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#emotionalconnection
To be able to be surrounded by people, and still feel alone. To be able to love with our soul, and not feel loved. To be able to own all the gold, and still feel empty. To be able to have nothing, and yet be the richest, because we have the warmth of those we love.
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Mar 22, 2025
Mar 22, 2025 at 6:26 AM UTC
To Be Able
She stands in the shower. Running her wash cloth across Her body. the slow rise of ******* the arch of hips, the curve of a neck. The day she's had Swirls around the drain Between the space of her toes. All that's left is the smell of soap. Against her skin. Her washcloth is not as white as it was. She lets out a sigh. Letting the hot water crash Against her body. Ringing it out before  Soaping up the rag again. Her body becoming softer. Erasing every touch, every stare That isn't her own. Vigorously scrubbing. The remnants of soap drip Down her legs. I knock on the door before Poking my head in to check on Her. She hangs her head out with a smile. The smell of soap and water Glisten off of her light skin. Before she closes the curtain back, I ask if she needs help washing her Back
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Jan 12, 2025
Jan 12, 2025 at 11:09 PM UTC
White Wash Cloth
I’ve waited so long to talk to you. I’ve messaged you and have waited to hear back from you. I am still waiting. At this point, time isn’t a factor. Even if I never hear anything, I still will wait. The closest I get to you now is an algorithm. Social media suggests you as a new friend. As much as I would love that— to start over and pretend, as painful as it sounds, to love you in restriction, trapped by some border, like we’re strangers. I stare at your picture and never swipe the notification away. In a way, it feels like old times. The only thing missing is your voice. You’re with me when I go to work, you’re with me when I am in the car. But nothing lasts forever. By the time I wake up, the notification is gone, the screen is empty, and you’re gone. But your eyes— the way that you smile— have not left my memory. I suppose I should be satisfied with what I have now. I’ve tried, but I am not
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Dec 20, 2024
Dec 20, 2024 at 9:22 PM UTC
Another Poem for Van
Your voice forms the bricks Of a well built home. It holds in warmth on a hot day And stores heat on the cold days. Your voice is a shelter One that thunderstorms should fear. Regardless of strength. Once it dissolves. Embers of warmth Still reside within the bricks. When you speak, I find that I am home. A place I am whole. A place I am safe. I always know where you are. Even with both eyes closed. Between the mortar of bricks I find your breath And lay my head beside yours. The walls a rich tapestry Framed in communication, Filled with your breath and pulse. I live in your marrow. My every forgotten dream Rested and remembered. Your voice forms the bricks Of this well built home. Reminding me That love. Is not just a word
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Sep 18, 2024
Sep 18, 2024 at 11:06 AM UTC
Well Built Home
Stimulate me, not down there but here.... in my heart ♥
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Aug 15, 2016
Aug 15, 2016 at 2:47 PM UTC
Emotional Stimulation