four of a kind

Poetry

The woman confused the girl
with no social cues

The girl fell for the man
with an awkward bruise

The man delighted the boy
with no smart views

The boy cried for the woman
with some awful issues

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lips and roaches

Poetry, Strange

Your lips
are the rim of an aqua coffee mug
crawled on by roaches
I would never dare let mine touch again.

Yet your voice
is the sound of an expensive violin
stroked by a fine bow
I loathe how it could still disrupt my ground.

Machiavellian eyes

Poetry

Slow songs

and shuttle rides

A sleepy girl

with round eyes

Heavy traffic

and long sighs

A cold heart

with invisible lies

Clear skies

but confused mind

Countless whys

yet turning blind

The sleepy girl

with invisible lies

Keeps haunting me

with Machiavellian eyes

The Night I Walked Away

Poetry

Then the stage lights dimmed
As slow as my heavy breathing
A band of nine started to sing
As I walked farther from him

It was a night of pain and glee
Though the songs hit me badly
All my illusions became blurry
Then I turned light and free

The band stopped playing
But the lights are still dim
I casually left on a whim
Without him even caring

The Golden Boy

Poetry

what is there to be bewildered about?
when the sun glows on your skin
and the flowers bloom in your heart

what is there to be confused for?
when your skin touched my bones
they radiate with light
when your heart caressed my soul
the pigments intensify

what is there to be doubtful of?
when my bones start to burst
you come out for the sun
and bury me deep in your arms
when my soul turns to gray
you keep weeds out the flowers
and paint me back with fire

unnamed emotions

Poetry, Strange

I believe there are more emotions out there we don’t even know the name of. We try to associate them to a certain feeling so other people could understand, but they couldn’t; not even you could understand it, let alone people who don’t really care.

I believe love is all the emotions out there we don’t even know the name of. We try to associate it to a certain feeling so other people could understand, and they do; because everyone understands it, let alone people who haven’t loved at all.

P.S. A (stupid) theory I wrote October of last year. But seriously I was just waiting for a prompt to publish this, which I know isn’t how prompts work. Lol oh well

rain & streetlights

Poetry

I have a thing for rain
and streetlights

All the stories of pain
love combine

Shadows concealing your grief
at night

A mysterious fury the soul
can’t define

I have a thing for wind
and footsteps

All the mistakes of thirst
hearts ingest

Secrecy trailing desire
after sunset

A provocative tryst the skin
can’t suppress

perhaps love

Poetry, Strange

Coincidence is the start of something funny, perhaps love. It’s the first curl on someone’s lips after finding out you watch the same kind of movies. It’s the plans running in your head as you talk about this quaint coffee shop most people haven’t heard of. It’s a song slowly fading in on cue when you both laugh at an old stupid joke your neighbor used to tell. It’s when you share the same opinion about politics and then decide to talk about conspiracy theories instead. It’s the excuse hopeless romantics use to meet again on this upcoming event. Coincidence stops when they finally meet on the event and went for beer after. It stops when they arrange to go out the next weekend to watch a new horror movie. It stops when they check out the quaint coffee shop and realized it wasn’t so empty like they expected it to be. It stops when they both start making time for each other just to talk about aliens and the moon landing, to listen to corny jokes and cheesy songs, to decide to officially see each other and meet again and again and again. Coincidence stops when something funny finally happens, perhaps love. And probably commitment.