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polina 1h
Sharing your pain is the cure for a great deal of pain
Scars that turn into melodies; wounds into stories
Gaping holes into beautiful forests, and broken hands
Into hearts that cradle your soul

Sharing your pain and watching others perceive it
Is the balm to a lot of misery, a promise that
No matter what, you’re not alone
And there are people wandering those forests with you
Holding your heart in their careful hands
"I'll quit tomorrow"
Say once again
I spoke those words yesterday too
Would take the easy route out of this
No shortcuts in Hell-I must go through
An excuse not to surfaces
Legitimate or not
Before I know it repeating mistakes
Hit after hit
Shot after shot
Of the places I've visited
Don't think I have ever reached one quite so low
Seeking whatever fleeting remedy
Leaves the least room to grow
You've got to wonder why I make these decisions
Swearing that "this time" I'm done
Got my back pressed against a concrete slab
Simply isn't anywhere else to run
Maybe I have gotten used to the fire
Been so long since my universe went up in flames
May be difficult to see through the smoke
At least that way there's a scapegoat to blame
I cannot claim I don't know any better
After two or three times learned getting sick
Regardless how many nights spent fighting withdrawals
Sobriety never seems to stick
Maybe I should give up on this battle
Surrender war and wave a flag of white
Let demons have their way with my soul
Accept that I'll never be alright
I am exhausted sprinting in circles
Find myself in the exact same place
Watching world spin around me so fast
While own life I only waste
Just the same old ****
AWURAA Apr 10
"I don't think he was on his lunch break, he was still on the job as he couldn't get time off for Ramadan."

"Yes, he was fasting, still on route and could not get of, so with the need to pray, he chose to do so within his short break before he changed routes."

" Wisdom to him was knowing that he must pray."

"The room was dark and his skin was a shadow that could be seen by those who noticed and looked closely."

" I noticed, so I looked closely.
He placed the newspaper down on the ground."

"?"

"At first I thought it was the wipe up the ***** that could have found but then he knelt down."

" I was puzzled and I knew my face showed it ... so I watched him, my head cocked to the side, eyes fixed, I chose to reside, I was conscious of those around me, buses that passed slowly, but, he had me fixed, awestruck, so I chose to reside."

"He bent over, head down, mumuring words; I could not make out the sounds."

"And then he stood up, head down, head up, I could not make out a sounds."

" I knew I should have looked away, that it was a private moment and I was disturbing it, but I was not the middle man for his prayers."

" I was the onlooker, curious of  the man who made a newspaper his prayer-mat and the bus, his prayer-room."

" So I watched, three minutes go by, eyes fixed, this one kid sees me staring and follows my gaze, tracing it back to the earnest praying man."

" Then he looks with me, then it's us, it's us watching him; the man on the bus with his paper-mat."
Riri Feb 9
The wind dances through your hair,
your steps—light, effortless air.
Have you ever seen it?
The way eyes turn—
watching you move,
watching you twirl.

You sway like a butterfly,
spreading joy as you pass by.
A vision of beauty, soft yet bright,
your presence lingers in my mind.

But did you ever realize?
Beyond the glow of worldly grace,
it’s your optimism—radiant, rare—
that makes you truly beautiful.
Lizzie Bevis Feb 2
I lie in bed, awake and watching  
the dark night sky stretched wide,  
as stars like diamonds catch my eye.  
The hours pass in a gentle drift  
until dawn begins its colourful shift,  
as sunlight breaches the eastern rim,
it's fiery orange rays reach out and skim
and the warmth bleeds out across the dark,  
as I watch the sunrise paint its arc.  
Then the morning mist creeps in all grey,  
and clouds roll in on winds of change,
cooling the sky and dulling the blaze,  
as daylight arrives in a steely blue haze.

©️Lizzie Bevis
It is somewhat sad to see the sunrise cool with a dismal grey-looking sky.
It was a beautiful sunrise though.
AWURAA Jan 3
I was going to say...
An ugly beauty is a  beauty where one  thinks that beauty can only be found in one thing and that thing alone.

But many are not free to explore what is beautiful to them.

Some may have settled for the first thing they found beautiful because they thought they might lose it.

Or for some, they accepted that beauty because they were sure that it was all they wanted and perhaps needed.

But for those who refuse to see beauty in no other way than the way they have done before.... what can be said about them?
Raven Kuhn Jan 3
She sat
in a little ball,
still and white,
with big eyes.
With a kiss,
the boy leaves
through the
window;
out there is
a shadow
waiting for
Annie
to sleep.

A monster.
Originally a blackout poem.
AWURAA Nov 2024
Place in my hands a cloth of satin,
that I may hold it over my eyes,
looking at all those who pass by without allowing them to see emotion in my eyes.

It is too intimate, them seeing my eyes and ****** expressions without knowing me.

I love getting to know a new person, observing each new ****** expression they show, their eyes when they speak, the tone they use, the jokes that expose me to a new realm of their humour and personality.

I don't want other people to see an aspect of me without them taking the time to know me.
Why should people pass by and watch me in a moment and partake in a memory which I do not remember them being in?

So pass me a cloak of invisibility,
that I may clothe myself in it,
allowing myself to only be seen by those who love me.
Jeremy Betts Sep 2024
If you still love me
I beg you never let me know
Refrain from turning around
Let me find my peace in watching you go
The moment you're lost to the horizon
Reclaimed by the setting suns glow
I'll mutter to myself out loud
"Now you can let the tears flow"

©2024
Zywa Jul 2024
Trying to find an

attitude, as attitude --


staying on the side.
Autobiographical account "De harde kern" - 1 ("The *******" - 1, 1992, Frida Vogels) en "Diary 1966-1967" (2009) - April 24th, 1966 in Amsterdam

Collection "Trench Walking"
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