a eulogy

I once held on mere words to prove that I
was worth the fragments of your thoughts that once
fell from the depth I once saw on the pile
of forgotten list of lovers you liked
to keep away from the pens of poets.
Ink and paper were all I could keep from
the cold burning of life, death, heaven, you–
forever in the stones of yesterdays.

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carnivals

mirrored mirages of your phases from yesteryear
almost looked like my own reflection–
my dusty pinks washed away dreams of cotton candy and
you. you handed me dying flowers, and
i pretended it was the thought that counted (even though
the only thing you were counting were the days
we had left).
glitter on sidewalks still makes me nauseous.

not (mine) yours

at 5 y/o,
i learnt that
no one belongs to anyone.
i tried to hug you in your
blue shirt;
i said i would call you mine
forever. but, you
still left
that little town we called
home.
when you left, you
looked back twice (no
more no less).

not hurting in
3,
2,
1.

penny for my thoughts?

It’s okay to hate yourself. I’ve come to realize this after a while of living– it helps you deal when others begin to do the same.

I write pretty words to make people think that I have pretty thoughts.
I just want to get through the day.

Do dark eyes shine in bright lights?