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Dante Rocío Dec 2020
You could desperate hear me start weeping
Ruckus started to crying to crack tangerine
holds one still upright auburn
as an immortal's loneliness fogged or condemned
stays a Sahara burnt hot tambourine
a hangover led Arabian
a broken record
some shattered the bathroom bar.


I wonder for my brother's dowry
on beds too kempt to be called beds
and doorframes and lamps set never high enough to hit again,
to stand to kneel to lock to lash to hold to my brother's body
now felt to me like the female sold fragile to the greater cities with
a vote,
he clearly left his Argentina behind no matter
how she paled, ended struck.


No longer a child or sister to pass as
to take guests in alone
to stand our married couple's cries an unmuteable radio
can't go back to playrooms for imparallel dignities' sake
that made all the noise at night worth it to deal with
I, don't want to play the rook
if no horse of yours' beside.


Now once the scarcity of your voice,
if even morbid,
is to be greeted by me alone,
Adam and Eve we have unable to see,
just for the empty halls of your decision just for me to hit,
your turned leaf hidden agenda of relief,
I recognise my faiths of the old of your endless
mornings supposedly killed by snoring and your
vividness to my thoughts a foreign concept,
to note you resurrected out of mind and out of sight
the congruence picks me out and slaps me that
our cocoon and safe designed for you
was nothing short of a coma web in your eyes
to begin with instead.

...

I look out to my brother's dowry
to hold stubborn, fainted in my nook the head of my brother's body
to sit on his old air this house keeps like a sari gem
he will never long for
again.
A correlation of steamed mirrors, Arabian calls in yearning and melodious drabbling that overlap it endlessly, a skin in an onus shed aside to a corner once you can't feign yourself into a child's play, and the sibling you've often taken for granted till they go even if they do return at times for not so long. And suddenly you're the only one to think they might have been never truly free or themselves in the place you called home for them.
Acknowledgement, recognition, apology and broken renewal.
Dedication to the protagonist of this poem.
...
and the days are getting shorter.
Hours into minutes into seconds,
squished together like nesting dolls
until they are lost to infinity. You don't

know the value of sleep yet,
so read your dog-eared paperbacks
by the muted glow of your flashlight,
hidden under your blankets like a

prodigal son. Keep your heavy eyes open
because the pictures in your books
will silently climb out of their pages
while you're asleep, escaping through your

bedroom window. Your bones are getting longer
and your book bag is getting heavier.
So spend your precious seconds wisely,
because as the years change, those seconds will get shorter.
for Mr. Jeffrey Bean, who reminded me what it means to be a kid
pea Dec 2020
people will leave and go
like how the sun rises and falls each day.
good things never last forever.

older, busier,
year after year,
no time for childish wonder
pulled down with the burden of responsibility.

it will soon trickle down to me.
what time do i have left?

when people i know start their journey,
will i want to stay?
will i be the same?

drenched in a place of nostalgia,
filled with bittersweet longing
and past friendships, rotting in time.

one day i will leave,
like my predecessors before me,
with a briefcase stuffed with memories.
which soon will be lost in the depths of time
within the twisting path
of life.
_
this is a poem about growing up
love you <3
Andrea Dec 2020
When did it get like this?
When did the laughter and joy
Become unshed tears and dreaded days
When did time lapse and become one big date.
When did the excitement and love
Turn so cold and twisted recognition seem so late
And when did the story of us become a nightmare
Instead of a fabricated folk tale.
Sometimes
yann Dec 2020
i used to only love women and it felt like being so alone,
like not bringing your date to family gatherings by fear of
seeing the disapproval
in their eyes, in their mouths, in their words,
felt like being both the predator and the prey,
looking at hands and wanting to hold them and fearing that
the world would swallow me whole
if i did.

and now i love you, probably,
and what am i, if not lost,
unable to be contained in F or Ms,
unfit for any of your definitions,
ready to change my body just so i can stand to walk past mirrors and live my truth.
and loving a man feels much the same after all,
dangerous and real, like craving different hands
but knowing the world still has its mouth grand open,
just for me.
going from identifying as a lesbian to realizing im tranasc and probably a little in love with all my closest friends no matter their gender.. and realizing how terrifying it all is !
Laura M Julio S Nov 2020
To that baby
That kid
That teenager
That adult

Growing inside me
I’m afraid
                 Of the pain
                                    I may feel

                                    It may cause
  I’m afraid
                 Of growing

                                    Up

                                    Old
waffle Nov 2020
i don't know why im writing this. but i used to write every so often when i was younger.
i am turning 18.
it almost feels like a fever dream. i never felt this frightened my whole life.
is my life really starting? is this the beginning of a decade?
where am i gonna be after this? how am i gonna feel?

you see, growing up, it's that just simple.
nothing changes, and you still gotta wait for something to.
it doesn't magically happens.

and i hate waiting.
i wanna be older and free.
but, most of the time i wish life was simpler like when i was younger.
i was listening to ribs by lorde and my birthday is coming up.
Courtney O Nov 2020
Nymphets like me grow up,
and guess what?
I am not any scared or scarred
In a parallel world,
Angela invited Lester to her wedding day
and it's realer than death
There's nothing to heal - no sight of old pain

Am I really strong?
I am not sorry - I am not hurt
Even if I did break a few hearts
This nymphet got a job and she dyed her hair
She got to her destination -
but she's not done yet!

And I might have to leave
all of those nymphet, stylish things
no more daddies on the scene
but my inner fire still burns deep
let me resignify what I mean
when I wear my heart shaped glasses
when I feel all pink
that's eternal, it has no age or anything

It's true, I am not ******* anymore.
Isn't that a whole lot more fun?
I am a full woman now
and I am not backing down
(I always was this, waiting to come out)
So I look in the mirror,
and my inner nymphet eyes back,
"you're doing fine, I am proud of who you are"
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