#poetconnection

I think as time passes by you start overlooking your grief. You start comparing your life and strengths with others. You forget the emotional turmoil you have been through and start being harsh on yourself for petty things. It's okay to not do that, it's only right for you to need your parents and grieve their loss even if it's been a while. And just because it's been a while since your loss, it doesn't mean your battles are not difficult, it doesn't fill the void, it doesn't make it any easier, you just learn to grow around it. And there are some days when you really wish you could go back home and talk your heart out to them, rant, complain, have silly arguments, and go shopping with them over weekends. Most days you only want simple things, very simple things, but you end up doing it yourself. But you disregard the courage it takes to do that. Just because it's been a while since you've grown courageous it does mean you stop appreciating it. It's okay to take up space and feel proud for all the things you do by yourself, you are worth being celebrated.

o fair child 

of man

won't you come 

again?

/

I'll build you a bed

where vervain stalks the land

lithops springs from stone

vines dance

and deer prance

patches of fur

clinging to bleached bone

/

the bluebell rings

the bluebird sings

the rythm of

fluttery leaves

flirting with the wind

beneath her blue, blue wings

/

tell me, do you still fear

the foxglove's sting?

/

fair child

of man

won't you come

again?

/

I'd like to feast with

on

off you

teach you

the honeysuckle's airy kiss

delight you

the primrose's merry bliss

/

all you must do

is let me build

your name

on the roof of my mouth

syllables shaped against

stairs of teeth, with velvet tongue

the same one I'll run

down your pebbled flesh

the bud of you

/

as you come undone

and come 

again

/

𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝐼 𝑓𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢, 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ

𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑖𝑛𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑖𝑡𝑦 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑠𝑒 𝑒𝑝ℎ𝑒𝑚𝑒𝑟𝑎𝑙

𝑚𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑠 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑦𝑜𝑢.

You think of love, and hold onto every little memory, you hold onto his fragrance, his voice, the tone, the colour of his shirt, and those blurry smiles.

You remember the incidents as if they were a prayer to you, and keep space for his memories, you know you need it.

You know you'd need them to survive a little longer, and this one set of memories are so stubborn they don't leave. It's surprising how my heart is so fond of you, it hasn't tarnished one bit of those memories.

Some days they move and a wave of love rushes over my soul. Some days you circle emotions like you'd circle the spoon in your coffee.

You know it, when poetry knocks on your door, you'd do nothing else but sit with your heart centered, not bothering to open the door.

You know your poems, they barge in, breakthrough, and dissolve everything into nothingness.

And when poetry knocks on your door, it'll push you in an ocean of emotions, but leave you floating on a wooden plank called- love.