"sep" poems
A doctor's sorry for birth complication
A sea of CP cases in physiotherapy centre
Siblings, twins, triplets
All with defects
***
Advice of
***
Therapy,
Botox,
Vision,
Hearing,
Ocupational,
unheard names of unknown place...
!!!
Children I never thought existed
Parents I couldn't believe laughed
Joy in the eyes of kids with severe disability
Waiting for acceptance but yet unknown..
Blanked eyes of a mother
Whose 4 yr old child can die any day
Income reduced expenditure doubled
!!!
***
Yet
***
Optimism,
Joy,
Laughter,
Patience,
Hardwork,
Belief
multiplied many folds...
Coz they are the chosen one
God believed in them
And so God sent to them
The special gifts in
SPECIAL KIDS...
to make them
SPECIAL MOMs...
!!!
Sparkle In Wisdom
Sep 2018
Oct 6, 2018
Oct 6, 2018 at 9:48 AM UTC
Sep 15
2 0 15
your poem read,
awoken by lightening flashes of
morning notifications arriving,
postmarked from
"I liked it"
but it does not
end there,
continues,
to a new ending
who and why,
who and why,
did this one find
their own
worthy in it
that was writ unknowingly
just for them
and
you look them up,
guessing
who and why,
rereading your hand's work,
which verse was it,
was it for a blessing or a
curse,
that touched them,
that made them
touch
you
each "like,"
a work in itself
re examined,
re searched,
re imagined
in the
light of
who they are
and
why they are
liking words I wrote
a single poem
bring hours of imagination,
each "like"
individually gift wrapped,
each human liking rapt,
each imagine a rapture,
each "like"
a new poem
about the who and why
each name a disguise to unravel,
each name a title
of a new different,
imagined poem,
who and why,
we
like
each other
~~~
6:53am
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 7:01 AM UTC
"lie still and let it wash over you, the was and is and soon to be.
How frightening yet effervescent the next 24 hours. The lust, and musts of future days revert to the ancient past..."
patty m.
><
the irony!
when I am stilled,
the effervescence of me
unbounded, unleashed, and the torrential rain
of words fulfilling and departing from my interior
I am
a Grand Central Station
of trains labelled
"the was and is and soon to be''
all moving in an unscheduled mayhem,
but never crashing. never accidenting,
only accenting my racing against time,
my oldest and fiercest Super Villian,
and one just knows, never can you beat time,
time, that old rascally up his sleeve card magician,
who when shuffling the deck,
he knows
what was,
what is,
and here his red eyes gleam with satisfaction,
soon to be...
He and I,
old familiar adversaries
addicted to living.
never leave the table,
never leave a *** or
a poem on the felt,
and having always felt,
firm believed,
there will always be one more,
one more gamble, another day,
to write another poem
and turning my cards over
to reveal, to revel,
in my Royal Flush of creativity,
when time, smiling face,
with his
wild card,
**** time,
who trumps me for
it,
in possess of a Five-of-a-Kind(1)
~'
and the new players,
the young poets,
slap me on the back,
saying I had a great run,
but they don't know 'bout my
secret stash,
preprogrammed to appear,
long after these fingers
cease their tangled tango of tap dancing,
my dust,
my lusts and musts
will unstilled yet be
blowing, floating in the
soon to be
so ha!
nml
6:30am
Wed Sep 10
Twenty Twenty Five
Sep 10, 2025
Sep 10, 2025 at 8:42 AM UTC
a birthday poem for S.
perhaps, this is the responsibility, the purposeful gentility,
that poetry engenders, that thwarts the impulse to anger,
guiding away, finding a way, to temper the temper, to out
and joust away our basest, our first, but never our foremost
nor finest, succinct instinct, yet terrible human nonetheless...
perhaps, this is where we hide, neath our carnival masque,
our-would-be better selves, and struggle in this, this intensity intentional,
the season's change is subtly blatant, not obvious 'cept to those
who have a front seat, a well worn Adirondack chair in the nook
where the airy breeze offers fruits of words so easy, pluck words
as easy as breathing, and the slight gradation change, in the light and
temperature, and yet, the suns cares not, for it still warms my body,
though lower and slower, nonetheless, when the heat invades my soul, confirming my, our, existence,
burning off the fog of our contradictory confusions,
and eliciting an unsolicited
"thank you god"
for my, our personal miracle of re~birthing
and better comprehending,
that other
miracle we can embrace
never enough
loving kindness
sun~mon
sep 14~15
twenty twenty five
Sep 15, 2025
Sep 15, 2025 at 8:33 AM UTC
and it emits a cry, of sudden surprise,
a howl for the hole in its roundtable tummy,
when it pleads for knowing, for it knows not of
knowledge, why this light comes, who bids it enter,
and why this entity they call mother,
has all the answers required,
and why the father,
moves so
stealthy
to hug
them
both
and
squeeze them together
7:33am
Sat Sep 11
2025
in the babies room,
in the keep
Sep 13, 2025
Sep 13, 2025 at 7:36 AM UTC
inspired by Ben Noah Suri
<*>
come to us in twilight, and just before sunrise,
in the in~between times, when souls exit and enter.
through microscopic cosmic windows, and there
is nothing but you and the full emptiness of earth
and then!
fill our void with words as yet unborn,
and aid all our passages from nether to glory...
for you,
we, await...
for guidance inherited from
all your visions of greater-than-us metamorphosis
<*>
upon first awakening and reaffirmation of life,
reading the first poem of the day
6:59am
Sabbath
Sep 13
2025
Sep 20, 2025
Sep 20, 2025 at 7:01 AM UTC
~commissioned accidentally by a melody,
a passing glance, a purring perchance,
an idle innocent comment,
to be born as the first poem of this day,
@7:00am
Tue Sep 18 2025,
writ in haste, before
departing over many islands to
another place called "home"~
---~<>~---
*sometimes,
not so secret,
anon, ^
sometimes,
so much more,
than that but a glancing of favoring,
a handshake secreted, is actually felt,
actually secreted,
and rare though via~able,
it passes through a longing traveled voyage,
over wire, under sea's cabling, through space,
hoisted from & by satellite over continental divides
just a hop, skip and jumpstart
over this tiny planet,
and though, but, an amorphous 👍 thumb,
a colored 💙 or collared,
or a pointing 🫵
body part
the like,
bears more than just a passing resemblance
to another*
f o u r l e t t er w o r d
its often lost & found
dear cuz ^^
full of meanings hidden,
or even
anon,
"I'll be there shortly"^
magic!
nml
Sep 16, 2025
Sep 16, 2025 at 7:33 AM UTC
~the heart of (the) matter~
~~~~~~
an essential phrase,
that concentrates the
instincts not to sway
away,
be focused
on, by the always present
algorithm of the
essences
but my version preferred
is that
"the heart of matter"
with skill and effort,
one can learn, to shoot
arrows honed to be near
an-almost-bullseye every time
but to understand that
the heart
is matter,
the mother
of our body parts,
the little engine that could,
can and does,
and asks only
refresh it with
fresh blue blood,
every second
(not to much to ask for)
what are/is the sinews of the heart?
what are its secreted corpuscular (1)
composed of?
why words, you silly!
each beat, a letter,
the heart doth register
its creativity incessant,
never ceasing to rest
for composition is its goal,
to sing to write, to weep
from pleasured thoughts
and deepest fright,
and you say you need inspiration?
then listen to your writing vibrations that from thy center
emanate, you who toil laboriously
when all that matters is the matter,
the wonderful matter of
who when where and why
that chatterbox in your body
never ever pauses
***and that is why in the matter of god,
have no doubts
only a god could have conceived
of a world of billions of composers
where each one of us
matters***…
5:19am Wed Sep 10
Sep 12, 2025
Sep 12, 2025 at 5:59 AM UTC
the trouble with poetry
(and this poetry site) is its
facilitation
awoke in a strange bed, my own,
in a different city, with my old eyes
renewed with, by loving amazement
at the beauty of so many souls experimenting
with edged, loving, dangerous compo-notions,
that make me older than King David, who loved the
love of life and this world, for here I am, falling too
for the life & love potions
of words of my fellow humans across
vast oceans
and I stoke their and stroke their
heated words, pretending that
the cool warmth of my tablet
is both their gorgeous skin and
alluring verbal twists that arouse
my innermost, and break my already
broken heart, and heals it at the very
same time...
all too, so easily
this communication is at levels that
descend, transcend,
grips me with passion and consternation
at my own desires, my open body & mind
stirred, chilled, shaken, stirred and soothed
by the busting out contradictions of us, me,
so well hidden, so well revealed in the marvy
ability of so many to share their essences,
their own scents, just by words upon a page,
and here I pause...
to consider the duality of the word
f a c i l e
for poetry shared facilitates this burning,
" " " " " tumult,
and yet comes to me so facile, that I worry,
that the words themselves are facile, cheap
& easy, but then I am reassured by the very
real drops of my body's fluids upon my cheeks,
that confirm, that poetry is too so real, so living,
and I guess you know me by my real name,
my real face, and my realized words here,
and wonder if I need cease to wonder why
wonderful is...
a thing
my poetry is written by silent night, or early morn,
so very differing, and laugh out loud at myself,
for I am a differing man, at differing times,
of a potpourri of contagious contradictory
conceptions, that I traverse so easy, this facility
is my blessing, and poetry my well worn skill
at...facilitating this absurd admixture of
human~you-man~a man~amen.
and here I leave you...
for I have left
the sunroom too...
@
3:26 am
Thu Sep 4
someplace else
Sep 4, 2025
Sep 4, 2025 at 3:35 AM UTC
acacia
"i know that, i know that
what's mine will find me"
(1)
<>
sigh...
(forgive my intrusion)
not necessarily-
for too many, we have to invent, create and
forever to be on the lookout for to
find what we need,
forgive and then, not begrudge the time it may take,
finally
then to make it ours,
for
that's when the work begins,
sometimes it takes a forever
to know how to define, create
find, a forevermore
<nml>
exactly 5:00am
Wed Sep 10
in the dark, dark sunroom
Sep 10, 2025
Sep 10, 2025 at 4:05 PM UTC
peeress: a woman holding the rank of a peer in her own right.
what tools fo you require?
a microscope, binoculars, perhaps an observatory telescope...
you ask to peer into my soul,
the heart of the matter,
and I object
not,
asking only for a workman's wages,
of honest preparation,
have you the tools to see me properly,
and when you love what you see,
will you have them by your side
to see the future close by,
and so far ahead?
do you possess within thy
secret places,
an archeological brush
to wipe gently away my ancient earths,
or a toy red shovel to remove fossilized
10,000 year old grains of old hearts,
or fresh, damp from this morning,
of words and sand from my inner
beach, even then, the tonnage may
require an industrial excavator
to clear, hold and perhaps contain
all that poetry, all that love that it contains,
so I ask, you, myself:
*Do you have the proper tools,
the necessaries and the necessities,
to find to store to relish and to delight
in what you may find?*
be an explorer,
and write of all your discoveries,
hurry, for the word
time
means in soul terms & the heart's specialized verbiage,
never enough
so girl scout/ mademoiselle peeress
you s t i l l
have much to assay/essay/uncover
re the meanings of love...
for there is as much to learn from the
quietus of love,
as there is, from the vibrant tumbling of
climbing to new heights
peer carefully...
5:44am
Wed Sep 10
Twenty Twenty Five
Sep 11, 2025
Sep 11, 2025 at 9:28 AM UTC
I skip, across a streaming, upon random~laid
flat and comfortable flat flagstone stepping stones,
from poet to poet, color to color, poem to poem,
Auden to Whitman, Schuyler to
myself, a dingaling notion, an errant word,
the here to there, all randoms, yet,
oval chain linked all,
a question posed, an answer unknown,
a reference to an old Italian myth,
and there, and here, a body,
comes to rest,
& also,
comes to rest…
<>
led not by the nose, but the single fingered
tip that guides across a landscape patterned
painting, lost but never a loser, each implants,
each imbibes, and the H&H^ alternatively
rumbles, pounds, vibrato burns erratically,
and the difference between a life in love,
and a life in poetry,
is not a line dividing,
but a path combining,
and the only sign
upon the road,
is never a reddened "stop!"
always just a soft lavender, so tender, inquiring,
requiring, deep thoughts and reckless abandonment,
the only guide inspired when ecstatic adrift in
a season, a sea, any one of nature's designed
unlimited
schemata's of vista creations,
is this, simply stated:
What?
<>
postscript
6:27 Sabbath Sep 27
nyc
after a sunrise glorious, where
the windows eastern facing
make an irresistible irrational
pattern of golden yellow reflecting,
mirrors, and
after reading much,
and so I too, reflect, vista, vista,
what do you see, I see…What?
after reading a poem by James Schuyler,
entitled (yes, we are)
"What"^^
Sep 27, 2025
Sep 27, 2025 at 7:47 AM UTC
Did you see a special child,
Moving on its own
Waiting for a smile from
strangers faces around!
Did you see a special child
Sitting in the park
Waiting for the ball to come so
He can give a pass!
Did you see a special child
Sitting near the lake
Waiting for the fish to be caught
In the fishing rod straight!
Did you see a special child
Moving it's wheel chair fast
To catch that metro rail
Which is about to depart!
Did you see a special child
In your child's class
Sitting in a corner waiting for acceptance and cheers!
Did you see a special child
In your neighbor's house
Waiting to be befriended
By the whole society!
Did you see that special child
Whose innocence is unbound
Smiles are genuine
And eyes are pure shine!
Unfortunately,
It's 'not' you alone who
did not see him..
We tend to not register
there presence,
We deny to register
there existence
I haven't seen a special child
till my 28th birthday.
Till I became a mother of one...
That day a mother was born
A special mom of a special child...!!!
Then I became friends with
Many such special mom's...
Beautiful kids became
my son's friends too...
And the special journey
of Special Life thus began!!!
Sparkle In Wisdom
Sep 2018
Sep 28, 2018
Sep 28, 2018 at 12:08 AM UTC
this verbal wishing well, appreciated,
a nut of good intentions but drives me
deeper into de-spare-ing downing detentions,
for it is only the article's genuine genius,
that elevates the human spiritus, to godlike status
no ditty this, but a wail, shriek, for
human touch is gift so greatest,
that any day passing without
either, neither but both, 'tis one
truly wasted,
a deduction on our
calculus of inited^ human intuitions,
a failure of our greatest inventions
a subtraction of our
gainful living, a purposed ecstasy
our one and only inexact
measure of measurement
that defies pedantic notions of
things of weight or volume,
but extends our own existence
sans
the armies of embrace,
the electric elected syncing,
of the shocking sharing of
closing the borders of divided spaces,
a soft contusion, a realized illusion
a de minimus of our days,
a lessening of our lessons,
a loss of earning livingness,
a nail in our coffined basket,
and here to cease without surcease,
the elemental incalculable numbered
members of our total human races,
that so tragic in a twenty four expiry,
that the bonding of affection goes
unexpressed...
offer you my armory of arms,
cleanse us both with showered kisses,
inform you thus of our emboldened connection,
voiding these lowlife separators of lineage divisors,
what matter color, gender, chosen god nomenclature,
any of this nonsensical human inventions for distancing
divested human beings from each other
tho eyes closed, and all our senses flaring,
when we confirm what we were born knowing,
there is nothing greater than the human touch
PostScript
my first and best poem of the day,
how it came to me goes unbeknownst,
but will practice what is preached
with any and all willing encountered souls,
and perhaps, come-end of day, will write,
once more, one more, re heaven on earth
7:02am
Tue Sep Thirty
Two Thousand and Twenty Five. nml
Sep 30, 2025
Sep 30, 2025 at 7:13 AM UTC
Your Joy is my joy
Your happiness my own
Our beginning bittersweet
Premonition of it's end.
Those I love the most
think of me today.
My dearest darling
beloved forever
m
o
r
e
Omnipresent remain
our treasure tree of life
our paradise lost and found.
~~~~~~~~~~
By: Karijinbba
~Copy Rights apply~
Sep-2020 revised 03-21.
Sep 15, 2020
Sep 15, 2020 at 6:35 PM UTC
Jane was given a year to live
Febricity, nausea and cancer would assist her through that year
Marching headfirst into this battle
Apropos of nothing, she packed up and left
Maybe she broke down, maybe she got up
Junction of her heart and mind, she was preparing to die whilst simultaneously starting to live
Julian Alps, Tianzi Mountains, Santorini, Petra, Machu Picchu, she saw them all
Augmented her mind
Separated her ignorance
October fell and she was hospitalized, the hospital was now her personal party with constant visitors
Novice to cancer no more, now she was the leader
Decease couldn’t stop her, she was alive
Sep 5, 2015
Sep 5, 2015 at 2:37 AM UTC
The Hardest Forgiving Slant
<|>
9:19am Fri Sept 22 2023 ~ 8:02am Fri Sep 29 2023
commenced during the Ten Days of Awe
<|>
we debase our language daily,
robbing the spectacular majesty [example]
of awe with the common overusing
vernacular of “awesome”
especially forgiveness is degraded,
we utter “I’m sorry” trippingly,
costless, less than cheap, with even the
snap-on veneer (1) of sincerity discarded,
but move on to the next rudeness
but today I will not permit myself
an easy letting-off-the-hook, no shifting
of blame to anonymity, or fast forward to tomorrow,
when we can obfuscate our intrepid
dishonesty one more time…again
to forgive those who have injured us,
not that hard, or the judging deities,
who silently wink and nod, but offer
no certitude beyond trying, itself a
maybe, maybe not, truly tiring this
trying tacking the constant requests
so first an etymology explication on
the tension inherent that very word,
f o r g i v e
As a word, as a sensed,
intuitively-
it is a
Perfect Continuous Infinitive! (2)
to
forgive is
perfect,
to forgive is
continuous,,
to forgive is
infinite!
what a marvelous, perpetual
past, present and always futuristic
word (alas)
The Hardest Forgiving?
to forgive oneself
so nearer to impossible,
the first responders doing triage,
leave people like me for last,
as it a unconditional condition
with no cure that can be effected
indeed, by our very affect,
they instant diagnosis seeing our
very gestures, body language, or ****** expressions,
all reveal the hopelessness of
the never-to-be-given-grace,
among us
for a thousand years,
I have tried and failed to forgive myself
for the worst I’ve done,
and there is no sword or club,
blood-letting,
that can dispatch the onerous burden I carry
so I write poetry,
a salve that offers
temporary relief,
while I write,
imposed a
momentarily distracting,
a kind of dusting of self~spin,
that chills myself
just until
the, this!
poem is finished,
the slant is drawn
<§>
Tell all the truth but tell it slant —
BY EMILY DICKINSON
Tell all the truth but tell it slant —
Success in Circuit lies
Too bright for our infirm Delight
The Truth's superb surprise
As Lightning to the Children eased
With explanation kind
The Truth must dazzle gradually
Or every man be blind —
Sep 29, 2023
Sep 29, 2023 at 8:12 AM UTC
From the 4 corners of Addis
Sunday school students
At a Meskel Square make a throng
All the procession beating a drum
Ululating and singing a song
With a passion strong.
"Queen Helena (Elene)
Mother of Constantine the Great
Found the true cross
Buried under
A dump-mountain long
By those who read Jesus
The incarnated word wrong."
"Advised by a monk
Led by an incense smoke
The whereabouts of the place
As she saw in her dream/revelation
(326AD)
Queen Helena managed to unlock."
The n-curve of the smoke
As a pointer
Allowed her a go ahead
To dig the mountain
Beneath its bed.
That is what Ethiopia
Has been zealous
To commemorate
To date
(For over1600 years).
At sundown
When by the patriarch
And the mayor
The bonfire is lit
Priests and deacons
Sing and dance circling it.
An electrifying vibe
Overwhelms
Spectators' spirit
Proving the event
A hit.
"Fail not to note
The cross is power,
Perseverance
And soul's medicine
To our sin an antidote !"
An ocean of vigil light
Accentuated by the darkness
Of the night
Allows souls' flight
To the extreme height.
At last if the bonfire
Falls towards the right
It will be
Celebrants delight
Specially if a rain
Puts the fire out.
Celebrants return
To their home
To attend petty
Similar events
That ripples across
The nation
In the same fashion.
On the morrow
Returning back
To the ashes' bed
They draw a cross
On their forehead.
On 27 Sep
Tourists in droves
Come
To Ethiopia
For a first hand knowledge
" Ethiopia raises
Its hand to God
Demonstrated many fold."
Here reflecting is a wise thing
In the division of the cross
To avoid a similar thing
Ethiopia(During the Era of
its emperor Dawit/Middle age)
has received
The right wing.
At a cross-like
Mountainous road,
It is placed
At Geishen Mary's church
Which the laity takes
As Saint Mary's abode.
Sep 20, 2019
Sep 20, 2019 at 12:02 PM UTC
my "insensitivity"
isn't stemmed from negativity,
but more so a desire
to think about it logically.
a life without stress
is when i do my best.
and don't take that as distance,
but my choice
to be sep ara te.
independant.
me, myself, and i
mind, body, and soul.
woven together underneath
the attachment of my surface layer.
hidden from most,
deemed "unreadable."
my "detachment"
a word often describing my
lack of attention-
is not a reflection
of my affection,
or a distraction
from my emotions,
but a reflection
taking place of a reaction.
my "cold heart"
is not the polar
to a warm heart.
it is simply the polar
to a fiery heart,
but it burns
just as fiercely.
Apr 23, 2019
Apr 23, 2019 at 1:59 PM UTC
Fishy Haiku
F J McCarthy on Sep 8, 2009
Swimming in the sea.
Through day and night, calm and storm
Swimming endlessly.
May 17, 2010
May 17, 2010 at 7:27 PM UTC
My third attempt to commemorate Joel Frye.
News arrived Mid-May, found me far from home,
found me shock-gasping in a hotel room,
on the wrong coast,
though he sort-of-warned-warned,
about a month earlier, I misunderstood his subsequent
silence, thus it caught me unawares, unprepared,
and strangely grasping for proper comprehension
and the right words, that usually come so quickly,
even too easy~quick, when one’s emotions are
running fast, like a springtime Northwest mountain stream
Imagine a conversation of nine year’s duration,
one of a number forged in the iron-y of poetry,
a most
genteel art.
I found his words above in a comment on a poem (1)
of mine, writ in 2015; the subject, so apropos, to be
ever gentle to thy words.
Our dialogue and mutual admiration lives on and survives,
for bonds forged ex-the world of poetry, but more so,
in real deeds and deals and realized poems come true.
We never met.
Not unusual for an on-line community, where the social, literate
media can foster a closeness surpassing the normative
standard need of the physical,
which nonetheless the absence of that touch is now
deep regretted.
But Joel do not be concerned!
Your words will live with others, as per your desire.
This my promise, this my premise:
A debt of brotherhood that will be,
must be, paid in full.
So let’s begin…shall we…
~~~~
Joel Frye Sep 2015
Friends
Some for a reason,
some for a season; even
lifetimes come and go.
All things are transitory. Doesn't mean I have to like it.
<>
(1j
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/1425812/oh-poet-be-ever-gentle-to-thy-words/
Jun 27, 2023
Jun 27, 2023 at 8:10 AM UTC
So very caring and kind
Like her, you'll never find
Possessing a beautiful mind
Her pure heart makes you go blind,
A wilted heart, she can easily mend
A helping hand, she will always lend
She'll stay by your side till the very end
Her loyalty knows no certain extend
You're blessed to have her as your friend,
Her warm heart has no limit
Her sweet words are infinite
She's extraordinary and she knows it
She can make you smile within a minute,
Your mood will lighten up
Simply with her presence
She would never give up
Would support you even in your absence,
She's a one in a million
What else could you ask for?
Knowing such a wonderful person
I'm so very thankful for,
Disrespect her
And you'll rue,
Dare to hurt her
Guna make you regret that too,
Better keep insults away
If you wanna wake up the next day,
Someone I could never replace
Her words leaving a permanent trace
Sure, we're walking on a different pace
However no friend could take her place,
For her smiles, I'd sacrifice
To make sure they stay,
She gives comforting advice
She's simply the best
What else can I say?
~A.d | 6 Sep 2014
Feb 19, 2015
Feb 19, 2015 at 9:59 AM UTC
Cortez, theyre just running through my mind
Like track and field junior year
You want to cyph before class, but i don’t think that’s for the best
Look in your ****** eyes, but you had to change into sweats
I remember that afternoon, it’s in my mind all the time
You gave me your hoodie and went home like routine
Snuck out the back door and forgot to take me
White Cortez, but they’re ***** on the sides
Dirt on your pants, but never did you mind
You’re so versatile,
how you build up your walls and know when to break them down ?
At 16, i never would’ve guessed youd actually ditch town
A city on lights, like do you know what you’re leaving?
Persuasion and ideas, you know I’m still here waiting
Connection is rare, and with you, it was waning
Black Cortez, cleaned it up on the sides
Fade into dark Caesar, never did i mind
You smelled like axe and gelato, you probably taste so sweet
In my head, there’s a sword fight where two ends never meet
I hope you’re passing your tests, or training your chest
I still have your hoodie and i wear it here and there
I washed it so many times, but i didn’t think you’d care
SEP, where they prayed for me,
I remember you spoke to me about your goals
You told me you wanted to have a relationship with God
I told you i wanted love, i was a fraud
Spending every day of the year, you were mine
you were a physical manifestation of everything that was bound to be
A physical manifestation of everything attracted to she
Classic Cortez, lit up and you ran into class
Never expected you to fall so fast
You could roam the earth and be who you are
I just don’t want you to ever run too far
Apr 5, 2019
Apr 5, 2019 at 1:23 PM UTC