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"grazed" poems
Come spring, she leaped across the grassy dune, Beaming with sheer joy as she hummed a halcyon tune. Her beauteous almond eyes- the biggest, the brightest. A bonnie spotted doe in her warm, homely forest Come summer, by her gushing little lake she played. When upon a solitary, pensive buck her eyes she laid. Eyes met across the smiling lake; too soon gazes parted. While his eyes curiously lingered, hers wandered on ahead. Come monsoon, he adored her eyes, her gilded coat, her bushy tail. The passionate warmth in her eyes with affection made him frail. Yet, she went on with her blissful life- devoid of any care. Oblivious of the buck who always stopped to stare. Come winter, by his side chattering happily she grazed. Soon, his feelings faded; by almond eyes no longer crazed. Like currents in the water, apart they drifted and drifted. New lake. Nonchalant silence. No words were said. Come fall, she found that he still leaped through her mind. The emotion she once scoffed in her heart now enshrined. Eyes met across the smiling lake; too soon gazes parted. While her dull eyes wistfully lingered, his wandered on ahead.
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Jun 7, 2014
Jun 7, 2014 at 10:56 AM UTC
Almond Eyes.
I've loved many boys With different colored eyes But the way I remember them is By the shape of their hands The way their thumbs curved Or how their palms felt against my own The weight of them on my thighs Or how they ran through my hair The times they zipped up my dress And settled on my shoulders The moments when they grazed my own As they handed me my keys The motion of them as they spoke And the motionless of them when they were silent The smoothness of them in the beginning And the calluses after time had passed Sometimes, I forget the faces of these boys Or the way their voice sounded over the phone But I'll never forget the way it felt With their hands intertwined in my own
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Jun 23, 2018
Jun 23, 2018 at 11:45 PM UTC
Hands
The eraser erased my bad habits While the pencil drew in new ones The glue stick glued on a whole new face As the scissors cut away my background and past The ball point pen then made the changes permanent While the colored pencils shaded in my body The calculator changed my way of thinking As the sharpener grazed over my rough edges Finally, the ruler I had to measure up to your standards Now me and you We walk, talk and think the same Two moving as one I don't even know who I've become What I was before You've changed me more than you'll ever know
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Apr 8, 2015
Apr 8, 2015 at 11:18 AM UTC
The pencil case
The bright blue bottle hit me like a hint of death       on the breath of Spring. I imagined it being tossed out a truck window by underage teens fancying themselves clever       and mature and immortal as if the earth had willed upon them       that her stolen treasure, Aluminum, be returned or she’d cause their truck keys       disappear for all eternity.       I picked up the blue bottle tried to feel resurrection       in a recycling sort of way felt instead only the hollow emptiness       of mindless eternal reincarnation. Winter had been long this year and lately I fantasized resurrection more than usual at a field where I stopped to listen to meadowlark and field sparrow calling for mates or alerting everyone to the sin of the blue bottle. Several deer grazed the unseen first greens of Spring near skunk cabbage and coltsfoot. At a small stream, I cupped my hand into the icy fast water and raised it to my lips, then splashed my face, then splashed some more, more, then knelt, both knees at the streambed and submersed my face and head, in self-inflicted baptism       for my own blue bottle sins, opened my eyes, exhaled all my blue bubbles, for the longest of repentant moments, pulled out of the water gasping the holy Spring air       for dear life and thereafter walked each step in the garden of resurrection.
0
Oct 28, 2018
Oct 28, 2018 at 9:25 PM UTC
The Blue Bottle
We fall, and hard, and in the shadows, ***** ourselves on snags, that tear our clothes; grazed and cut, we stagger on - Impressions, ideas, fancies! Of these have we been disabused. But is this spring, come again? Lovely, yesterday, in the bright sunlight, to see you, felt green hat in among the photo clouds, apple suedes on the gallery's dank floor. Melvyn,   and I, merrily circling with you the light cloud images, my nostrils full of pollen spikes. The pictures: wisps of trailing dreams churning in ‘scapes of infinite blue; dark clouds, in amongst them, too. Photographs in two time places caught; at once, all: the other and t'other. So excitement swells, and everything besides us quells, because the knowing of itself, knows, and dares beyond the frames; to skirt knowingly the unsaid; to want beyond the wounded past, to pull things, once again, inside out. In whimsy’s currents flow these thoughts, these feelings, these drives; swirling in eddies, so that as you sit, on a summer’s day, it moves, a mirror to everything above. The wavelets on the surface, hammered into shape, burn, bite and dazzle; the sun’s flames leaping and dancing on ripples. In the basement, on the concrete, your Y proneness shifts, releasing knees on black-clad thighs; two pendulums swinging, brushing; yawing metronomes in the cool, coolness of my desultory thoughts. Oh, what am I saying? Feelings like reveries walk along these silver lips straying languorously. These myths are too soon made, carried one to the next, one-on-one, until contained no longer, become new truths.
0
Jun 25, 2018
Jun 25, 2018 at 8:40 PM UTC
Were you ever called a *****
We fall, and hard, and in the shadows, ***** ourselves on snags, that tear our clothes; grazed and cut, we stagger on - Impressions, ideas, fancies! Of these have we been disabused. But is this spring, come again? Lovely, yesterday, in the bright sunlight, to see you, felt green hat in among the photo clouds, apple suedes on the gallery's dank floor. Melvyn,   and I, merrily circling with you the light cloud images, my nostrils full of pollen spikes. The pictures: wisps of trailing dreams churning in ‘scapes of infinite blue; dark clouds, in amongst them, too. Photographs in two time places caught; at once, all: the other and t'other. So excitement swells, and everything besides us quells, because the knowing of itself, knows, and dares beyond the frames; to skirt knowingly the unsaid; to want beyond the wounded past, to pull things, once again, inside out. In whimsy’s currents flow these thoughts, these feelings, these drives; swirling in eddies, so that as you sit, on a summer’s day, it moves, a mirror to everything above. The wavelets on the surface, hammered into shape, burn, bite and dazzle; the sun’s flames leaping and dancing on ripples. In the basement, on the concrete, your Y proneness shifts, releasing knees on black-clad thighs; two pendulums swinging, brushing; yawing metronomes in the cool, coolness of my desultory thoughts. Oh, what am I saying? Feelings like reveries walk along these silver lips straying languorously. These myths are too soon made, carried one to the next, one-on-one, until contained no longer, become new truths.
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67
The blunt surface and wooden ***** Confined within impenetrable walls However reverb dangerously. Numbers reappeared to disorientate me. It was the lion I sought advice from For a dove that had been travelling with a rose With a weight as heavy as its wings Against the torrent of winds and sky. I counted the time as if I were a clock. Gently did it leave while I was not looking, Its music turned down by long fingers That lightly grazed the glasses Like tracing back the steps that I at first hastened. Never again will I see with my lashes curled by   Its own Evening Dew. I only pray that the silver soldier marches Next to me with armor close to my chest Close to my eyes so no gaze could ever penetrate.
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Mar 28, 2015
Mar 28, 2015 at 11:47 AM UTC
Thorns
Am I attractive, hot, or **** Or just a forlorn idiot flexing In order to join the *** scene? I put a towel down And set up a picnic My head spins round From the dirt they kick On my meal To make me feel Scared and alone With nowhere to roam So I stay here laying in the sun On the other side of a Gatling gun I searched for a savior Who's willing to say words To me For free My search was fruitless My eyes turned youthless I grazed in the grass As time quickly passed After I finished my food And was left there to brood I became a floating satellite That was accustomed to night Because of my frights That reflected all light Now I see ants trying to feed on my crumbs They must think I'm pretty desperately dumb To not know they enforced my segregation When I had naively sought validation I waited there silently salivating They responded by not validating It's for that bitter reason During my new season I reflect my light on the approaching ants So I may thwart their encroaching dance My humble heart yearns As I watch bugs burn They wouldn't partake in my feast So I morphed into a brutish beast Now they're here to eat what's left If they can survive my dragon's breath They put out the fire in my heart But ignited my mind My useless humanity parts As I focus on time A time that keeps passing While signs keep flashing As burning bugs dying Or sad satellites flying My life was no peaceful picnic After they noticed my sickness And left me alone For that is my home When I don't need validation anymore I search for love Unfortunately I know what's in store A picnic in the mud
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Nov 12, 2017
Nov 12, 2017 at 2:58 AM UTC
Picnic
Am I attractive, hot, or **** Or just a forlorn idiot flexing In order to join the *** scene? I put a towel down And set up a picnic My head spins round From the dirt they kick On my meal To make me feel Scared and alone With nowhere to roam So I stay here laying in the sun On the other side of a Gatling gun I searched for a savior Who's willing to say words To me For free My search was fruitless My eyes turned youthless I grazed in the grass As time quickly passed After I finished my food And was left there to brood I became a floating satellite That was accustomed to night Because of my frights That reflected all light Now I see ants trying to feed on my crumbs They must think I'm pretty desperately dumb To not know they enforced my segregation When I had naively sought validation I waited there silently salivating They responded by not validating It's for that bitter reason During my new season I reflect my light on the approaching ants So I may thwart their encroaching dance My humble heart yearns As I watch bugs burn They wouldn't partake in my feast So I morphed into a brutish beast Now they're here to eat what's left If they can survive my dragon's breath They put out the fire in my heart But ignited my mind My useless humanity parts As I focus on time A time that keeps passing While signs keep flashing As burning bugs dying Or sad satellites flying My life was no peaceful picnic After they noticed my sickness And left me alone For that is my home When I don't need validation anymore I search for love Unfortunately I know what's in store A picnic in the mud
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59
The tallest mountain Once lay dormant Confined between Tectonic plates Tremors and upheavals Jolted it from slumber Broke away from the shackles Of solitary confinement And oppression Grazed and razed with every move Now reaches the summit To kiss the soft clouds In silent meditation for ages Mighty and tall, towers above all Revered by many
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Feb 16, 2015
Feb 16, 2015 at 12:34 PM UTC
The Mountain
When the dust swirls in the March wind the forlorn noon is thick with flames of the forest and the meadow sighs in gold yellow sun my eyes seek Krishna in that aching void. She grazed the cows from morn till twilight and though eldest among the siblings she was schooled only in the blazing days learning to pull her herd to greener pasture venturing into marshes none would dare tread. Not one groom could be found for her bypassed she was for her fairer sisters that went to school grew up were married and ushered new inmates to the world. Then a few summers past when I had almost forgotten her I saw her forehead smeared with vermilion. But why she had to come back playing once again the shepherd girl gathering them for home at dusk crooning aaaaaa….oooooo….. I don’t know if Krishna went back to her husband for after a few days she wasn’t seen again. Only the winds howled in the forlorn noon and the little shepherd girls who came after her whispered she had at the in-laws hung herself from a tree.
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Mar 1, 2015
Mar 1, 2015 at 8:04 AM UTC
Krishna
you took my hand and my heart in yours your lips danced across mine and your thumbs grazed my cheeks you led me into your life and made me whole i know it was just a dream but i can still feel your fingertips on my skin
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Nov 22, 2014
Nov 22, 2014 at 7:39 PM UTC
wistful
It was a hundred years ago, When, by the woodland ways, The traveller saw the wild deer drink, Or crop the birchen sprays. Beneath a hill, whose rocky side O'erbrowed a grassy mead, And fenced a cottage from the wind, A deer was wont to feed. She only came when on the cliffs The evening moonlight lay, And no man knew the secret haunts In which she walked by day. White were her feet, her forehead showed A spot of silvery white, That seemed to glimmer like a star In autumn's hazy night. And here, when sang the whippoorwill, She cropped the sprouting leaves, And here her rustling steps were heard On still October eves. But when the broad midsummer moon Rose o'er that grassy lawn, Beside the silver-footed deer There grazed a spotted fawn. The cottage dame forbade her son To aim the rifle here; "It were a sin," she said, "to harm Or fright that friendly deer. "This spot has been my pleasant home Ten peaceful years and more; And ever, when the moonlight shines, She feeds before our door. "The red men say that here she walked A thousand moons ago; They never raise the war-whoop here, And never twang the bow. "I love to watch her as she feeds, And think that all is well While such a gentle creature haunts The place in which we dwell." The youth obeyed, and sought for game In forests far away, Where, deep in silence and in moss, The ancient woodland lay. But once, in autumn's golden time, He ranged the wild in vain, Nor roused the pheasant nor the deer, And wandered home again. The crescent moon and crimson eve Shone with a mingling light; The deer, upon the grassy mead, Was feeding full in sight. He raised the rifle to his eye, And from the cliffs around A sudden echo, shrill and sharp, Gave back its deadly sound. Away into the neighbouring wood The startled creature flew, And crimson drops at morning lay Amid the glimmering dew. Next evening shone the waxing moon As sweetly as before; The deer upon the grassy mead Was seen again no more. But ere that crescent moon was old, By night the red men came, And burnt the cottage to the ground, And slew the youth and dame. Now woods have overgrown the mead, And hid the cliffs from sight; There shrieks the hovering hawk at noon, And prowls the fox at night.
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5.9k
The White-Footed Deer
It was a hundred years ago, When, by the woodland ways, The traveller saw the wild deer drink, Or crop the birchen sprays. Beneath a hill, whose rocky side O'erbrowed a grassy mead, And fenced a cottage from the wind, A deer was wont to feed. She only came when on the cliffs The evening moonlight lay, And no man knew the secret haunts In which she walked by day. White were her feet, her forehead showed A spot of silvery white, That seemed to glimmer like a star In autumn's hazy night. And here, when sang the whippoorwill, She cropped the sprouting leaves, And here her rustling steps were heard On still October eves. But when the broad midsummer moon Rose o'er that grassy lawn, Beside the silver-footed deer There grazed a spotted fawn. The cottage dame forbade her son To aim the rifle here; "It were a sin," she said, "to harm Or fright that friendly deer. "This spot has been my pleasant home Ten peaceful years and more; And ever, when the moonlight shines, She feeds before our door. "The red men say that here she walked A thousand moons ago; They never raise the war-whoop here, And never twang the bow. "I love to watch her as she feeds, And think that all is well While such a gentle creature haunts The place in which we dwell." The youth obeyed, and sought for game In forests far away, Where, deep in silence and in moss, The ancient woodland lay. But once, in autumn's golden time, He ranged the wild in vain, Nor roused the pheasant nor the deer, And wandered home again. The crescent moon and crimson eve Shone with a mingling light; The deer, upon the grassy mead, Was feeding full in sight. He raised the rifle to his eye, And from the cliffs around A sudden echo, shrill and sharp, Gave back its deadly sound. Away into the neighbouring wood The startled creature flew, And crimson drops at morning lay Amid the glimmering dew. Next evening shone the waxing moon As sweetly as before; The deer upon the grassy mead Was seen again no more. But ere that crescent moon was old, By night the red men came, And burnt the cottage to the ground, And slew the youth and dame. Now woods have overgrown the mead, And hid the cliffs from sight; There shrieks the hovering hawk at noon, And prowls the fox at night.
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72
I wish I could run with you in your silent packs   I have done my share of howling a prisoner of this sluggish, two legged species that cannot chase down prey or take flight, without the crafted creations of others, I can, if I wade warily through waves of wind, and time, dance with you, on moon grazed prairies   but only until the sun cracks the dawn and exposes me, for the vain actor I am
0
Feb 12, 2014
Feb 12, 2014 at 9:54 AM UTC
Shumanitutonka ob wachi
This is only our second encounter but all hesitation is gone from your actions I walked into the lair of a merciless monster igniting a domino of reactions my cheeks flushed as I'm held by this beast that I find myself pinned underneath hot breath pours out on my neck as my ears are grazed by your teeth my heart pounds against your chest your hands roughly comb through my hair I squirm, submerged in your arms continually gasping for air your mouth desperately searching for mine I finally succumb to your kiss the problem with a fatal attractions, is deciphering what's hell and what's bliss
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Jan 22, 2015
Jan 22, 2015 at 6:47 PM UTC
Fatal Attraction
Strange nights, starry eyes a little something to keep me going no I don't lack in surprise or modesty and yet if honesty was a commodity I'd surely be rich and living it up or dead in a ditch for never giving it up and you just don't quit pry away the drink from my hands and take a sip never seen anyone bite anything the way that you bite on your lip I don't know what you're looking for but you won't find it in me a compliment, a shred of decency a night of thrills and secrecy a shoulder to cry on or just something to ride on no, you won't find it in me Got no money, no worries don't sell drugs never felt the need not a pick me up or shake you down nothing changes when I'm around no I don't want you and you don't want me Living life like a grazed knee the pain is always there it stings something always has to rub up on me so if another stained garment is what you want to be then, darling pick away at my layers I can never seem to heal but I go on like nothing hurts me and it could be worse you could be just another verse in my poetry and the night isn't over yet but you've just about heard enough I bet I don't know what you're looking for but you won't find it in me a friend for the night, a happy ending a story to tell your girls, a heart for mending someone to rely on or just something to ride on no, you won't find it in me Got no money, no worries don't sell drugs never felt the need not a pick me up or shake you down nothing changes when I'm around no I don't want you and you don't want me Still relentless in your advances but I can't take any chances I'm susceptible to heartbreak why do you think I'm sat here drinking alone? unlike you I haven't looked down at a phone I've no one to call, I've nowhere to be if you're wanting a simpleton that's not me I'm not offering late night comfort calls I don't even own a settee are you my therapist now? too many questions are detrimental to trust and I think you've just about heard enough I don't know what you're looking for but you won't find it in me won't pick you up, won't shake you down won't show you a good time and stick around I'm not your wings to fly on or just something to ride on no, you won't find it in me
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Dec 3, 2016
Dec 3, 2016 at 11:27 AM UTC
You Won't Find it in Me
Strange nights, starry eyes a little something to keep me going no I don't lack in surprise or modesty and yet if honesty was a commodity I'd surely be rich and living it up or dead in a ditch for never giving it up and you just don't quit pry away the drink from my hands and take a sip never seen anyone bite anything the way that you bite on your lip I don't know what you're looking for but you won't find it in me a compliment, a shred of decency a night of thrills and secrecy a shoulder to cry on or just something to ride on no, you won't find it in me Got no money, no worries don't sell drugs never felt the need not a pick me up or shake you down nothing changes when I'm around no I don't want you and you don't want me Living life like a grazed knee the pain is always there it stings something always has to rub up on me so if another stained garment is what you want to be then, darling pick away at my layers I can never seem to heal but I go on like nothing hurts me and it could be worse you could be just another verse in my poetry and the night isn't over yet but you've just about heard enough I bet I don't know what you're looking for but you won't find it in me a friend for the night, a happy ending a story to tell your girls, a heart for mending someone to rely on or just something to ride on no, you won't find it in me Got no money, no worries don't sell drugs never felt the need not a pick me up or shake you down nothing changes when I'm around no I don't want you and you don't want me Still relentless in your advances but I can't take any chances I'm susceptible to heartbreak why do you think I'm sat here drinking alone? unlike you I haven't looked down at a phone I've no one to call, I've nowhere to be if you're wanting a simpleton that's not me I'm not offering late night comfort calls I don't even own a settee are you my therapist now? too many questions are detrimental to trust and I think you've just about heard enough I don't know what you're looking for but you won't find it in me won't pick you up, won't shake you down won't show you a good time and stick around I'm not your wings to fly on or just something to ride on no, you won't find it in me
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74
How do you do it? Make my heart beat so? A rhythmic thump-thump, speeding and reckless at the thought of you. You dance in my mind playing in my memories, The simple things, seem like so much. Remember when you offered my a bite of your food? I refused; but what if I hadn't; would we laugh, and look into each others eyes. Remember the time you touched my face? Almost an accident. Almost. I wish your hands had grabbed my face and pulled my lips into yours, but your fingers only grazed my cheek. Remember when you tried to teach me your job? I watch your hands shape the pizza dough, stretching and rotating it. I have never wanted to be a ball of dough more in my life. Remember all the laughs we've shared? I wish I could feel those laughs in your chest. I want to be the air in your lungs. Breathe me in and out again. Hold me in an air bag, and breathe each laugh. Save those breaths, and the beautiful fog they make. Save them for me, years later I will open the bag and release them. Only a memory of the person they once belonged to. A shadow of the life they once sustained But it is enough. They kept you alive, and humored me. And I only wish they could breathe for me. Into me. All around me. Give me life. Give me existence. Press your mouth into mine and breathe. Pump my lungs, and awaken me. Save my life with your breath. Your laugh, brings me life. Your laugh, is all I need.
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May 29, 2014
May 29, 2014 at 6:13 PM UTC
Your Laugh
The way he touched me when we first got serious was much different from how he touched me at the end of it all. His hands used to be soft and his eyes drank in every curve of my body, every freckle of my skin. He would look up at me like I was a new adventure, and I knew that this whole night of romance was for me- he wanted me to really feel how much he cherished me. I miss those days immensely. At the end his hands were much more rough, his eyes averted mine. He couldn't see me as a treasure- I was just flesh under his own. It became all about his lust, his desperateness to feel something real. And that night that held a surprise showing of grins and grimaces and a couple almost-kisses, it felt like home. I am terrified to remember that night because I realized something: His fingers grazed my skin like they did in the beginning, he looked at me like I was new. It's terrifying because the only thing holding me together is knowing that the boy I love is nothing like the boy I left. And now that I caught that glimpse, and now that I know he's exactly the same as he used to be, my head is spinning and my heart spasms in pain. I was wrong and there are no words to describe how sad that makes me. But I made the choice to walk away from the confusion for enough time to realize that I'm okay with being alone. And even if I were to find someone new, I would always feel like I was cheating, like anything I could ever feel for someone else would be a lie. And even if I were to be with him again, I would feel like I was doing him a disservice, like even if I was loving him, I still wouldn't be genuine enough to make him feel loved. I will always and forever feel like I am cheating on the man I love. And that's the price I will pay for the immense disservice I have already paid him.
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Jan 28, 2013
Jan 28, 2013 at 5:45 PM UTC
I loved you then, I love you now
The way he touched me when we first got serious was much different from how he touched me at the end of it all. His hands used to be soft and his eyes drank in every curve of my body, every freckle of my skin. He would look up at me like I was a new adventure, and I knew that this whole night of romance was for me- he wanted me to really feel how much he cherished me. I miss those days immensely. At the end his hands were much more rough, his eyes averted mine. He couldn't see me as a treasure- I was just flesh under his own. It became all about his lust, his desperateness to feel something real. And that night that held a surprise showing of grins and grimaces and a couple almost-kisses, it felt like home. I am terrified to remember that night because I realized something: His fingers grazed my skin like they did in the beginning, he looked at me like I was new. It's terrifying because the only thing holding me together is knowing that the boy I love is nothing like the boy I left. And now that I caught that glimpse, and now that I know he's exactly the same as he used to be, my head is spinning and my heart spasms in pain. I was wrong and there are no words to describe how sad that makes me. But I made the choice to walk away from the confusion for enough time to realize that I'm okay with being alone. And even if I were to find someone new, I would always feel like I was cheating, like anything I could ever feel for someone else would be a lie. And even if I were to be with him again, I would feel like I was doing him a disservice, like even if I was loving him, I still wouldn't be genuine enough to make him feel loved. I will always and forever feel like I am cheating on the man I love. And that's the price I will pay for the immense disservice I have already paid him.
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67
I don't think we're there yet, kids. We haven't quite reached deep enough. We haven't quite grazed the tallest stalagmite of the cave of their hearts, and yet we act as though we've lived there all this time. I merely listened, and the steam has worked my engine up, and I created a monster that existed to be misunderstood. An expression that has gone to **** And I apologize. I apologize for not apologizing in the first place. I apologize for not trying to make people understand. I apologize for writing up a tragedy. I apologize for writing off your right. I apologize this all has gone to **** and I apologize for I don't know how to fix it. I apologize for being so ignorant of all the throes of your little tongues. You matter, too, just not to me, perhaps. I apologize. I'll go try to listen a little less and care a little more.
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Nov 17, 2013
Nov 17, 2013 at 1:02 AM UTC
The art of listening
you were blue and i am yellow you liked the way i brightened rooms i thought we could make a home run true but no winning evolved while our garden bloomed for as my love for you grew it expanded way beyond you and it wasn't long before you knew exposing your true shades of gray when you touched me but you looked her way you decided olive green just didn't look good on you i have always preferred green over purple and you once told me you felt the same but that one night where you both lied you chose the latter you took her side and i’m not sure if it's because she appeared shiny red and i was becoming a worn out yellow but it shouldn’t have mattered because you plucked me first and you and i both know that's not what you do to flowers when you love them you were supposed to water me but you showered her instead and now i am left here trying to heal the paper cuts i got from the countless times i ran in circles trying to catch your racing heart but it barely ever grazed my fingertips and each time i looked down to see what was left of you and me i was struck in the face with the sad reality that we had never even made it off of home base
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Jul 22, 2018
Jul 22, 2018 at 1:43 PM UTC
the art of leaving
At one Life had begun, I could walk,that was fun, Always smothered with kisses,mummy's yummy bun. At two, I grew too, Did everything I wanted to do, Again and again,then undo, Refused to go to the loo, Loved to spill the shampoo, Stubborn as a mule, With tears, buckets of boo. At three , I was free, No pampers,mum in glee, Went to loo to *** Hated milk, loved tea, Fell often, grazed my knees. At four, Could do small chores, Wipe a spill on the floor, For visitors open door, My own clothes I wore, A glass of water I could pour. At five, I was alive, A queen bee in a hive, I learned to thrive, First time I learned to swim and dive. At six , I was a bag of tricks, Just for kicks, Smart at solving conflicts, Easily able to come out of a fix, Clever and confident, teachers' best pick.
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Jun 26, 2018
Jun 26, 2018 at 3:27 PM UTC
Six Years
these songs are dedicated to those hours late into the night; when the sky gravitates towards the end of the colour spectrum, in which the hues collide, to create an illusion as mesmerising as the look in her eyes when he smiles. because the way the notes grazed her ear drums, as they lift themselves hazily off of the sheet, is one way to describe how it feels when she hears his voice; his laugh encompassing her whole being, enclosing her in a tight embrace. i sincerely apologise to all the songs i've ruined and stained with the ****** memory of you.
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Mar 25, 2018
Mar 25, 2018 at 3:48 PM UTC
these songs
before your hands had ever grazed the tops of my thighs and before your lips had touched my own, you knew me. your eyes penetrated through my soul the moment we met; in that first glance, I knew that you had seen me before. without speaking a word, you understood everything that I have ever been and will ever be. thousands of years and thousands of lifetimes have passed between us; we are a love story carved into the Earth, repeating itself until nothing is left and where we existed is pure black amongst the cosmos. but even when all is gone, your whispers will still echo; they will still reach me. whatever and wherever we are, you and I will be called back to each other, once again.
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Dec 29, 2016
Dec 29, 2016 at 7:01 PM UTC
enfp / infj
One brisk spring afternoon, a boy found himself adventuring down a local forested path. The sun beamed down through the trees, creating golden stips of light that fought their way through the newly grown greenery. The crunch of the earth beneath his feet could be heard from a distance as unimportant thoughts drifted through his mind. He paused and set himself down on a large rock by a bubbling stream. The water created an ambiance that made a rush of calm flow over his mind. His eyes drifted around a bit, taking in his surroundings when suddenly a butterfly flittered down and flew around his face. A smile spread wide across his features as he lifted up his hand to try to catch it. The butterfly grazed his hand, but then flew away as fast as it could, as it was afraid of the boy. He frowned in disappointment, wanting nothing more than the butterfly itself to flutter down onto his hand so he could admire it once more; But he was left in despair. Two more butterflies of the same pattern found themselves drifting along the face of the boy, and he tried to catch them as well, for maybe they would fill in the gap that the first had left. He caught them both, but only briefly, as all butterflies were beautiful, but fleeting. The boy tilted his head in disappointment, and sat there alone for some time, an array of butterflies coming and going, none of them filling the void left by the first. Suddenly, a pure white moth came into view. The boy scowled, unsure of what to make of the moth as it was nothing like the other butterflies that he had encountered before. The moth flittered around his face, and he raised his hands slightly, prepared to swipe the creature away. The moth found itself landing softly on the nose of the boy, its fuzzy little wings tickling his skin upon contact. He couldn’t help but smile, but felt a little uneasy, as he was only used to butterflies. The boy lifted the moth gently from his nose, and perched it on a nearby branch. It’s little wings lifted its body from the perch, and tried to fly back toward the boy, but he gently shood the creature away. Finally, it gave up and landed itself back onto the branch in which the boy had placed it. There the moth stayed, watching the boy chase butterflies endlessly until he could chase no more.
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Apr 4, 2017
Apr 4, 2017 at 10:08 PM UTC
A Moth Among Butterflies
One brisk spring afternoon, a boy found himself adventuring down a local forested path. The sun beamed down through the trees, creating golden stips of light that fought their way through the newly grown greenery. The crunch of the earth beneath his feet could be heard from a distance as unimportant thoughts drifted through his mind. He paused and set himself down on a large rock by a bubbling stream. The water created an ambiance that made a rush of calm flow over his mind. His eyes drifted around a bit, taking in his surroundings when suddenly a butterfly flittered down and flew around his face. A smile spread wide across his features as he lifted up his hand to try to catch it. The butterfly grazed his hand, but then flew away as fast as it could, as it was afraid of the boy. He frowned in disappointment, wanting nothing more than the butterfly itself to flutter down onto his hand so he could admire it once more; But he was left in despair. Two more butterflies of the same pattern found themselves drifting along the face of the boy, and he tried to catch them as well, for maybe they would fill in the gap that the first had left. He caught them both, but only briefly, as all butterflies were beautiful, but fleeting. The boy tilted his head in disappointment, and sat there alone for some time, an array of butterflies coming and going, none of them filling the void left by the first. Suddenly, a pure white moth came into view. The boy scowled, unsure of what to make of the moth as it was nothing like the other butterflies that he had encountered before. The moth flittered around his face, and he raised his hands slightly, prepared to swipe the creature away. The moth found itself landing softly on the nose of the boy, its fuzzy little wings tickling his skin upon contact. He couldn’t help but smile, but felt a little uneasy, as he was only used to butterflies. The boy lifted the moth gently from his nose, and perched it on a nearby branch. It’s little wings lifted its body from the perch, and tried to fly back toward the boy, but he gently shood the creature away. Finally, it gave up and landed itself back onto the branch in which the boy had placed it. There the moth stayed, watching the boy chase butterflies endlessly until he could chase no more.
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10
*You Held Me Tight In Your Arms, The Night Air Nipping At Our Skin, Our Breath Clouds Of Warmth, Mixing Underneath The Stars* "I Love You," You Said, Your Hands Meandering, Up And Down My Spine, Trying To Keep Me Warm, In The Frosty Octobor Night *Corn Stalks Gently Grazed Our Jeans, You Held Me Close, Perplexing The Lurking Demons, Warming My Blood, With Your Lips* "I Love You Too," I Said Holding Your Shoulders *You Wrapped Me In Your Arms, Folding Our Souls Together, Like An Ormagami Crane, And You Kissed My Cheek, Our Frozen Fingers Entwined* "Don't Ever Leave Me," You Said Lovingly, As You Burried Your Face Into My Neck, And Kissed It Lightly *I Lay My Head On Your Shoulder, And The Goosebumps On My Skin Faded, As My Body Enjoyed The Cold* "I Won't" I Murmered, *You Stared Into My Eyes, And Pulled Me Closer, Our Lips A Millimeter Away, You Know What I Like* I Felt Your Breath As You Asked,"What Would You Say If I Asked You To Marry Me?" *Even Though It Was Only 2 Seconds, The Space Imbetween That Question, Felt Like Two Hours, Honestly I Never Wanted That Moment To End* "I Would Say Yes, Why?" *I Could Feel Your Pulse Rise, And Your Skin Start To Warm* "Because Someday I'm Going To Ask You, And Give You A Diamond Ring, Almost As Beautiful As You" *I Smiled A Reflection To Yours As We Sat Under The Yellowish Cresent Moon* "Then It's A Yes" *I Laughed My Annoying Kackly Laugh The One You Love* "Can I Kiss You?" *My Eyebrows Lowered In Sarcastic Annoyence But I Giggled* "Fine" *As You Kissed Me I Smiled* "Please Take My Sweatshirt," You Begged Me *I Noticed My Shivering Body The Hairs On My Arms Rose And My Fingers Felt As If They Belonged To A Dead Person* "Okay" I Reluctantly Said *You Put Your Sweatshirt Over My Shoulders And As You Cuddled Me Closer And Kissed My Lips One Last Time I Opened My Eyes The Light From The Moon Streaked Across My Face Suddenly I Heard You Whisper Goodnight As We Stood On My Doorstep Goodnight I Replied*
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Oct 20, 2012
Oct 20, 2012 at 8:17 PM UTC
Under The October Moon
*You Held Me Tight In Your Arms, The Night Air Nipping At Our Skin, Our Breath Clouds Of Warmth, Mixing Underneath The Stars* "I Love You," You Said, Your Hands Meandering, Up And Down My Spine, Trying To Keep Me Warm, In The Frosty Octobor Night *Corn Stalks Gently Grazed Our Jeans, You Held Me Close, Perplexing The Lurking Demons, Warming My Blood, With Your Lips* "I Love You Too," I Said Holding Your Shoulders *You Wrapped Me In Your Arms, Folding Our Souls Together, Like An Ormagami Crane, And You Kissed My Cheek, Our Frozen Fingers Entwined* "Don't Ever Leave Me," You Said Lovingly, As You Burried Your Face Into My Neck, And Kissed It Lightly *I Lay My Head On Your Shoulder, And The Goosebumps On My Skin Faded, As My Body Enjoyed The Cold* "I Won't" I Murmered, *You Stared Into My Eyes, And Pulled Me Closer, Our Lips A Millimeter Away, You Know What I Like* I Felt Your Breath As You Asked,"What Would You Say If I Asked You To Marry Me?" *Even Though It Was Only 2 Seconds, The Space Imbetween That Question, Felt Like Two Hours, Honestly I Never Wanted That Moment To End* "I Would Say Yes, Why?" *I Could Feel Your Pulse Rise, And Your Skin Start To Warm* "Because Someday I'm Going To Ask You, And Give You A Diamond Ring, Almost As Beautiful As You" *I Smiled A Reflection To Yours As We Sat Under The Yellowish Cresent Moon* "Then It's A Yes" *I Laughed My Annoying Kackly Laugh The One You Love* "Can I Kiss You?" *My Eyebrows Lowered In Sarcastic Annoyence But I Giggled* "Fine" *As You Kissed Me I Smiled* "Please Take My Sweatshirt," You Begged Me *I Noticed My Shivering Body The Hairs On My Arms Rose And My Fingers Felt As If They Belonged To A Dead Person* "Okay" I Reluctantly Said *You Put Your Sweatshirt Over My Shoulders And As You Cuddled Me Closer And Kissed My Lips One Last Time I Opened My Eyes The Light From The Moon Streaked Across My Face Suddenly I Heard You Whisper Goodnight As We Stood On My Doorstep Goodnight I Replied*
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70
The rose caressed my fingers. "he loves me, he loves me not." My eyes could only see red. "he loves me, he loves me not." Ready to peel the sweet bud - "he loves me, he loves me not." His gentle fingers grazed mine. "I love you, I love you so." His eyes were milk chocolates. "I love you, I love you so." The petals clung to the rose. "I love you, I love you so."
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Sep 15, 2021
Sep 15, 2021 at 1:52 AM UTC
love: a confession.