i want to write something people can resonate with.
for most of my life, i spent hours in book that i cried with or laughed to.
but now it is my turn.
i want to write for the ones with swollen hearts that are full of love,
i want to write something for the kids who were never enough,
for those spend hours sitting in the shower because the water frowns out the sounds of their tears,
i want to write something for the ones who have spent nights upon nights dreaming of ways to leave this world,
i want to write something for those finding bliss in baggies and hope in a pill
for the children who have found companionship in literary hero’s,
for the ones who twist words and rhymes,
the ones who for countless hours have manipulated vowel sounds and consonant endings.
i want to write for the ones who still believe in the magic of pixie dust,
for the ones who’s pixie dust only lives in hard bound books and in aisles of forgotten book stores.
i want to write something for those who appreciate the weird and find comfort in the uncommon.
i want to write for those fighting every day for that loaf of bread in the grocery store.
i want to write something people can resonate with.
because i’ve been there
so here it is,
here’s to you.

sometimes you
just need a shot
of inspiration
and a swig of
emotion to help
write poetry

Afiqah 1d

they’ll always prefer you broken
either way,
they only fear you
since they’re too unwilling to fight
their own goddamned demons alone
yet, they still ask us why
we behave so

-a.

Eppie 1d

why do i get bored of everything,
yet writing is the only amenity
that continuously sticks to me
as pollen would cling to a bee.

i sift through new interests
like sand spilling off of fingertips,
droplets dripping from a single sip;
they're swilled down the conduit.

but the circuits won't remain in place,
and all the memories eventually fade,
only the vaguest sentiments stay;
writing is all that remains.

a poem about how i eventually get bored of everything i love and it sucks, but writing is the only exception.

i wrote poetry
he partied
i would overthink
he would oversleep
too lost within the oblivion
of trying to numb away
life
while i was here
thinking about "life" too much
writing about it too much
i enjoyed wine
on a quiet Tuesday evening
he enjoyed liquor
on a wild Friday night

surely
truly
love does attract
"opposites"
i loved him
and he loved me
but he didn't want to live
life
and i
wanted to write about it

we're sitting
in a dirty garage
blasting music
with lyrics
that i am so appalled by
this is his life
this is
it isn't mine

i am
the quiet
Tuesday afternoon girl
who writes her words
to figure out
life
while he is trying
to forget about his
on a Friday night

these lifestyles
we tried to clash
for far too long
so sadly
too long

i left
with love still
beating inside of my heart
because you could never
love me
the way you love
your Friday nights
like you couldn't love
my Tuesday evenings

love is so
crafty
and deceiving
it brought us to meet
we both understood
that life is sad
yet only i
could see its beauty

and our lifestyles
were too different
to sustain the life
for one another

I haven't written too much lately but this poured out tonight.
Oculi 2d

I've been asked so many questions by these dreams.
My reality, my ideas are being questioned.
What is the world?
It's all that's around me.
What is the world?
It's everyone and everything.
What is the world?
It's what I see and feel?
Is that what your world is?
I... think so.

Who are you?
I'm Johnny.
Who are you?
I'm an artist.
Who are you?
I'm the pilot, The Third Child, the poet, the unwanted man.
Who are you?
That is me! What do you want from me?
Who are you?
I'm... I hate myself.
Is that who you are?
I... don't know.

Why do you write?
Because it helps me relieve myself of my feelings.
Why do you write?
Because I need to share my artistry.
Why do you write?
Because I want people to notice me.
Why do you write?
Because I want to be loved!
Why do you write?
I just want love.

Why?
Because I'm alone.
Why?
I hurt myself.
Why?
I hate myself.
Why?
I DON'T KNOW!
Why?
I... I...

What is this world to you?
It's pain, it's emptiness.
You probably just made yourself think that.
Everybody hates me.
You probably just made yourself think that.
I hate me.
You probably just made yourself think that.
Everything is terrible, I hate it all.
You probably just made yourself think that.
You... You're lying to me!
You probably just made yourself think that.
I don't know what's real anymore.

That's no issue. Take some time.
Your friends will help you understand reality sooner or later.

Fourth of five.

You can never make the same mistake twice
She proved that to be wrong
But what do you do when you mistake salt for sugar?
She was drawn to them
The way their eyes danced with hers in the darkness
Like 2 shooting stars on the same path in the same night
Daydreaming of things she can’t have
She fell the second time hoping for it to last
Because she felt something real
But realized it’s just a repeat of the past
Like a dog running for a treat on a treadmill
She doesn’t stop chasing
For the wrong people to give her the right attention

Afiqah 3d

we won
over many nights
just enough
to hear one’s love breathe
and more than enough
to keep our colors stay
wildly sane in each other’s

-a.

-

if you stop writing about the bad stuff
if you stop talking about it -
then does it cease to exist?
does it blur away
within the haze
that you are trying to be lost in?

Afiqah 4d

and till today,
love still wins,
love still sits by
alongside your name
like it was its only duty
to ever recognize how well
you’ve gently held my scars
and made them fit into yours
like your own

-a.

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