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Your scent lingers,
Your essence, rich
Spilling warmth,
Sun-kissed

I breathe it in;
Hungry for more,
A fragrance
Heavy with memories

Pulling me
To that first kiss,
To the rock where we sat
Both knowing

This was it

The world slows,
I sink in
Edges of everything else
Soften,

Fade.
-July 29th
Nestled
beneath the calm of your hold

Morning’s light
Folding around us

The scent of you
Carried in the stillness

You look at me
Eyes soft, gazing

My skin remembers
where your hands have been

Silent vows
pressed
Onto my body

Colours,
Staining skin

Blues, purples and yellows

It feels so good
Everything does
It’s almost frightening

The warmth lingers
But time does not hesitate

Hold me a moment more

Let my eyes speak
The adoration
My heart keeps for you

The day pulls me away
I let it,
Unwilling
-Wednesday, july 23
ash 2d
and my question for you tonight
what are you most scared of
in the pale moonlight
when you're by yourself
and you imagine a life where there isn’t any fear
what do you wish you wouldn’t have to bear?

i’ll start, i guess—
i’m scared of loud noises
people screaming
put me in direct contact
and i’ll lose all my feelings

i’m scared of broken ceramics
violence, hitting, cursing, breaking
i remember tea stains on the walls
pieces of a once whole, beautiful cup
strewn about, broken everywhere

i’m scared of the heights
only on days when i feel just too light
that i might just let go
what if i fall and what if there’s nothing that’ll hold me back
or a ledge to hold on

i’m scared of the compact
too many monsters all at once
perhaps i’ll crack
a pressure, eyes upon me
i could disguise, pretend
but i hate all that i see

i’m scared of losing all this kind
of losing who i am
and this battle in my mind
going cross-eyed even as i write
i’m scared of failing, falling,
not being able to swim back up
simply drowning

i’m scared of loving too much
perhaps enough and never being loved back
and it could be a lie or an irony
but i’m scared of nursing a broken heart
or breaking one myself
for i wouldn’t want it
wouldn’t want to see the mess
but it happens, happens way too much
and i have to play pretend

i’m scared of speaking
of what if you see the hidden meanings
of what if you just don’t— and ignore me
what if i speak, and there’s nobody to listen
and even if they do listen, what if i burden

i’m scared of being lost
in the depths, in the lows,
not being able to express does that to you the most
and i fear losing
losing all that i’ve built
every step i’ve taken
every memory i’m sewn in
all the moments out of time i’ve milked
to the very last drop
feelings i’ve penned down, every last thought

i’m scared of— not being enough
perhaps i am not
but even so— i deserve to exist
exist without a doubt or second thoughts
and i shall revoke anyone’s rights
don’t make me feel like it might
be better if i ceased to exist
i fear it and i fear what if a day comes
when i can’t write, listen, see or speak

and what if i lose
lose you, and what if i get punished
for things i haven’t even done but simply being blamed for
and what if you see me with the eyes that carry despise
hatred perhaps, i fear what if a day comes
and i just don’t see you anywhere or here, in fact

i’m scared of a lot more
of being left behind
overlooked, perhaps thrown to the side
never healing from things i can’t even speak of
and perhaps staying the same
missing out, accidentally meeting upon accidents
that could become part of the worst nightmares or
failing, falling on dreams and been a betrayed chore

the list goes on
but i can’t speak it out loud
or answer it when i ask you all about
what are you scared of?
so i just say spiders, and move on.
i hate this and i hate meds.
When I reach for free time
as an adult,
and quickly find it taken,

I remember that ambrosia
is only for the gods,
and mortals beware,

do not interfere
in anything
made for the gods.
I love Greek myths, but common. Where are days of nothing?
ash Jul 17
give it to the night sky,
i whisper, looking down at our intertwined hands—
sweaty as they are, my palm amongst yours.
you tighten the grip just right,
looking me in the eye,
pleading silently to never let go.

i smile, as i usually do,
but this one carries the hint of weakness—
the feeling brought by you.
and i look back up; the moon stares—
like a mother, like a father, like a family.
it holds you and i under its pale light,
surrounding us,
despite the dark enclosing us from all sides.

give it to the night sky,
i say again, broken at the end.
you shake your head—
i can't, i hear you mumble,
makes me cry, i hold it in.

you could, give all this love to the night sky,
let me go,
and i'll dream about you.


but is it really necessary?
i promised to stay.


so you do.
i see strength,
and i see the way it fits you—
it comes in waves
until it grapples over you.
and while the dark seeps right across your chest
through the tendrils of my hand,
you never let go.

i watch you break,
wait for you to disintegrate,
as i've always feared—
except the smile never quite leaves your face.

and you give me the look,
looking straight into my eyes once more.
you smile the same way you did the first day,
and the day i told you who i am,
and the day you saw me destroy the world around us—
the same inkling of love
disguised as the passion of a fool.
aren't you a fool

you never let go,
even as my murk surrounds you.
it circles,
ensnares,
screams,
and cries—
but you hold my hand tight all that while.

and when i see it take over you,
thoroughly,
i break down—
like a glass piece shattering.

can't afford to look back up,
can't look at your face.
what have i done,
after all this time,
once again?

squeezing my insides,
finding something—
the same anchor of the heavy
that's held me down all this while.

the feeling so floaty,
i start losing grip of your arm.
and as it falls nimbly to your side,
i can't look at your face.

but there's a shimmer in the night.
the dark is overshadowed—
never has it happened,
but it does now,
as the moon brightens twice.

and your voice echoes—
first in my mind,
then my heart,
and slowly it takes over me,
as a cold hand searches for mine.

the grip is back—
it grounds so light,
unlike what i was before.
you make me look up,
and i see it in your eyes:
no murk, none of mine,
even though tendrils of it
snake around your neck
and give way into lines—
lines shadowed by a glow,
a glow so pure and bright.

you still carry the same smile,
and it makes me cry.

you withheld it all,
i question,
hoping you won't fade away into oblivion.

there are stars in your eyes,
and i see the hearts in mine.
the night glimmers,
and i feel alive.

brought you back to life, didn't i promise?
it could have killed you—
they always mentioned it did.

none of them had the urge,
or the strength,
or saw through you the right way, perhaps.


i chuckle.
perhaps—
i wasn't worth enough of that.


hey, what of me—

well, love, my love,
tie u and i, i shall
our hands together
let this feeling swell,
and you're right,
i'll give you it—
you did bring me back to life.

something jinx and ekko poured life into
it's reallllly old and i'm stuck in a writer's block
I’m in a Target parking lot
wearing his sweatshirt
and a sash that says
'Poet Laureate of American Mistakes'
because I won it in a landslide
against every girl
who’s ever texted
“you up?”
knowing **** well he is,
but not for her.

I didn’t cry today,
but I did stare at a peach
for ten minutes thinking
about death,
and foreplay,
and if any of this even counts as research.

I think about texting him
just to say
I’m sorry I made you a metaphor.
But the truth is
I’m not.
He was the only thing
that ever meant something
after I wrote it down.

I came here for toothpaste
and left with a bikini top
I’m too emotionally haunted to wear,
and a notebook I won’t open-
because if I do,
I’ll make art again,
and I’m trying to quit,
but I never really try that hard.
I don’t even know if I want to get better.
I just want someone to notice.

A man honks behind me
because I’m not moving.
Because I parked
but forgot to arrive.
Because I’m not really here,
I’m three texts back
and one year late.
You don’t know it’s the last time
until your hands feel stupid.

I wave like I’m sorry
but I’m not.
I’m just poetic.
Which is worse.

This parking lot’s a stage.
I’ve died here six different ways.
Once in June.
Twice in sweatpants.
The fourth time I thought it was over,
but the music kept playing.

I wear the sash like I’m in on the joke,
because it takes a hint of genius
to be this stupid,
because when I said
“I’m okay,”
no one fact-checked me,
and when I said
“I didn’t learn anything,”
they gave me
a crown.

I take the sash off
before starting the car.
Fold it like evidence.
Leave it in the front seat
like I’m done with the bit.
But I’m not.
I just need a break
from being clever.

I should’ve bought the peach.
Let it rot on the dashboard,
at least then
something would’ve gone soft
without making it my fault.

The sweatshirt still smells like
whatever I was hoping he’d stay for,
(mainly, me.)
And the notebook?
Still closed.
Which is hilarious, really.
Because you’re reading it.

(This poem is a lie.
I opened the notebook
before I even left the store.)
Whitewolf Jul 6
In the deep sea, where a single ray fell,
I saw your eyes — glowing like precious pearls.

How many thunders must have rumbled...
to craft such lightning into your form?

You wear the hue of a goddess in dance,
and in a single blink,
I was captured —
as if a million stars gathered
just to swirl beside your ear.

Not in seven notes of music,
nor in the seven realms of existence,
have I ever heard anything
like the melody of your laughter.

The wind that touched your hair
became the breath of life itself.
The breeze that kissed your skin —
even the trees shivered and laughed with joy.

Perhaps day and night were born
only to compete for a glimpse of you.

What drunken trance was God in,
to create you with such beauty?

Did He kiss you with rain
to quiet His own longing,
after crafting a flower like you?

Even a withered flower
gains fragrance
just by sharing the air you exhale.

Was it just to witness your beauty
that God gave man the gift of sight?
Or was it jealousy,
that made Him lock flowers behind fences —
so none may rival you?

With so much desire in His design,
why, then, did He leave you alone on Earth?

How angry might He be,
watching me gaze upon you with such longing?

Yet I feel no fear,
only a tiny hesitation in my heart...

O daughter of the Divine —
Even if it takes a thousand lifetimes of penance,
I shall win your love
as a blessing earned.
Isabella Ford Jun 18
The heat pressed down on my skin like your hands once did—
slow, steady, unforgettable.

My mouth was dry, my body aching—
but it wasn’t water I needed.
It was you.

The Strip pulsed around us—
neon lights flashing, voices rising,
solicitors reaching from every side.

But the moment your fingers found mine,
the chaos faded.
You made me feel safe in a place built to make people forget.

The feathered girls brushed past like temptation,
the phony cops played their parts with easy charm.
They moved through the crowd like they owned it—
but none of them saw me.

Not like you did.
Not with that quiet intensity,
not with the calm in your touch
that steadied everything inside me.

You held me close like the night belonged to us.
Your eyes found mine
like you already knew how the rest of it would go—
how the Strip would disappear,
how the only lights that mattered
would be the ones reflecting off your skin.

Even before you touched me,
my body was already aching for you.

But it wasn’t just want.
It was the way you looked at me
like I was seen.
Known.
Wanted in every way.

A man slept in the gutter like the city had swallowed him whole.
A woman begged, her eyes rehearsed.
A barefoot soul wandered through the noise,
forgotten.

Everything around us was dressed in false light—
but you,
you were the truth beneath it all.

And when we were finally alone,
you didn’t just undress me—
you unraveled me.

Soft at first,
then with the kind of hunger
that left me breathless.

You touched me like I was something sacred,
like you knew every part of me
deserved to be remembered.

I think about that night more than I should.
How you whispered things
that still echo in places I keep hidden.

How your mouth moved like prayer across my skin.
How you made me forget
every version of myself that came before.

People talk about Vegas
like it’s unforgettable—
but nothing there ever touched me
like you did.

And sometimes,
when the world feels too loud again,
I close my eyes
and return to that night—

not to the Strip,
but to you.
how holy it is
to be the reason someone tastes like ruin.
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