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Laura 9m
MB
You couldn't
Seem to
Understand
Why I didn't
Write love poems
About you

But honestly
How could I
Take the time
To write
When I was busy
Being afraid of you?
Keegan 46m
I search for you
in the stars,
in the shimmer between planets,
in the way moonlight
folds itself across empty sheets
like a question that never needed an answer.

I lie awake at night,
staring at the sky,
as if the constellations
might shape the contours
of a presence I once knew,
as if the hush between stars
could hold a trace of your breath.

I search in the shadows
With reverence
behind each heartbeat,
each flicker of thought,
that still hums through the bones.

You're in the pulse
of every breath,
the sacred stillness
between inhale and exhale,
a quiet echo
threading itself
through the silence.

But the absence
is its own kind of presence
a hollow that holds,
a sky that listens,
and still,
I search,
as if finding you
would not complete me,
but remind me
of who I’ve always been.

And I keep searching,
in the soft spaces
of breath and shadow,
not out of need,
but because something in the stars
still speaks in your language.
I'd stick fake stars on the ceiling
so we could lie on my floor
and look them up together
pretending we're still in that place
where your name was a song I loved to taste
and you'd look for my eyes in every minute of the day

I realise only now
just how much I'm still grieving you
It's been years since I've called your name
Mother Eagle soars, our glistening bodies once dared to lie.
Our spring love, her wing takes flight—hands find sweetness within our thighs.
Mother Eagle, ever watchful, for the day love flies—goodbye.

Your laugh was a fawn, soft-footed and shy,
Caressing my *******, our fingers explore sweet-shivering highs.
Mother Eagle soars, our glistening bodies once dared to lie.

A million ****** star-eyes count ecstasy’s cries—
Their hush reveals parted lips where our pleasure flies.
Mother Eagle, ever watchful, for the day love flies—goodbye.

Dawn awakes, finds our secret cove, wet ******* kissed by butterflies.
Jays echo our love-cries, our breathless replies.
Mother Eagle soars, our glistening bodies once dared to lie.

Now nettles creep where we once soared the skies,
Moss fingers our secrets, deep as memories dry.
Mother Eagle, ever watchful, for the day love flies—goodbye.

We find our secret cove again, and you ask why.
We strip, we kiss, our untamed passion never dies.
Mother Eagle soars, our glistening bodies once dared to lie.
Mother Eagle, ever watchful, for the day love flies—goodbye.
Keegan 4h
I will not lie on my deathbed
haunted by the ghosts
of dreams I left unborn,
of words swallowed
like ash and regret.

The voice in my head
a relentless whisper,
an ember refusing to fade:
Go forward,
Go further,
Or burn alive in the silence.

They call my sky too wide,
my dreams reckless,
as if their fears could cage
my endless horizon.

I burn hot like fire
a fury ignited
by the smallness
of their projections,
the cowardice
of chosen comforts,
a daily surrender
to empty routines.

I rage against shrinking,
against the numbness
of a life untested.
Let them choose ease;
I will chase obsession,
run wild into uncertainty,
and carry my dreams
like flames
into the dark.
The Chosen
Ones are chosen
From hell.
Every day the devil hurts more
Children in occupied Palestine.
If i could weave the words of love for you on a fabric, the unending stitching of your name will be fluent in the language of my heart's rose is lighted with the devotion of your glance that is ablaze, touch me closer now, oh brooding one of the night, for I am your moon with the healing light.
I rest your head on my lap
and I promise everything is alright.
I caress your hair—
and it's myself who I deceive when I say
I will heal all that aches.

Playing peek-a-boo with your demons
I grant each and every desire.
Gasping lullabies to your ear,
do you rest when they sleep?

Playing hide and seek with your demons
they feed me all your whims.
Gasping bedtime stories to your ear
until you fall asleep
and they come with me.





[Another recurrence of the Devotion Rot habit—spilled as art.]
Poems telling about a love that lingers like a parasite, one that you welcome in the despair of loneliness. And one you feed in the need of being taken whole. Until nothing of you is left.
A soft lullaby you whisper while sweetly dying inside.
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