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soliana Jul 2018
you liked calligraphy
so much
that you decided
to use your lips
as your pen
and wrote on me
through my heart
the words i have longed
to come from you
and my simple reply
was a kiss to your lips
saying
"i love you too."
4:46 PM 5/6/2018
  Jul 2018 soliana
1923
honesty
honestly, she says
"this [book] has meant so much to me
and it's not like it ends terribly
just not how you would think"

she hands me over Silverstein -
a copy of The Missing Piece
with that note she wrote inside for me


and it ends just like you'd think
The Missing Piece is a book by Shel Silverstein about a circle with a slice of itself missing. It sings about the missing piece and rolls along in search of it. After finding pieces that don't fit, it eventually finds one that fits perfectly. With the missing piece, the circle can roll faster than ever - but it can no longer sing and it can no longer slow down to appreciate the things it used to (like the company of a worm or butterfly). The circle discovers it felt more complete without the missing piece and begins singing and rolling happily on its own.
  Jul 2018 soliana
Lily
She was allergic
To pollen, but she jumped in
Flowers anyways.

She was terrified
Of thunderstorms, yet she was
A storm of her own.

She said she didn't
Know how to love, yet she loved
Him to perfection.
  Jul 2018 soliana
devante moore
I’ve never received a flower
Or even a rose
But I’m a guy
So it’s acceptable I suppose
No kisses
Or sweets
No treats
That signifies ones feelings for me
No token of ones love
But I have gotten
Disappointment
Watered with hate
Planted in betrayal
Fertilized with lies
And maintained by fakes
Roses are Red
But my roses are dead
And crumble beneath my feet
  Jul 2018 soliana
Jack
I want to write but I don’t know what about,
“Write about her” my head will shout,
But it’s not fair to you,
It’s not your fault I feel so blue,
All I can think is “I love you” and that’s how I know it’s true.

I want to write about the flowers and trees,
And the sun kissed scenes
That I see in front of my grey face,
I want to find a place
That I can crawl into for a safety base.

I want to write about the state of the world,
Where everyone who is sad or lonely is hurled
To the back of everyone’s head,
And they have the audacity to have said,
“How can someone yearn for the silence of being dead?”

I want to write but I’m in a place that reminds me only of sorrow
Taking these random pills ignoring the knowledge that this will only borrow
The happiness that I was meant to feel tomorrow.

And so I’ll write about how I will always feel like this,
Just a ghost everyone can see,
An empty shadow that takes the form of me.
  Jul 2018 soliana
She Writes
There is too much regret
In unspoken words
The quiet thoughts
Whispered only to the moon

There is too much longing
In wishful thinking
Daydreams
Can quickly become a nightmare

There are too many tears
Spilled onto pillows
Over suffering and longing
From words unsaid
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