Soul poetry.

Today, I mixed

A bit of

Your memories

With the watercolours

And painted

Poetry

On the walls-

No one knows

Why the walls

Glow

At night.


-The Girl Lost In The Bookstore

This makes no sense, but okay.

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Anacampserote.

Anacampserote- something that can bring back a lost love

In the place

Where our dreams

And realities collide,

In the spaces

Between each minute,

In the magic

That resides

Within your words-

That’s where

You’ll find me.

That’s where

I’ll be waiting.


-The Girl Lost In The Bookstore

I know this is shit, and I apologize. 

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Music.

There seems to be A lot of heartbreak Lying around these days. * People collect it in tiny jars, And display it proudly on their shelves As if it is a thing of pride. Some wear it like the most Magnificent of pearls, Shiny and … Continue reading Music.

We.

We cut open the minutes And pour poetry inside them Trying to immortalize the seconds. We hear a thousand stories In the silence Between the moonbeams. We see a million colours In the darkness that resides In the spaces between two stars. We listen to … Continue reading We.

Moonless midnight of my mind.

Don’t just dip your toes

Into the moonless midnight

Of my mind

Plunge headfirst

With abandon

Make your home

Among the dark waters

Swim, until you find

All the secret caves.

Don’t be afraid, darling

For I know

You are no stranger

To the darkness.

Colour me happy with

All the shades

Of your name

And the day the sun

Finally begins to shine

Down on my waters

Will be marked in history

As the day two souls danced

To the whispers

Of a heart

That is broken no more.


-The Girl Lost In The Bookstore

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Draping ink.

I drape my fingertips

With ink and paint

That has been

Fashioned from

My feelings

For you

And you,

You become the canvas

I paint on.


-The Girl Lost In The Bookstore

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Sunday, every day Sunday.

The odour

Of your departure

Lingers in the air

Your broken promises

Float in front

Of my eyes-

I reach out

And curl my fist

Around a few of them

And desperately shove it

Inside my mouth

But they dissolve

To nothingness

On my tongue

And I’m left

With the taste

Of your sweet lies.

*

Strength comes knocking

Once in a while

But the heartbreak

That always seems to

Linger just behind

The door,

Pushes it away-

I can hear the thud

As my strength

Hits the front porch

Muttering curses

Under its breath

For ever having tried.

*

I spend my days

Drinking loneliness

Like whiskey,

Singing haunted songs

To the sky,

Eating poetry for lunch-

For me, now,

Sunday mornings

Will always smell

Like your absence.


-The Girl Lost In The Bookstore

This poem was selected and published by The Anonymous Writer on their website. You can read it by clicking here.

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