OUR ORIGINAL POETRY: Share It Here

& she leaves you love notes

on a dry erase board in the kitchen,

periodic reminders that you're something

bigger than you could know

in the eyes of someone so small.

but it's almost romantic,

in its own funny way--

like goodbye kisses & chinese takeout,

clean laundry & making love in the afternoon;

real intimacy is like a favorite old sweatshirt:

it's comfortable & safe & warm & vulnerable

with little stains & stitches to preserve the life of it--

tiny glimpses of beauty in the mostly mundane.

& i've told you before that i love your freckles,

that they make your skin more interesting.

but,

what i've never told you

is that i didn't notice right away

the ones on your face--

the way they bleed into the soft of your lips

& spill across your nose,

between your eyebrows--

or that they don't stop at your shoulders,

but rather trickle down your back;

nature bestowed upon you your very own constellations.

& i didn't see them at first--

until one day, i did.

i found favorites to kiss.

to touch.

to adore.

& i think that's what falling in love is.

the moon lost its shine in the dark stillness of a hot room in Pennsylvania one autumn. A friend sleeping silently beside me in our musty room. I watched it through the half-open window, staring back at me, its bright craters seeming to move and darken through the distorted edge. She was like an old companion, wearing a knowing expression i could not yet understand.

Like a clock ticking, I look back and wonder, one more second? A different breath, a subtle turn in the sheets. A longer shower, an extra serving at dinner?

We shift gears and get stuck somewhere darker, the lever breaks. A cog slips out of its socket, a wire freys.
The slow drain of each star from the sky would last for a few years yet, but I recognized a break that night. Something was wrong.

So the parade begins, another child loses her shield, crying out for fictitious souls haunting an illusionary past.

I swallowed a lump in my throat I thought would choke me every night. The panic set in. Alright, alright. Calm down.

In the frost-burned, bright afternoons of deep winter I learned to chase that panic away. I blink and shake.

I think it's the scents that we miss when we wade through our memories. The deep pine of an innocent Christmas, the heavy funk of seaweed, the subtle nuances of your best friend's kitchen.

Yes, we carry the sents with us.

I wait silently for my bright friend to return to me.

Poverty

Poverty is everywhere we go,

Little children,not allowed to grow.

Rumbling stomachs,crying eyes,

Detah everywhere, no time for goodbyes.

To everyone, listen to my plea,

We can solve this problem you and me.

I was on the verge of losing someone very very dear to me. I call her my earth and she calls me her only moon (I'm a girl too).

What is the moon
Without its Earth,
I think, gazing into
The black of the night.
A ball of grey
That revolves around
An abyss of nothingness.
A celestial object
That would merely
Exist without objective.
The orb of night
That glowed only for
Brightening its Earth

And lost its meaning
Purpose and worth
In the absence
Of its Earth.
It is now enslaved
To its orbit
Trapped with nowhere to go.
Living with no one to behold
The gloom in its glamour.
No one shall ever know
That its Earth once existed
And it was the prettiest,
Most fulfilled version of itself
It could have ever been.

Scars

I want someone to see who I truly am,

I look in the mirror and see,

A coward unknown to me.

When I listen to my family they say,

How happy they are to be this way.

Of my friends none know the truth,

That I am hiding hurt,

Behind these smiles.

The mirror knows,

But then even the mirror goes,

And shows,

Only how I am physcially,

Not emotionally.

The mirror does shows scars outside,

But I want the scars inside,

To be noticed too.

It's really hard to let go. It's really hard to make yourself believe that the beautiful words of a beautiful person aren't even true anymore. Moments, memories keep playing in your mind. They make you sad and miserable when you don't even want to think of them. But you don't want to let them go either. And every single time, you just wonder if they can forget these that easily.

Moments we shared
Memories we made
Lie abandoned
In my world,
Exist unacknowledged
In you.
Stolen kisses,
My timid touches,
Warmest smiles,
The love in my eyes
Are scattered across
The territory of your mind
Aching to persist
Somewhere in my world.
The poetry of promises
The dim desires of dreams
The voice of our words
Wail for you
And refuse to give up
Even as they breathe their last.
As you watch them bleed
Their life being sucked
Out of their souls
They Hold on to dear life
For you
The thousand threads
Of togetherness
That we wove,
The music of
Our laughter
That echoed
Start sinking deep
Into the dark, locked
Chambers of oblivion.

Like the sunflower adores the sun

Like the wolf longs for the moon

I wish for such love

In a world with no tags

Colouring rainbow flags

We stand on the same path

Healing the same scar

I wish people would not fit me in a box

Now the suffocation follows me out

But patience is what I have

Only I can fix myself

phantom shadows

not minding the cold sitting itself all the way into our bones

the frost, dancing on our fingertips

breaths, another after another disappearing into the breeze

looking up

to the depths of infinity

a cosmic mystery

feeling small

under the unlimited sky

feeling like something

but nothing at the same time

letting the moon

live inside our eyes

with a shooting star

falling near by

i look by my side

i swear

you were there

just a minute ago

but now

theres just phantom shadows

dancing on the ground

Healing, they tell me

is the moments you don't think,

don't notice,

don't talk.

It's the good days you have,

where your thoughts are in different places,

and you don't take time to think

about him.

It's the days you spend with friends

who really care,

include you, and

notice.

The ones who were there from the start,

the ones who are still there.

It's the days you have, where you can convince yourself

you're better.

But

healing isn't distracted,

distracted isn't healing.

You can hurt, bleed, ache, and still

not

think

about

him,

because when you do,

you open yourself up.

You ache again.

The moment you think

you're better

is the moment

he'll take what he wants

again

and again.

The moment you think

you're better

is the moment

your heart breaks again,

piece by piece,

to be picked up

in the moments of

distracted,

by friends

who really care.