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Some nights, I miss you, but I’ve stopped wanting you.

I found myself reminiscing about the moment I couldn’t stop laughing, how free I was when I ran into the sunset behind your building, and the serenity of midnights in your room.

Some days I think about the the person you could have been, the people we could have been if timing wasn’t a factor and circumstances weren’t so strange.

It’s made me realize that it was never just you I missed-it was me. I missed the girl I was before you, the one who believed in love without long nights and romance without false hope.

Some nights, I still miss her, but I’ve stopped wanting her back when I found myself after you.

“You’re more beautiful than the day I first met you.”

I say this every day because it’s true. As there is a certain mystery on how time can make you more beautiful. How time can make me fall in love with you even more with each day passing by. And today is another brand new day with you. And you know the words that I’m about to tell you.

“You’re more beautiful than the day I first met you.”

—  Juansen Dizon // The Beauty In Time 
Sometimes, when I use my mother tongue, I can still hear the colonizers speaking for me.

FROM THE VAULT: Chrysanthemum Tran - “Cognates” (WOWPS 2016)

Performing at the 2016 Women of the World Poetry Slam. Chrysanthemum placed 12th overall in the tournament. HELP SUPPORT BUTTON POETRY.

Like the waves, we tend to crush against each other, and we forget that we are all part of the same ocean.
—  giulswrites
You don’t have to know where exactly you’re headed right now.
It’s not unusual to be lost, and there will be times when you have to change direction when you least expect it.
Just keep going.
—  Maxwell Diawuoh, Once A Day (341/366)
There’s a gentle calm in your eyes
when you look at me,
my love.
What do you see, dare I ask;
What do our eyes
speak of?
Will you grant me an eternity
to find the words –
I am lost!
When I gaze in your gentle eyes,
I have all that I want.
Oh, my darling, please remember,
when you leave the eye
of the storm,
you can always come and find me;
you will always have a home.
—  Soft howling lullaby - M.A. Tempels © 2016

this is how it’s gonna sound

to the subconscious personalities
with no core to associate with –

leaving rooms in the mind for entities
with no souls to reside where is there
is no day or night just constant static
of pain with intervals of calm peace

i don’t know how i made it out in one

sometimes i’ll be wandering down the
street wondering when did i even put
on the shoes on my feet

gaps in consciousness

breaking contracts with agents of

evanescent shadows fleeting in the corner
of my eyes bridging the gaps until i took
back control of my mind and [redacted]

when the moon rises i take a deep breath
it may look beautiful to you but we have
no idea about the details of it’s uniqueness

maybe the lost cosmonauts were onto something…

I will never understand a person who puts their own arrogance before love… I mean, what’s the point of winning the argument if there’s no one left to argue with? I can only imagine that a person like that has never suffered the trauma of losing someone they love… or else, has never truly loved at all.
All I know is I would say a thousand sorrys if it meant never having to say a single goodbye.
There is a certain beauty in a woman
who is facing such cruelty in life
but still manages to kiss it goodnight

This December I’m planning on letting you go, but it’s like the wind on a cold day—it sends a chill that makes my heart beat faster, the goosebumps and shivers part of that exhilaration.

Think of it like this—I take off on long runs and I still come back to the place we met, replaying memories like old film reels in my head. They’re already tinged with sepia, one year ago and it feels like forever.

Do you play them back, too? Do you ever miss the way we used to make each other laugh? Do you miss us?
Because lately all I do is think about where I was a year ago, meeting you for the first time and making you laugh, and talking so fast that we ran out of breath.

I miss you this December.
And I don’t want to miss you. Leaving has become less of a distant daydream and more of a reality, and the only certain thing now is that neither of us will be where we are now. The new year will separate us, finally sever that last thread linking us together. And I don’t want to hurt.

I don’t want to miss you like this. Like late night poetry, and the dizziness of a blow to the head whenever you walk by without a glance. I don’t want to be the girl who can’t let go of something she lost a long time ago, or begrudge you any happiness you might find.
I don’t want to miss you like a weight on my chest, like a physical thing resting behind my eyes, watching you as though from far away, watching you recede like my hometown in my rearview mirror.

This December I am letting you go, I tell myself. I cloak myself in ‘I don’t care,’ put up shields of nonchalance and make excuses about work like I can’t be bothered. This December I want to be better.

And maybe one day I will forget about you, like I forgot the first boy I fell in love with. Maybe one day it won’t hurt to see you, like claws raking across my chest. Maybe I’ll get to a place where I’m okay with you walking out of my life. Maybe I’ll be okay.

But what if I don’t want to let you go? What if the idea of forgetting you fills me with incredible remorse? What if I’m tired of breaking my own heart?
What if I’m tired of the pressure of plans and scraping my heart out, of replaying old memories and telling myself I can’t want you anymore?

What if I’m tired of just okay?

What if this December, I’m just yours?

—  jasminawritespoetry, ‘December’