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All the stars are falling down.
Make a wish
maybe we’ll fall in love
before they hit the ground.
And if it fails, I guess we’re
just crashing down.

                                     To shot my shot, and try to be
                                     your shooting star —
                                     aimed so high,
                                     but I was falling too fast
                                     at the sight of your brown eyes,
                                     soft as cosmic dust.

I’m the dusk, you’re the sun —
and if we make love
to make a son,
will that light save us,
or are we still just crashing down?

                            Until then - hold me in the silence
                            between the boom and the burn —
                            where gravity forgets us,
                            and stars don’t return.

And if we’re meant to fall,
then let it be together —
two sparks in the dark,
pretending we’re forever.

                          Even if we burn out
                          before the dawn,
                          at least we lit the sky while
                          we were on.
SF 19h
No sé cuántos años han pasado,
y te sigo pensando.
Sal de mi cabeza, por favor,
déjame volver a respirar el oxígeno.
O mejor no... quiero seguir acá, estancado, pensándote,
recordando y buscándote.

En otra vida estuviste acá,
y me hacías reír.
Estábamos juntos y nada importaba.
Pero en esta no pasó.

Estoy solo, y como siempre,
escuchando las bandas,
escuchando canciones,
escuchando artistas
que expresan lo que siento ahorita.

Y ruego a algo "superior",
por volverte a ver.
Y si llegas a volver acá,
yo me mataré

porque tú olvidarás,
y tendrás otra vida.
Te veré feliz, y eso me dolerá,
y estaré con el mundo en llamas.

Algún día te dejaré,
puede ser de pensar,
incluso de buscar,
pero estaré muerto.

Algún día dejaré de escribir,
pero sería el fin de mis poemas.
Por alguna razón te necesito todavía,
y algún día te dejaré ir.

Si el mundo está en llamas,
aparecerás tú,
y solo podré quebrarme en llanto,
y ni siquiera sabrás quién soy.

No importa nada,
la esperanza seguirá,
y tú no estarás,
pero sí en mi memoria.

¿Seguiremos siendo los mismos?
Yo pienso que no.
Solo soy un extraño para ti.
Ojalá me recordaras...

Te extraño.
Por favor,
vuelve.
BEEZEE 2d
Holes throughout the body—
a syndrome of the past.
Light as a feather,
I float through the lapse.

All the actresses and actors
that push me to perform, get paid—
while the silence of a clever one
avoids this house of blame.

I’m alone when I call you.
I don’t want more shame.
I’m driftwood washing on the shores
of a land called Never-Clean.

Can you help me become new again—
sand me down and stain the pain?
I’m a hollowed human of useless, unkept, selfish rage.

“It’s not that deep—not the deep end,”
said one shallow mate.
They never knew I’d touched the soil
that’s damp and cold— infinite.

“She’s so dramatic.”
emotions—lymphatic—
They drain and drain again.

I’ll be the one, light as driftwood,
from wounds where nails drove in.
Is there any cure for the rot
within this flesh, beneath this skin?

Refurbish me.
Let me live again.
Make me the centerpiece
from that angry river’s end.
Showcase the beauty
of this damage eating in.
She pleads—
“Take me, make me yours,”
as the storm begins to end.



“This here is an heirloom,”
weathered, rough, reclaimed.
“A simple reminder of the power of potential.

Grandpa found it along the river,
after the great storm—
that same summer he met Grandma
as she ran away.

This is no ordinary driftwood.
The holes carry a whistle
that sings our family’s name.”
We all share the potential to be reclaimed, in love and life.
Don’t go making the joke — you know, the one
that always hits a girl’s bad note. I used to laugh too…
until I got the notes on the subject, and learned,
this isn’t a punchline, but instead hits a girl like
a gut punch. The red dragon that cramps up in
its cave, where swinging at her mood swings
doesn’t make you brave.

She’s in the tide of her red-letter week — a storm
swelling beneath soft skin. Appetite shifts, touches
itch instead of soothe, and even thoughts lose their
rhythm, like radio static in a room full of noise.
And sometimes it's hard to think straight when
your own body is pulling sideways.

And those bloated comments... they don’t ease anything.
It’s a different pain for every woman, but one shared
thread: that you don’t get to add to it. As we may not
understand the full weight — but we can choose not
to pile more on.

And if you’re thinking of making a joke about it…
don’t. Period!
Time’s illusions, guiding humans
Right into our disillusion.
I'm subdued by lies disguised in truth.
It's hard to find solutions.

Mind's declining. Bodys movin'.
Don't know how or why I do it.
Why's the mind a bad influence?
I just might be High and clueless.

Fight to tighten all my loose ends,
Lest the darkness tries to move in.
Just to find, my skin is too thin.
Poisoned lungs might get me through it.

I'll hide like elusive mutants.
With a new sense, be a nuisance.
If I don't die by seclusion,
I will die by institution.

A product of my bright excuses,
Mass produced and distributed.
For myself, I've become too dense.
I cannot see through my new lens.

Highly likely high and too bent.
Likely slightly quite diluted.
Feed me bombs or shiny bullets.
Strike me down with lightning toothpicks.

Lie me right beneath the tulips.
Diving through the tides of prudence.
I find humankind is useless.
But I'll bite my tongue until the—

Malocclusions make me toothless.
Daylight dies as night seduces.
Tell myself that I can do this,
Yet, I've tied a thousand nooses.

Poisoned lungs. I'm high and too bent.
Poisoned lungs. I'm high and clueless.
Poisoned lungs. I'm so diluted.
Poisoned lungs. I'm such a nuisance.

Poisoned lungs through tides of prudence.
Poisoned lungs. There's no excuses.
Poisoned lungs. Thought I could do this.
Poisoned lungs and tying nooses.

Poisoned lungs. Tighten my loose ends.
Poisoned lungs won't bring me new sense.
Poisoned lungs as night seduces.
Poisoned lungs beneath the tulips.

Poisoned lungs won't get me through this.
Poisoned lungs won't get me through this.
Poisoned lungs won't get me through this.
Poisoned lungs won't get me through this.
I guess now, the night we met is just a memory—
    a self-portrait without ****** features,
Only streaks where tears once ran, as the image
   is so blurry, but I still see myself
Running back to you… too easily.

It’s such a sad picture— an enigma, half-painted
   with eager thoughts quietly bleeding
Into the ink of doubt, each brushstroke pulling me
   further from the truth I never wanted to name
Now it just hangs… so awkwardly crooked

You left me walking alone in this gallery
           of only terrible memories.
Arna Jul 16
Distractions
They turn a man into a lazy soul,
a responsible citizen into a careless one,
a meritorious student into the disobedient,
and a kind heart into something selfish.
They **** righteousness,
while building a false sense of self-esteem.
They drown us in the unnecessary—
a flood of moments we never asked for.
Distractions feel comforting when we’re caught in them,
but they leave us with regret the moment we step away.
Keeping them at a distance
is the first step toward change—
toward becoming who we were always meant to be.
They come quietly,
feel comforting for a while,
but leave us with nothing but regret.
The first step toward becoming better
is knowing what to walk away from.
Ricardo Diaz Jul 14
The rose I threw into the wind blossomed into a field full of them.
The ghost of you still drapes itself over my hear.
Seeing you today fed not only my eyes, but ensnared my soul.
The sight of you was verily breathtaking, as if air itself conspired to remind me of your awe.
Yash Shukla Jul 11
तू दिसतेस मला एका फुलासारखी,
वेगवेगळ्या रंगांनी बहरलेली
तू दिसतेस मला एका ताऱ्यासारखी,
दूर आकाशात टीमटीमणारी

प्रेम आहे माझे तुझ्यावर,
तुला माहीत नाही
तू आणि फक्त तूच दिसतेस,
इतर काहीच दिसत नाही

एक दिवस विचारेन तुला —
"माझ्याशी लग्न करशील का?"
तेव्हा तू म्हणू नकोस की,
"माझ्या आयुष्यातून निघून जा"

नाही जगू शकणार तुझ्याशिवाय,
जाईन मी मरून
पण आठवणी मात्र राहतील तुझ्या,
मनात घर करून

तू सुखी राहावीस,
हीच असेल माझी शेवटची इच्छा
तुझ्या सुखी जीवनाला,
माझ्याकडून शुभेच्छा
ही कविता १४ फेब्रुवारी २०२० रोजी लिहिलेली आहे.
AK Traveler Jul 9
Oh life,
Are you listening?
Let me answer—
Please, let me answer.

Answer my last because,
Not as a hero,
But—
As a puppet with broken strings,
Hanging with wings in a void,
Filled with joy
Of lost flings.

Are you listening?

I feel you every night,
With you in me—
But nowhere near.
Without you, I vanish,
A shadow faded here.

Let the ages of ages get angry,
That’s not what matters.
Only what matters…
Is you.
Only and only you.

Oh life,
You are listening, na?

A storm hit me—
Changed me,
Made me,
Broke me,
Gave me everything…
So it could take everything from me.

But still,
Every night I pray to be with you—
Live with you,
Laugh with you,
Cry with you,
Grow with you,
And live one dream with you.

This is because…
It’s hard to hold the one you crave,
The one your heart would
Die to save.

Oh life—
Am I right?
This piece isn’t just about heartbreak—
it’s about holding on when letting go felt impossible.
It’s not a poem.
It’s a quiet answer to life,
from a boy who never stopped loving,
even when he had every reason to.

– AK Traveler
(Part 2 of the Oh Life series)
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