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We worry.
We wonder why.
We wake, we wait, we work
We worry.

We whine wuthering
Whispers, wavering, wasted,
Wishing while wishing
Wanting while wanting,
Wondering why.

We work well,
Well, we work,
While wizardly weaving
Wispy wavelengths,
Weedy wasps of
Wanton whimsy,
Wired well within.

We will warmongers
Without wonder
Who wreak
Widespread waste,
Welcome Wasteland,
Washing with war the
Wounded World.

We will war
War wills we
We wage war
With weird weapons.
We wrestle with will.

We wait whole
Weekdays, weekends. A
Ways away, the waning
Winter winds of men's
Wisdom's wavering.

Withering winks from
Wistful women,
Widening wingspans,
Wads of we, we,
Wandering westwards
Where suns wane,
Wait out wear of weather ,
Wondering why.

Warm waters will wash us,
We will wake up well.
Julie Grenness Sep 2019
Between the stars,
There are particles afar,
Between dreams for each,
Ghosts appear beyond reach,
Between flames a'glow,
Sparks fly for us, we know,
Between shadows and light,
We're all shades in the night,
Between water and air,
Mists can form anywhere,
Between notes and song,
Music can linger along,
Between breaths that meet,
We share kisses so sweet,
It's between you and your next wife,
Time you got a life!
Feedback welcome.
arvy lee Sep 2018
Once upon a time, you gave me your heart. Wrapped in light pink, and blotches of dark ink, you wrote that you wanted me to keep it. I clutched your heart into my chest -
I didn't ever want to let go. I didn't ever want to return it.

But I saw that you were now giving pieces of yourself to other people - laughing and whispering forbidden promises, then you let me fall out of your list of priorities. I no longer am able to feel what you feel. I no longer can feel the happiness and will. You let me there alone, standing still.

So I walked up to you in my worn out shoes that used to be filled with pride, and I wrapped your heart in transparent paper. Let other people see the light pink that flows every time your heart beats, let them know how beautiful it is.

I return your heart to its respectful owner.

You ask, "why?"

I say, "I don't deserve it."
arvy lee Sep 2018
your eyes bore into mine and I swear I can do this all day long.
"are you asleep?"
"I am, inside your heart."
your eyes with black irises, the gleaming happiness that can be seen inside them. you couldn't express yourself with words too well, but when I'm looking at you like this, I know you don't have to. I can read you all too well like this.
"are you sleepy?"
"I am not, not when the sound of my heartbeat is louder than silence in this moment."
you stare with hollowness, half lidded eyes that speak so much: I love you, I miss you, I want you, I need you -
"are you asleep?"
"yes. I'm full of you."
arvy lee Sep 2018
"When you are loved by an artist, you are immortal," I paint the tips of your fingers with deep blue, and the ocean forms with a movement of your hand. Pretty, so very endlessly pretty. You make the elements of earth become even more endearing.

"You live in their every masterpiece, live in their every breath," I draw finishing touches on the edges of your mouth - that I want to kiss every moment - and shadows of despair form in the words that you let out. But they sound pretty, so very endlessly pretty. You make every word in the dictionary become even more meaningful.

"And when you hurt them, you live in their memories forever." I sew words into your skin and you wince in pain but you don't stop me.
Thank you for making this easier for me.
arvy lee Sep 2018
Untouched, pure and translucent derma that I long to touch.
Let me trace the freckles on your cheeks, felt tip pen colors fade into your porcelain skin. The stars can't shine together with you, they're too afraid. They know they're fake, but you, you are the purest in nighttime.
Even when I say this, you complain how you're too pale, but baby, barbie dolls are dying to be you. Although i know you don't want to be compared with barbie dolls, let's just laugh at that sad reality everyone seems to be facing. Don't be one of them.
Kiss yourself, praise yourself for the unholy and sinful wanting of mine for you.
Want to touch you, mark you - felt tip pen colors melting into your white, white, white but flawed skin. Want to trace constellations on your cheeks, on the back of your hand - let me hold you.
"I'm not beautiful," porcelain skinned boy with insecurities measured bigger than his fading faith in humanity - i love you.

— The End —