but here is your poem

“I want to create a world where people can live their lives smiling.  For that reason, a ‘symbol’ is necessary.”

Runner's High

The wind-grip in my hair
Curls and lifts it in flight
I live for these moments
Hovering between
Floating on the edge
Tapping the earth just long enough
To lift off again

The rush of the world
Blurring around me
I’m moving through time
On the edge of out-of-control
A stumble away from disaster

I feel the muscles in my legs
Taunting gravity, tempting those
Who try to stop me
There’s a curve to my open mouth
I stop counting seconds, breaths, steps

I am but a primal being
Chasing something, nothing
Not even a dream
And the wind-grip ecstasy
Of utter release

5

“Hymn for Cain,” by o.g.k @nathanielorion

If I could catch a rainbow, I would do it just for you, and share with you it’s beauty, on the days you’re feeling blue. If I could build a mountain, you call your very own, a place to find serenity, a place to be alone. If I could take your troubles, I would toss them in the sea, but all these things I’m finding, are impossible for me. I cannot build a mountain, or catch a rainbow fair, but let me be what I know best, a friend that’s always there.
—  If I Could Catch A Rainbow 

Her hair stretches across the seat / lipstick stain on her uniform / where would the bus take her curious mind? / school’s unattended / her wings unclipped / her eyes follow the road / where the running meets her feet / her freedom’s jumping / higher than her height / I let my own thoughts wander / my cue is here / but her destination is unknown / may she finds her solace / I hope her youth un-wasted / & her absence is only a temporary angst / – next stop.

D C de Oliveira
15.09.2017

Illustrated Haiku // Ten Chittaphon

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the prompt: a soulmate!ten au where y/n loves to write poetry on her arms, and ten likes to illustrate them.

words: 4157

category: fluff

authors note: this isn’t a request, it’s just something I was working on so I hope you guys like it! (also appreciate the gif below of my lil bub)

– destinee

Originally posted by visualjaehyun

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I never thought someone could outshine the stars,
or make the moon seem obsolete,

But you change the tide of the waves crashing in my head;
you are more comfort than the distant pinpricks ever could be,

And I can’t look the sun in the eyes,
but you always let me see the light in yours
if only to remind me that I have my own.

Champagne and fur slow dancing at French parties. Money and affairs at cocktail dinners. Smoking cigarettes and laughing in vain cause kings and queens never hurt, they say. Pretty eyes and mouths full of regrets, drinking red wine since the age of 14, cause wine is thicker than blood, and gold coins are running through their veins. Parents travel to Monaco for the honeymoon, only to get a divorce. Poor friends with nothing but money and dope. Call your hot wealthy boyfriend; tell him that you’ve fallen in love with someone too vulgar for your demons to drink a glass of liquor with.

Work, bitches work, you shout as if you’ve chew your own gold by yourself. Red dresses and black suits dancing with depression and dying for attention.

Oh my baby, with all your money, you couldn’t even buy yourself a soul. And now you pay all the artists in the world to write you a soul.

Here you go darling; this poem is your soul.

—  We Call Them The Elite by Royla Asghar
No. Don’t you get it? I’m not worth this. I don’t deserve to have your shoulder to cry on. I don’t deserve to have you care about me. I deserve to be alone until my very last breath. Save yourself from me. I’m a walking disaster area. I’m a fatal wreck waiting to happen. Its so painful to be in the middle of a storm like this. To stand in the eye of a hurricane that you created. Watching everyone and everything around you break down to nothing. Knowing that it's your fault and you can’t do a thing about it. Save yourself from my destruction, trust me it's inevitable. You deserve so much more. I’m sorry I can’t be the one to give it to you. But you deserve a full person, not me. Not the girl thats shattered and broken so badly you can’t touch her without shredding your skin. I wish I was worth fixing, but I'm not. I wish I was worth your words, but I’m not. I wish I was worth you, but I think its time we both accept the fact that I’m not.
—  I guess I could be the reason they name hurricanes after people, But please don't stick around to find out. I don’t think I could live with myself if I destroyed you. // L.E.C.
5

–From stanza 3 of “Foxhole,” by o.g.k @nathanielorion

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I know it’s not fair to tell you I love you because you’ve got her and you’re confused and life’s a mess. So I won’t. But damn, I do. So much. Enough that I don’t care that you’re confused now. Enough that I’ll wait until you have it figured out because I know you’ll see that it’s suppose to be you and me. Because it is suppose to be you and me. I can feel it and I know you can too. So take your time, I’ll be here.
I heard a poet say the other day about how easy it was to write with a mask on, to tell the truth and nothing but the truth, if I hide the words good enough and toss away the keys to this lock, could you still find yourself if it’s so deep inside of my flaws? You love it when people write about you, especially if I’m doing the writing it seems. I don’t write about you much, so here I am. One last poem. And I give your eyes a solid peek with every letter, a silent whisper that says nothing, but if you pay attention to my lips it mouths an I love you each and every time when you catch me staring at you and I look away. I wonder when I see you staring, do you do the same when I turn away my head? I love to write, but you’ll wonder if it’s about you, you, you, you, you or her, her, her, her, her or her. It’s about you. This is about you. You know who you are. In the first conversation we ever had, you asked if my favorite color was red before even getting into my head. And those eyes that peer, that leer, that steer straight into mine, we haven’t met, we have met, we haven’t loved, we have loved, we haven’t fallen, we have fallen, we haven’t fucked, we have fucked, we haven’t broken into, we have broken into, we haven’t written, we have written, we haven’t been, we have been, we haven’t talked, we have talked, we speak for five minutes and I feel like I’ve known you for several lifetimes and attention is such a trickling thing as it falls from my eyes and into yours– we haven’t been anything before these five minutes, but I’ve made love to your every way before we knew, before you knew, before I knew, we were kinda fucked. We made sure to not get too close, we made sure that it never happened, it stays as it stays, it says as it says, and one day, we’ll never be. She says I could never date a writer. And as ironic as it is, we’re both writers, so as enamored and as pulled to one another as we are, we’ll think about it when the sun decides to go for another eternal nap, and when the moon finally decides to give those love letters back with different people holding each cloud up, with separate lovers holding us, we’ll think about it until it hurts. And we’ll do it for the sake of falling in love, the art of the what if’s while you’re young and stupid, it goes like this. You are something that casts more deadly spells than a dark lord’s wand, that bends more trees than the wind during hurricane season, that breaks more often than a sidewalk during the heat of summer love, that admires more deeply than artists comparing themselves to Van Gogh, that swells more quickly than a mosquito bite because you forgot bug spray although it never works because they too find you irresistible from blood type to skin, that itches worse than eating something you’re allergic too, it’s often our favorite foods too, that stretches more than the horizon when the sun asks the moon to come out and play always, always, slow dance to that one song from now on, that sings as beautiful as the Mona Lisa when we try to figure out her smile, that still to this day, I choose to not talk to you because yes it’s true, I’m a little in love with you, and yes it’s true, we won’t ever exist at the same time, too many obstacles and yes it’s true, we live for poetics the modern romantics trying to be antiques inside of a masterpiece, we never knew how to love properly, so we tried to pave way inside of a kaleidoscope– if we ever fell in love, it would be a bad trip, like overdosing on lsd because you thought that you were a cactus and spines started to grow out of you, yeah that kind of fucked up. We would be messed up, but I think in some lowkey happy offset universe, we would’ve been happy about it. She talks to me about poetry like I invented it, the truth is I write to feel something, isn’t that why we do anything? These words have been written before, I’m just following footsteps, I’m just another person trying to write down my wrongs, am I wrong for it? And it was one of those days, some strange scene from an anime when the sun is setting and they’re walking across a metal bridge as friends and he comments on the days that go by without a second thought, and the water is running and she says that you can’t skateboard down slopes because you’d get in trouble, rules were meant to be broken, and if you don’t break them, you can bend them just right. And it’s that kind of day, where bookstores mean more to us than clubs. Neon soul, would you care to stay here as you are for just a little while longer? She speaks about poetry like it’s the only thing that matters. He utters back wildfire spreads wildfire. I don’t know why he said it, but it just felt right, right? And the day will end, but not before you walked us through two art museums and there’s always a juicy secret near the end of us whispering to each other about other people and what they’re up to. In this fairy tale, they don’t fall in love. In this poem, they don’t get together. In this life, they’re just friends. In this heart, they’ll be just two lost souls stuck on a bench, I’m a little tired, I’ll just rest my head on those shoulders, and I must tell you, that you look better without make up. There will a day when this is just a faded gem you’ll find in your brain. There will be a brief moment when you’ll remember those five hours, and it all started because of those five minutes when you asked if we have met before, and I know that I write long pieces with very shitty grammar and not enough elaborate metaphors, but the thing about my writing and why it’s so damn relatable may be because I write with a cold heart that just wants to feel warm, we all need that day. That day, that’ll indefinitely change us in ways that we may not be able to comprehend today, tomorrow or even by next year. A day that explains, a day that demands to be listened to and just like how a chest needs a careful set of ears to listen to its heartbeat, I’m glad that I gave a listen to yours. And maybe I’ll move out of this city where people do the same shit every fucking day and pretend that it’s okay, that this is it. We’ll work until we’re grey, get that 401k go on vacations while we’re fragile with an old passion for pastries, cheap hotels and some famous beach that all of the old people go to. There’s got to be more to life, you mentioned that a few times. This was just a glimpse to what could be with someone else, and I’m always holding onto your hands just a little too tight because I don’t want you to let go and it’s okay because today will end, but not in this memory. In this memory, we’re young forever. In this memory, we’re breaking every rule just a little bit. In this memory, I write down every little detail because I don’t give a fuck. In this memory, I play a slow dance with you until the moon finally explains itself to us in entirety. I’m full because of you, I’m empty because of you. In this memory, the metaphors never run out and the poetry isn’t just about love, it’s not about sadness anymore, it’s about clawing my way out of my thoughts and back into a moment where I’m not so depressed and I’m cracking jokes right next to you all the way down Central Park and in this memory, there’s a small chance that you could’ve been more than just someone who showed my heart around New Orleans. In this memory, I remember you as my pretty crimson. And if this memory shall ever fade, I’ll fade with it too because the more we write, the more we are, if I am what I eat and I am what I do, I’ll eat the yellow paint and write until it’s dark and if I’m ever blind and no longer the person that I was when I walked across that bridge with you– at least it’s an ending that I can dwell on. Poets write poetry, clouds use rain as a disguise, but this writer is just wearing another mask and tomorrow isn’t any different. I am the wildfire, and I’ll spread in many directions. I just hope that we never burn down together and if we do, that wouldn’t be so bad, right?

there’s a fuzzy memory you can’t get rid of, like the burnt remnants of a light you stared at too long. you blink and think for a second, it’s gone.