Mita 16h

it was a sunny day when i first met you
you were glowing and shining
just like the sunflower and rainbows
and butterflies and all the good things

but then it turned cloudy
when i caught you laughing with her
in the cafe next to the campus
i start to think about myself
and how i treat you and how
i'm doing wrong to you

suddenly it was raining
you decided to hurt me but
with no explanation at all just like that
you broke my heart and just like the other day
i found myself feeling guilty
thinking what i did wrong

one night it was a thunderstorm
i decided to open up and told you i was hurting
but you said she was just a friend
and i guess i accepted that
because strangers turn to friends
and friends turn to a more complex relationship
sometimes and then turn again to strangers
but with memories

weeks passed by and it was sunny
with rainbows again and sunshine
and clear skies just like the old times
but this time was different
i decided that i didn't want to be hurting
any more and then you set us free
i let go and you let go too
nicely, kindly, peacefully
and i learn that this rainbow is somewhat nicer
than before because i realize
rainbows come after a storm, after a rain

i know that when you're gone
all it does is rain
but there's no need to worry at all
because rainbows come after that
so enjoy the rain and the
thunderous nights because you know
rainbows come after that

- p.a -

it was sunny, cloudy, raining, thunderstorm, but then it turned sunny again... with rainbows.

Tomorrow's morning light
will it be as bright,
will it clear the dark of night,
or will there be shades in sun
a very cloudy turn
maybe calling the rains.

This morning the air outside remained still.
I shadowed over leaves, breaking their veins
under the weight of my foot.
The space around me is silent.
A scattered bunch of dots is seen in the distance,
and they are all wearing black.
I feel like we are mourning something and,
in a way, I guess we are.
But we often find ourselves in the darkness.
Maybe that’s why spring is considered
a new beginning.
Because we spend all winter finding out
exactly what that means.

requiEM 6d

Your love warms me
like a Christmas sweater

  Quilted, textured, enveloping
Every inch of my chest
You feel vintage, something distant yet familiar

Your arms heat me up
like spearmint tea
Steamy and tight
Around the lump in my throat

I have cried before you
The cold has overtaken me before

But your warmth reminds me
That winter is not forever

Your power to change my Weather
Reassures my shivering bones
That perception is power
And love can last.

cuffing season

I don't want to talk about the weather
I don't want to talk about how humid it was today, or how it rained some time last week
I want to talk about if you think the aliens are real
I want to talk about which type of flower reminds you of your mother
And I want to talk about what song from the last five years reminds you of summer
I want to talk about the pets you had growing up and their names and the marks on their coats
I want to talk about the first time you fell in love and what her smile looked like
Did she have crooked teeth?
Were her lips painted red the day you noticed you loved her?
I want to talk about what kind of toppings you like on your pizza
And I want to talk about how you like your coffee in the morning
Do you prefer more sugar, more cream?
Black coffee, or no coffee at all?
I want to talk about your stance on immigration laws or abortion or gun control
I want to talk about where you have most felt at home
Was it the basement at your mother's place, where you first got laid?
Or maybe it is the baseball field where you scored your first home run?
I want to talk about who you are when no one is looking, because that's when it counts the most
Do you always spare a dollar for the homeless man under the bridge at the intersection by work?
Do you hold the door open for old ladies with six bags in their arms and a coat full of cat hair?
I want to talk about everything and anything except the weather

Angela Rose Nov 8

I want to write about the sunset, how the rays hit the ocean and it was so beautiful that I could almost shed a tear
But all that I can write about is how handsome you looked with your back to me as you stared at that same exact sunset
And all I can write about is how much I loved you at that exact moment and the sun could have fallen down and I probably would not have noticed

I want to write about how melancholy the rainstorms make me and how I get so lonely and depressed each and every time the sky cries
But all I can write about is how your eyes are the same exact color as the night sky right before a rain storm in the middle of July
And all I can write about is even when the sky was having a mental breakdown full of rain all I could think about was how content I was being wrapped in your embrace

I want to write about how genuinely happy and bright I feel once the Birds of Paradise start to bloom in the spring
But all I can write about is how they are the flower I could see from the porch swing at my mother's house where we talked about our future children
And all I can write about is how much I miss talking to you at four in the morning when the rest of the world was asleep, everyone except for us and those Birds of Paradise

I want to write about nature and beauty and the weather and happiness and I don't want to keep writing about you
But it's you.
It's never anyone or anything else, but you

Rebecca Y Nov 6

(clouds) trapped in an endless cycle.
(lightning) the anxiety and anticipation of the thunder which can barely be heard.
(thunder) frustration with no one to hear it out.
(rain) when the clouds finally break and the sky begins to cry.

Ellie Sutton Nov 6

The light lingers not,
Amber hues of autumn fade;
Winter encroaches.

wildly she blows through the bush tree
whirling their branches all around
whoosh in the speed of her push
whipping leaves with a fast moving lash
wow what velocity she's showing us
whistling along as an express train
we're eyeing unfettered blusters to-day

Tatiana Nov 4

These strange autumnal rains
make old wounds feel new with pain.
Yet the cold rain that haunts this weather,
falls gently to the ground like soft feathers.

© Tatiana
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