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Lost in the woods
no trail to follow
Thoughts like trees
quiet & hollow
Bird sung nightmares
days without ends
Alone with the leaves
no cellphone friends
Impossible to sleep with harsh winds/
hungry wolves all around
Fighting with demons
desperate for a way out
Your time's almost up
to escape the darkness
to depend on the sun
Ravens gather
Rats parade
Vultures begin circling
The sun starts to shade
Familiar footprints remind you
repeating patterns add to the charade
no more backwards view
only moving forward
only pushing through
s1mpl3po3t Mar 25
Hers was a life
Of which legends are made,
She was born in the sun
And retired in the shade,
But somewhere in between
There was a fabulous rendition,
An exemplary existence
Beyond common tradition.

Her family was conservative
She always did her best,
Just follow Mom and Daddy’s ways
It’s safe within the nest,
But it didn’t fill her up inside
It left her feeling hollow,
And though they knew she loved them
She had a different star to follow.

Although I used the word conservative
Her parents had great knowledge,
They encouraged all their children
To attend some kind of college,
Knowing that the value comes
In exploring brand new themes,
Then taking the experience
To carry out their dreams.

Her dreams were like a ball of yarn
Just waiting to unravel,
With just a little push, she rolled
Into the world of travel,
Returning now and then
Bearing gifts of life and beauty,
And then that girl would dream again
As though it was her duty.

A legend in her own time
Within the family tree,
When pressed for explanations
She’d say, “Because, it’s me”.
Did you know:
that you are
special and it shows???
that you ✨️ Sparkle ✨️
like a
💎 diamond 💎 and
you glow???,
Your Shine is so
bright, that
the world knows,
You are very unique and
one of a kind,
a special
kind a friend,
The one that's
hard to find,
You are a TREASURE,
You are a JEWEL,
You are UNIQUE and
YES,
YOU RULE!!!,
YOU'RE ON THE
9 TO 5,
YOU TIK AND
YOU TOCK,
YOU'RE ON
THE RIGHT PATH,
IN CONTROL,
YOU ROCK!!!
YOU REALLY DON'T KNOW
HOW SPECIAL YOU ARE,
COS, IN MY EYES, I SEE
YOU AS A 🌟 STAR 🌟!!!
SO, DON'T EVER FORGET,
WHEREVER YOU GO,
THAT YOU ARE ONE
OF A KIND,
I JUST THOUGHT
I LET TOU KNOW!!!


B.R.
3/21/2025
I saw my skin as clouds of creme in coffee,
As the caramel within a toffee,
As the swirls of detergent in a bucket,
I love my skin, I remind myself lest I forget.

I saw it as an imperfectly mixed pasta,
As an unstirred Irish creme liqueur,
It reminds me of the side of me that’s a gangsta,
Like the work of a passionate newbie restaurateur.

It is mine, my own
No different than my blood or my bone.
I don’t need to alter it,
Let the others adjust as they see fit.

It took me quite a while,
But my skin too began to smile.
The efforts of a village it took,
So, lest you forget, love the way you look!
This poem has been penned as an ode to vitiligo. It is not a cry for help, nor does it invite pity parties. Rather, it represents the splendidness of the human body, and how truly life-altering self-love and acceptance can be.
Having said this, I'd like to affirm to the masses that even if a cure for vitiligo miraculously did appear, i would not take it. The speckled, marbled and patchy skin I now call my own, is MY NORMAL, and quite frankly, it's the only one that matters :)
There once was a family of clouds,
Blue were their noses and blue were their shrouds.
Amongst them lived 3 outcasts, though
As though through the blue, someone had brazenly run a plough!

Blotchy, whitey and marbly let’s call them,
Of the big blue sky, they were the beautifully botched hem.
The smurfy blues didn’t think so, alas!
And neither did the the puppets on the ground, peeping through the looking glass.

Rain was their saviour,
For amidst those tears, no one would notice their stark behaviour.
The smurfy blues covered them up,
Lest someone see their erroneous turf.

Then shone the sun one fine day,
And like rising phoenixes, the castaways came out to play.
For a thing such as beauty, ever so fickle
They were a miraculous honey-hued trickle.

The puppets on the ground too swapped their loyalties,
And soon the alleged drops of milk were favoured royalties.
The sky too embraced the cotton-ous hue amidst the smurfy blue,
And just like that, their fairytale slowly came true.
Among the scarce literature found regarding vitiligo, you would only find a single perspective i.e., the autoimmune warrior's. What about the spots themselves, I ask? How must they feel when their owner themselves wage a daily love/hate war? Aren't they bullied by their skin-coloured "normal" neighbours? Don't they get confused by their changing appearance?
This poem deals with THEM. And not unlike their owners, they too are ruddy steel-hearted, mind you!
Emilia Glinka Jan 27
The looks of our children
combination of both our positives and negatives
from our different points of view
raised in the mixing of our worlds
the stance where it becomes their own
a product gaining independence
and the ability to be recognized for its uniqueness
not as a mix
but as a new form
were similarities may be found
maybe it gained your eyes
the ones I get lost in
or perhaps my smile
the one you so often bring to life
but their words remain true to their soul
in the hope of finding its match
the one to spark the cycle anew
creating the unique once more
I haven't written much, but I figured this was worth posting! Hope you have a great day!
lola Dec 2024
A box.
Like water, we fill the shape in which we fall.
In a box too big, water seeps in, grasping and waiting to hit the edges.
We are made to think we aren’t enough—our box may be too big.
In a box too small, we drip over the edges, losing pieces of ourselves.
We are told we are too much.

But make your own box. You’re perfectly enough. You fill its every corner.
Others may have bigger boxes.
They may be shaped oddly—round, curved, sharp—
but the only box you will fit in is your own.
Jay Oct 2024
Two poets, each with a distinct soul, shape similar sentiments in different forms. He dreams in paragraphs, broad and expansive, like clouds stretching across an endless sky. His words dive deep, exploring the hidden caverns of life’s stories. She, in contrast, dreams in lines, each one crashing with the precision of a wave. Every word is chosen with care, her stanzas offering brief yet vivid glimpses of a heartbeat. Her verses flow like a gentle whisper, artfully capturing emotions on display. Their forms may be distinct, yet their themes converge: love, loss, and longing, woven into words. They share their work openly, baring their hearts in a space where emotions find resonance. Each sentence pulses with passion, laughter, and stolen glances, their connection sparked from the very beginning. Together, they transform the stillness of night into shared moments, each word a bridge into the other’s world. As they read each other’s lines, each word becomes a cherished fragment. Their hearts, poured onto the page, collide and merge within the ink of their souls. Two poets, entwined, seek to understand the intricate design of love, its gentle, complex beauty. Each line written, every paragraph crafted, reveals their shared exploration through the labyrinth of love and uncertainty. Hand in hand beneath the starlit sky, they craft a story uniquely theirs, blending two beautiful voices into one. Who could have foreseen it? A poet of paragraphs, a poet of lines, falling in love with a beauty all their own.
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