Ices,
wading deeper
into blissful sugar,
waffling
back and forth
in endless
flavored dreams
I wonder how many calories are in this poem?
life tasted sweet
under your eyelashes,
******* strawberry-flavored flowers,
and spitting out the seeds
which would eventually grow into
humble spite.

when the ground was bare,
and the atmosphere was intact,
my eyes never left your fingers
and my sharp friend never forgot
the taste of my strawberry wrists.

addicting
promising
bittersweet in the sense
that you tend to forget
that my fate is my gold
hence,
it is time to work.
it is time to get old.

we are never going back under this tree again.
(aren't we?)

for it is the calling.
it is time to speak with the tongue of love -
for myself.
no longer pink
from the strawberries.

i want to look loud,
i want the flavor of the world beyond.
i want to **** the clouds until they
gravitate back to earth.
i want to be satisfied,
not full.
full circle. life has changed drastically for the past years. i'm excited to get back to writing. i hope you're all doing well **
Brumous Jun 2021
the scent of strawberry lingers,
but I didn't like how smoke
crowds your room
Izzy Jan 2021
I am simply a lemon
I like to think I’m sweet
But I am just a sour soul that you can never eat


I am simply a lemon
with bright happy yellow skin
But, on the inside I am just a sin


Add a bit of sugar and I’ll be bitter sweet
But once the sugar fades away your destin for defeat

I am not a sweet little boy
I’m sour as can be
Why am I a lemon and not a strawberry
Pockets Aug 2020
It was march
At the farmers market
Still kinda cold outside
There were people selling their odds and ends
And vendors selling fruit inside
At the back of the lot
Set an old taco truck
That sold tacos for a dollar a pop
I had 3 and a glass bottle coke
And wondered if I should buy
strawberries or not
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