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ifs May 2019
Her heart is very well hidden,
It yearns beneath the shimmering smiles, the glistening eyes, the kiss she sews fondly to your cheek, on your lips,on your skin;
In the hope this harvest carries a reap so fine,
To nourish her mind, to nourish her soul, to revive her within.

There is barrenness within, she’s spent on electing the bad seeds, she cedes her prospects to the hot,spring wind, observing them germinate a field not so far away, a friend, a best friend;
Supposedly.

Her tears carry rain that moistens the soil in droughts, but the tears never seem to hold back the storm, they create a flood, subdued no more; drown more prospects out.

She wishes there were a ripened fruit that would let the pain slip away,
that will let her savour it’s taste,
to mend this hurt and barren state  
For she can manage the defeat no more,
Of finding in the centre, a rotten core.  

So she puts her final trust, final seed;
in the palms of another.
In the hope that it is not too soon,
firm in the hands of a new lover.

Grounded is her seed in you.
This was written on a bus and in bed and whilst having breakfast this morning .May change it slightly.
ifs Apr 2019
My father’s shop closes
His soul stayed behind those rusting hinges,
The burning business
That built our lives,
That held like a bridge over
1923.

My mother’s knees buckled beneath her
The suffering and pain echoed from within
Her tears pierce the weakness in my being
Salt water runs in the soil of Berlin.
Damp on my skin.
Glass shatters, beneath my feet.

Where are you Mother?
Father is gone.
Are you playing hide and seek?

Because my eyes where the black-
Birds against the blue sky,
Because my hair breathed in moonlight,
Blocking the sunshine
Because my face, brought disgrace upon
The beauty in that tyrant’s eyes...

They stripped me,
Whipped me,
Beat me into an identity
till I saw stars...
Yellow flickers of who I really am
Pinned to my chest
Burnt into my flesh
Marked for all to see.

A poison.
I was that poison?
It finally consumed me.  
1943.
#Unfinished?
ifs Nov 2018
Poetry can be smooth sounding words intertwining with each other.
The joining of phrases that could live as one,
but yearn to be together.
Poetry is like the first cry of a baby in a mother's ears,
Relieving.
Poetry creates images in your mind,
consuming your thoughts,
enveloping your heart;
an orchestra playing a sweet sounding symphony.
Poetry can be heartwarming;
can really warm the deepest depths of your soul;
can really dig down deep,
can really make you think.
Escapism in the form of language.
Poetry can be beautiful to listen to;
when you find the one you love
Poetry is beautiful to listen to;
just hearing one,
simply...
isn't enough.
felt
ifs Aug 2018
You.

Your smile is the brightest I’ve ever seen;
it seems God has blessed you with it.
When you look at me the whole world stops,
or is it just the breath he gave to me?  

My heart's in my chest beating away like a thousand drums,
so nicely orchestrated.
When you're with me,
                so is a love that I can't contain.                
A lifetime's purely filled with it.

See money doesn't make me happy, I’ll be the poorest girl  
but I’ll still live and breathe,  
if I can wake up, by God's grace,  
and see you sleeping next to me.

It would fill me with laughter, inside I’ll feel warm,  
to know it's windy outside right now,  
but my heart can bear the storms,

But...

I can't seem to speak these words,
that will make you see...

just how much you really are...

Worth to me.  

You.
YOU.
ifs Aug 2018
When your hands reach mine, they send ripples to my brain
     like the "plopping" stone that drives the rivers insane,  
  your smile is a ray from the burning sun,
                               a shine so bright the stars are shunned  
you move so swiftly the wind whistles for you,
        Mother Nature’s prodigy, what else can they do?
                         The trees bow down
when they see your crown,
    Your physical appearance takes the air's breath away,  
  the seasons are Jealous;
                                           you can never change.
What my 13 year old self imagined love to be.
ifs Aug 2018
Depression is when it’s sunny outside but-
You’re the only kid that would much rather not go out,
Ever
Depression is when people are smiling, but-
You can’t comprehend what’s to smile about.
Depression from the bone to the surface
“hunny why do you look so sad, tired, nervous?”
Sorry, it’s just the black dog having its breakfast.
I didn’t mean for you to see it.
It just wanted to breathe air.
Sick and tired of trying to hide it,
Barking its demands in my head,
But-
I’ve tried to guess what it wants.

I don’t think it wants love,
It’s given that already,
I don’t think it wants gifts,
It’s content inside my body
I think...I think...

It just wants to be happy.
I read a book about it. I guess I was inspired.

— The End —