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2 pointsif you're dusky skies then i'm honey colored lips dripping sugar and hyena laughs sharp sunlight through venetian blinds splitting skin i'm mango and guava sweet on your tongue and quiet acoustic soft around your head you're watercolored concrete buildings bleeding micron ink into watery skies and indigo hands bruised purple amethyst and i'm citrine we're so different and the same two souls fused we exist together in this love ~~~ so, i had to do this report on a gemstone for science and i thought it would be a good metaphor for a poem?? idk, tell me what you think, critiques welcome.
1 pointmaybe i'm not out of the woods, but this right here is okay; somewhere, a bonfire is blazing, surrounded by people who might never understand but will try to listen. life has not hardened me like my calloused feet after a barefoot summer, caked with dirt and mosquito bites, but still there is an unbreakable something inside me. i am soft and yet i burn. Author's note: A revised version of something I wrote months ago to make up for my inactivity. As always, feedback and constructive criticism is encouraged.
1 point*so a few days ago I woke up in the middle of the night, wrote down these first two lines, went back to bed, and then completely forgot about it until recently. when I found it...this happened. something seems kinda off about it though and I would appreciate critique so so sooo much!!!* the sunspot pupils in those stained-glass windows to her soul contract in the sudden daylight yellow alights on shining olive skin black lashes flutter in sweet song-filled summer wind that smells like strawberries and blooming brightening honeysuckle leaves turn golden and so does her smile wide and gorgeous unreserved as the overlapping whispers of northern breeze that bring change and a promising chill anticipation hangs suspended in her gaze a silver wire-delicate moon backed by velvet affection now snow falls as gently as her embrace in the ice-weathered air adorning her rich curls a crystal tiara or a million winking stars she ponders the coldness of loss and of love’s thawing exterior when seated by a lazy orange hearth cheeks blazing rouge and hot teartracks drying the sky looks like an ocean again and her perfume smells like petrichor forest orchestras wake up the world and her topaz eyes soften in warm wise sunlight the earth is a sleeping goddess rubbing her eyes and stretching languidly awakening at last in the light
1 pointOh sorry! I totally forgot; thanks for the reminder.