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  Jan 2018 winter sakuras
Thebeau
I've come to terms today with the fact that the world is going to end...

All of the depression and suicidal thoughts won't mean anything soon,
All of the moments where it felt like the world was on my side will soon cease to exist,
All the hands I've held and the girls I've kissed, that won't matter,

Religion seems so conveniently placed to help ease people into the concept of death,
It seems to make us welcome it with more open arms and create a new culture out of it,
Death enters homes entitled "Holy Bible",
Death enters homes entitled "The Quaran",
Death enters lives and names itself "family",
Death enters lives and names itself "friend",

I've seen the world through rose colored glasses,
It felt fake so I took them off,
I saw the world through my own eyes,
And I wish I had never taken the glasses off,

I've imagined what it would feel like to escape my mind,
I've imagined what it would be like for people to actually care,
I've dreamt of actually being someone,  and then had the realization that I would never be,

I've detailed my notebooks with my thoughts more than I've let them escape my mouth,
I've kept to myself and hurt because of it more times than I've actually asked for help,
I've told everyone around me that I was fine, even though I clearly wasn't, too many times to count,
And even though I'm fine now, I can't speak for the future, and I can't speak for all the times I wasn't in the past,

If death is so bad then why do so many people wish that they ceased to exist?
Maybe religion has it right and death isn't overglorified,
But since I've finally got my head straight, I'm going to enjoy the time I have left until my next spell of depression comes,

It doesn't really matter what the future holds...

...because I've come to terms today with the fact that the world is going to end.
  Jan 2018 winter sakuras
alex
when a boy shows you his hands
bare except for the dust
he’s begging you to look past
take them in yours.
squeeze them once.
twice.
say without speaking
that you understand that the valleys
in his palms were meant to cradle
shooting star wishes
that he’s allowed to still hope for.
when a boy shows you his eyes
of milk and crimson and melanin
a bloodshot vein for every night he can’t sleep
let him shut his eyelids.
say without speaking
that you understand that the black hole pinpricks
of his irises hold more than the universe
should allow.
when a boy shows you his soul
shivering but still working toward friction
iced over but still working toward melting
let him come to rest next to yours.
say without speaking
that you understand that he is lonely
and that his silence speaks volumes
and that you kept his treasure close
because you love him.
when a boy shows you his hands
show him your hands.
when a boy shows you his eyes
show him your eyes.
when a boy shows you his soul
show him that
this is a comfortable place to rest it.
when a boy shows you the hardness that shaped him
show him the softness
that you have in store.
k
Poets, like
madmen and prophets,
are banned from
the Kingdom of Reason,
as they are
the progeny of the sun
(the sun who illumines as he blinds)
and the siblings
of the rays
who never tire
of beating
the world into
magnificent new shapes
that fascinate us
all – including
Unwavering Moon whose
lonesome secret is to be
madly in love
with the rainbow.

© LazharBouazzi, May 26, 216
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