I Am A Writer,

I am a writer,

Which means I have never given

A straight answer.

Opulent strings of words,

Pearls grinding against one another,

Teeth like seashells triturating -

Always eloquent, always windy,

Never forthright.

But I would like to be candid,

I would like to be honest

And unequivocal.

If only for you.

So when I say I long for

Your petal soft lips brushing gently

Across my flushed skin,

Your fervid breathy gasps

To fill my lungs

As I exhale for us both at once -

Know that I am asking for a kiss.

Brown autumn eyes As dark as the Winter skies My heart aches violently For the bliss of that Charming smile. Paradise I'm looking into, A universe in your heart For I wish to dwell forever Being the picture for your art. My heart yearns for yours As it had done Ever since the start. Little blue brush strokes In my body are nothing But humbly carved by you, You took my heart and pretend not to have it The blood is yours that runs them through. The daisies by the bloodshed lake Feel like you. The sun makes them shine bright In the blood which is mine. ~Arthur's Version

sky canvas

as i traverse this familiar path tracing old beelines hearing old whisperings mingled into the breeze stopping by at old memories

as i (re)visit the splatters of emotion painted over the pavement shimmering with the same brightness they had when we had laid them down

as the delightful smiles that once surrounded me and used to fill me with ecstasy are now sitting on my shoulders looking, (with nostalgia, homesickness, and their ever-present melancholy,) directly into my eyes piercing into my cheeks injecting their potent passion and poisonously painful yet sweet sentiment

as i remain lost in painfully sweet pasts

the sky-canvas above me is the only sign of the passage of time, painted with her many delights; yet all her delicious pinks and all her smiling oranges and all her comforting blues will never be enough to pull me back into the poking (un)comfort of the present. for i am doomed to ne'er find joy; forever reminiscent of times gone by and to never make newer, more joyous times wash up at my feet

i shall ne'er make smiles anew unless recounting those of the past.

loving shakespearean woes

i tell gentle quiet tales of thy wist and as dear children scurry to snatch and covet a seat as to observe my love and list as eyes drift 'pon my dearest beloved pet

my heart remembers beating loud for you my mind remembers dancing to your whims my eyes recall all memories anew my mouth remembers singing you love-hymns

but i only remember one of many things which might sound worthless in your magnificence but to all argumentations my heart sings 'your screeching will not make a difference!'

as i am lost beyond this fog of memory thy forever eyes are unending in my reverie

(hello there! this is my first sonnet. it was very fun to write, but i know it probably doesn't sound as good as it could be. if you have any feedback to give me, please, please, please give me all your feedback. be harsh, be gentle. i need it either way.

also, thank you for reading💜💜 )

her

with her dearest eyes and their melting browns (whose each crevice is filled with undulating joy and undiscovered love) becoming bedazzled gems, two lamps ignited, when lit under the sun filled with dimension and tasteful elegance;

with her delicate skin with its many textures and beauties all the lines etched onto the infinite tablets that make her face-- each smile line, forged from countless tales of deep love and joy; each little wrinkle-wave, lashing onto the shores of her gentleness, with its bioluminescent memories leaving behind tracks imprinted into the sandy shores of her youthful face; each line on her lips, every generous crevice, holding within it a lulling, loving song a gentle, whispered poem a whisper or two-- a confession of deep, flowing, crashing love

with her lined, creviced hands moving with the grace and delicacy that only those hands that have carried the magnificence of hearty, healthy love can possess; having the marks and folds that only hands which have given many people of the world joys that have seen unattainable to them and delivered it right to their doorstep can make beautiful

how can she consider herself-- she who is the epitome of love, beauty and all the things of yearning-- how can she think she is unliked and unwanted beauty?

Hello 👋, I hope you're doing well..

My name is Mahmoud, and I'm a 17-year-old from Gaza. The ongoing war has devastated my city, destroyed my school, and made daily life incredibly challenging.

Despite these hardships, I'm determined to continue my education and build a better future. I've been given a chance to study abroad, but I need help to cover the costs of leaving Gaza, as well as living expenses and other essentials abroad once the crossing opens.. 🙏

If you can, please consider donating or sharing, your kindness can truly make a difference, and thanks for your time. ❤🍉

https://gofund.me/bd3ccf0b 🔗

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