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light touches, soft whispers,
smiles that only appear for you,
laughter, giggles,
afterglow of blissful nights,
basking in your warmth,
that is bliss.
You’re like Aphrodite girl,
Untamed like the seas she rose out of
Falling in and out of love,
Wearing your heart on your sleeve,
They only see your beauty.
They forget that love is dangerous,
It blinds,  
Makes men go mad,
Creates wars.
Let them think you’re weak,
Then show them how love
Is the deadliest weapon of all,
And that you wield it.
just a little something i've noticed about how aphrodite is always underestimated, since she's the goddess of love, but is actually quite dangerous and has influenced and started wars, and has created so much of what is found in mythology
Ophelia swimming,
Drowning in madness
As Hamlet’s body falls down
From his poisonous pain

Romeo with his potion
And Juliet with her dagger
Was it love that brought them together?
Or cruel fate?
septembre 2019
i.
The little things I remembered about us was the texts of adventures and dancing under moonlight and midnight picnics and chasing around an empty park and singing the words to songs we’ve forgotten making up the words as we go; the conversations of questions like what’s your favorite color or what does your tattoo mean or is this okay or can I kisss you and cautionary touches on my part. Me feeling your heartbeat and the warmth of your skin under my fingers, as your lips meet mine and we whispered words of something akin to love and stolen kisses on rumpled sheets as we lay together in bliss, our bodies tangled like string as we touched and explored and came undone.   We held hands in public and we didn’t care. We would drift off to sleep or at least pretended to so I wouldn’t have to leave, I remembered how you had a cute voice and you were like sunshine, always happy and smiling and warm even though you wore no jacket even in the rain, dressed in one of your flannels.

ii.
I remembered how you stared at me and I stared back. The conversation was awkward on my part as you found a way to get it moving along throughout the night. We sat on a couch in a church which I still find funny that a bunch of openly queer teens were partying in a church, while we sat in the darkness of the corner. I remember how the night ended and we played in the playground in the night as we filled the void with laughs and inappropriate jokes as we all shouted and screamed into the night without a single care or worry. I remember how your face lit up and you smiled and we both seemed tipsy off of how happy we were.

iii.
I remembered the late night phone calls and the late night texts and the soft kisses and the light touches. The softness of love or something akin to it, as we talked about everything and nothing at the same time. The soft giggles and the cuddles as we sat together while the movie you never saw but wanted to play it anyway played in the background.

iv.
I remember the sunshine and the heat of the summer. I remember the sound of tears from your end. I remembered how I called you and how I listened to you cry as I felt nothing but hurt for you, not me. Which I still feel bad for breaking your heart. I remember how we might’ve had something akin to love, you were my first in many ways but I was simply another girl in your ledger who broke you and left you to pick yourself up again.

v.
I’m sorry that I left things the way they were and I’m sorry you’ll never see this because I’ll never send this to you. I’m sorry that I loved you, or at least something akin to love, which if it was I guess you loved me too. I’m sorry.

vi. It’s been three months and you’ve moved on, got a new girl among other things. You’ve changed your hair and you don’t wear flannel as much, but I see that you’ve been doing better. We talk, it’s not the same as before, but we’re moving. Maybe we go back to being strangers, after all, we don’t know each other anymore. Maybe all we had was something akin to love.
janvier 2019
The sun
gold and radiant,
                                                The boy
                                shy and ambitious,

the warmth
that shone brightly,
grew weary as man took flight  


                                            the tower,
                             an illusioned prison,
    held onto the yearning soul tightly

the god
that loved mighty,
the echoing of the lover silenced

                                                  the lover
                                  a tragedy himself,
                calling out to the gold fiend,

the fiend
that mourned nightly,
the golden star shined not bright

                                              the tragedy
                                   lost beneath blue,
         mourning the fiend and himself
decembre 2018

who’s the real tragedy?

— The End —