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secrets circle your irises like silver linings
and i'm not sure whose they are
because i feel like i give away everything
when i manage to meet your gaze

secrets play around your lips like silver
smoke
and i'm not sure whose they are
because i feel like i give away everything
when i open my mouth

secrets adorn your fingers like silver rings
and i'm not sure whose they are
because i feel like i give away everything
when you touch me

name it
ask it of me
i'll give it to you gladly
I am the way I am.
Why should I be ashamed to express what I have to say?
I long to be on the rooftop and scream out your name just to feel some peace of mind.

Why do I keep torturing myself, trusting words that dissolves in the air?
Because hope feels better than silence.
I choose to trust because it keeps me sane.

So why be ashamed of feeling my emotions?
I have the right to wholeheartedly scream my thoughts out loud.

I am the way I am.
I feel the way I feel.
And I should not and will not be ashamed.
Swayam Parte Jul 19
Years have passed, seasons have changed,
And change might have greeted you too,
Yet I still stand through the rain and snow,
Waiting, to be loved by you.

You said that you weren't sure,
that you hadn't made up your mind.
These simple words left a mark on my heart,
Yet I pretended to be fine.

You say that you're unsure,
hoping to find someone better than me.
While here I am, spending my nights awake,
thinking of what we could be.

I know I'm not the man you imagined,
not the man from one of your books,
not the man who's strong and protective,
not the man who carries good looks.

Yet trust me when I say,
I'll understand you in every way,
I'll listen to you talk for hours,
And when you need me, I'll be a call away.

I hope you'll accept my love,
that it doesn't take seasons or years.
For I don't wish to be known,
as the man who ran out of tears.

But now I don't care how long it takes,
for you to finally see.
My love, my care, my compassion for you,
For you to finally see me.
I promise, I will wait forever.....
silvervi Jul 18
I trust the unfolding of life.
I am where I need to be.
Cynthia Jul 12
Whatever you find comfort in,
bask yourself in it.



I met a girl at church,
her mom got diagnosed with
terminal cancer.

Yet she stood tall,
she prayed
and trusted she would be okay.

I respect her.
She was put against the wall and the knife,
but she took a step forward without fear.

Whatever you find comfort in—
whether it is religion,
music,
family or friends.
Don’t let it go.

Because through the toughest times,
they will guide you.

And there will be plenty of those.
When you feel as if there’s no exit,
no meaning,
no purpose.

But you will seek comfort in what you know best,
and I trust
you will make it out.
Despite what you already
made yourself believe,
you’ll make it out.
Strength in your weak moments. Finding hope.
Damocles Jul 11
I have so many daggers put in my back
That trusting another soul is profoundly insane
I expect you will ****** in yet another blade.
I wonder, what can one sew with the pins in my spine
If I gave you threads of honesty in every produced line?
Morning BPD thoughts
Yash Shukla Jul 11
विश्वासाने बनते नाते,
नाते असते माणुसकीचे,
नाते असते प्रेमाचे तर,
नाते असते आपुलकीचे.
नात्यामध्ये नसते खोट,
नात्यामध्ये असतो विश्वास,
एकमेकांचे हात धरुनी
करूया आयुष्याचा प्रवास.

मदत करूया एकमेकांची,
सांभाळून घेऊ आपण चुका,
अडचणींच्या सागरातून होईल
पार संसाराची नौका.
अडचणींवर मात करुनी
घेऊया सुटकेचा निश्वास,
प्रेमाच्या सरी कोसळतील जर
तुझा असेल माझ्यावर विश्वास.
ही कविता २० मार्च २०२० रोजी लिहिलेली आहे
To play the heartstrings plays a song that only we can hear,
To love the artist in words,

Every string that sings the easing pluck of fingers on the page,

To love a poet,
To sing and grow my wings unfold and brings the snow it,
Lingers...

Under my fingers.

The tremble of little, unspeakable things.

Speak to me your fears.
The Pen and paper rend and savor the bend and sway of a heart that dares to hear,

The black pours from the poet sword.

Fingered on the page I bend and wage my war,
Inked and torn the paper bore the tears.

To love the art,
The burns too sore to heal,

To love,
The start,
The pen and art that bleed apart the papers,
Your eyes reveal the arcs I forgot to read,
The swings of ease,
My mind rings a wicked song,

I squeeze the pages between my aching, bleeding fingers,
The ink stains my blood,
Black,
The sting,
The flood of feelings, the shaking dealings of thought.
You caught my sighs , you caught my lies,
Now sing to me a different song.

Red fades to grey,
The lines begin to grace my fingers,

The cuts now painting my pains upon the pages.
My rage subsides,

Under the gates of shining hell,
the wells of golden swell.

My eyes crash again.

And there you are.
Mays Benatti Jul 6
One breath, we were family
the next, two silhouettes unrecognisable.

Are we strangers now?
I’m unsure.
But I do know this:
we stood, souls stripped,
bare in the quiet between us.

I wanted to trust you
to lay my heart in your palms
like kindling,
hoping you’d keep it warm.

Still, I ache.
Not just for your touch,
but for that fierce, wordless belonging.
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