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I miss the late night drives,
With you by my side-
I miss the late night skies,
With glowing stars like glowing eyes-
I miss the late night highs,
With the bonfire for light.

Oh and how I am now-
With none of the above.
Oh and how I am now-
With Nothing I love.

I just miss the you and the smile,
The rush of love gone wild-
I just miss the hands in the cold,
The warmth of something to hold-
I just miss us naive;
not wise and old.

I don’t have the time though,
To think of these now.
I don’t have the time though,
To wonder about how.

It’ll just be me—
Upset again forever.
It’ll just be me—
Learning to love another.
It’ll just be me—
In the end loving myself.

But then again
          I’m still left
                    With Nothing
                                I love
I feel unnecessarily angsty and such ****
Paper towns
Matchstick people
Plastic hearts
Concrete emotions
Plastered smiles
Coal tar tears

Where to look for real love?
Thankyou for reading this.
You’re not a poet because you know those ‘fancy’ words
You’re a poet because every word you write comes straight from your heart

You’re not a poet because people admire your work
You’re a poet because you write for your own contentment and not for people's consent

You’re not a poet because you feel alone
You’re a poet because pen and paper are your biggest companions

You’re not a poet because you understand emotions better
You’re a poet because you let them flow freely

You are not a poet because you’ve failed in love
You’re a poet because you’ve been in love deeper than anyone else

You’re not a poet because you are strong
You’re a poet because you don’t hide your weaknesses

You’re not a poet because you can heal hearts
You’re a poet because you know what it means to be broken
Dedicated to all the poets here. I feel happy to be a part of the community.
Over sad and tumberous plants
I skipped  with awe.
Meanwhile at home
i hid behind the sofa
afraid of a voice
Wonder why we all bleed the same colour ?
Wonder why we all sound the same
when we cry ?
Wonder why we all feel the same pain
when we get hurt ?
Wonder why we all cant see anything
when we get blind ?
Wonder why we all cant hear  anything when we get deaf ?

Yet we still keep on fighting among ourselves.
He came in looking like prince charming
Sold me dreams
Made me feel young again

Oh mama
He touched me

I could hear him breathe so heavily
I could feel his weight suffocating me
His filthy hands were on my body
And
When he was done, he chuckled
Gave a satisfied look
I turned away
Face wet with tears
A scream of cry came out
Instantly, he gave me
A daring look
And told me to hush little one
Fore he did me a favor

Oh mama
He hurt me so bad

Disgusted with myself
Walking around
And every man looks like him
Filled with anger
Burning desire for revenge
But instead
I was told to
Hush little one and to
Never speak of it ever again.
I realized that so many women are victims of **** and speaking about it is hard. I've seen women around me feel embarrassed and the amount of scars they carry everyday because of what happened to them; I decided to put myself in their shoes to try to capture the emotion behind such a disgusting and absurd transgression and wrote this.
Sometimes he will be unkind to you;
Say painful words
Make a fool out of you
Promise you heaven on earth

And when you think you have just had enough

He will come with pretty flowers
And kiss your beautiful lips
The moment will taste of
All the sweet things you have
Been longing for.
Sometimes he will put his hands on you
Say painful words
Make a fool out of you

And when you think you just had enough

He will buy you a pretty dress
And take you out on dinner.
The moment will be so bliss that
You will not want it to end

But he will treat you like a pretty flower today
And tomorrow; he will forget to water you.
While trying to save a soul
I lost my own.
10w soul
My death will be liberating.

And I do not say that in the sense
that I am going to find a cliff
and take a good jump off.

No.

I am just trying to find a
clever way to tell you

that I do not know what is going
to happen next.

You see,

there is a
fine line
between
dreaming and
mortality

and

I am finding out for myself
that being in love
does not always
involve

being awake.

And for my sake
I fall in love with daydreams,
nightmares,
hazy realities
and

the hung-over idea

of not being enough.

It is all out of my hands.
                 It is all out of time.

And the only thing I have left to do,
now,


is decide.
Thank you to anyone that reads this.
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