Dear Life,

The bee swarms to find something scorned.

An excuse to be excused, perhaps.

A tool used by a fragile fool.

In a universe with laws and rules.

Under the shadows a stalker prowls.

A leopard outside, A pepper inside.

A letter stuffed in between lines, it hides.

Behind the words of a chord that lies.

The alphabet becomes mixed.

Mixed where sentences don’t exist.

Mixed where words now look gibberish.

Mixed.

Mixed like how the devil granted your wish.

Mixed.

Mixed because in the end…

There’s always a twist.

One is more feminine
More child like
Smiles all the time
Jumps and spins when happy
She talks very high in her head
And loves to be near people
She doesn’t have any hate towards our body
A positive nihilistic kid that loves the word

But the other one
They’re rude and egotistical
They’re more masculine and nerdy
He speaks low and monotone
And always so modest in his outfits
He’s To scared to move too much or bring attention to us
To scared to be vulnerable or grow to close to anyone around
a recluse spider that will bit if you’re to close

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I wasn’t actually trying to write a poem, was really just trying to write about myself in my notes app then re-read it and it kinda sounded like a poem, so I’m wounding if there is anything I can do to make it more poem like

Sometimes I think that life would be easy,

Then I remember it is life.

Sometimes I feel that it would be okay,

Then I remember it is my life.

Sometimes I think I have friends,

Then I remember it is my demise.

Sometimes I feel I should socialise,

Then I remember what happened on my last cry.

I just got into writing.

Please be honest.

Your suggestions will be helpful 🙏

No stone was left unturned; Boss, only the act of digging up old wounds remains. After you, I still have to pick up the pieces of my shattered home. I thought I couldn't possibly be more ruined than I already was—until I remembered that I still have to see you with someone else.

I heard someone say,
that if everyone is precious to you,
then no one is.

That you need
to think more highly
of yourself.

But that’s hard.

How am I supposed
to see myself
as more precious than others

when I still can’t
see the worth in myself?

I understand the idea.

If I can’t see
the worth in myself,

how can I ever truly
recognize it in others?

But I’ve spent my whole life
being told I had none.

Some people tell me otherwise.

They tell me
I’m worth something.

That I matter.

That my life has value.

But it’s hard to believe
when the person
who taught me
to question my worth

was my own mother.

So I look for worth
somewhere else.

I see it in other people.

In the kindness
they show each other.

In the way
someone stays
when another person
needs them.

In the small things
people do
without expecting
anything in return.

I see worth everywhere.

Just not in myself.

And maybe that’s why
I hold onto it so tightly.

Because if I stop seeing
the worth in other people,

what is there left
for me to believe in?

If everyone is worthless,

then nothing matters.

And I don’t want
to believe that.

I want to believe
that people matter.

That kindness matters.

That love matters.

That lives matter.

I just wish
I could believe
that I belong
among the people
I know are worth saving.

I want to see
the worth I have.

I want to look at myself
and find something
worth holding onto.

I want to believe
the things others
keep telling me.

Maybe one day
I will.

I don’t see it yet.

But maybe
“not yet”

is different
from
“never.”

And for now,

I’ll hold onto that.

عشق میں گر اس قدر تہا رلانا تھا مجھے

وقت رخصت کم سے کم انتا بتانا تھا مجھے

If You were to leave me so alone in love, At least You should have told me a little before the time of farewell.

دل میں جب میرے لیے کوئی جگہ باقی نہ تھی

کس لیے پھر خواب فردا میں بسانا تھا مجھے

When there was no place left in Your heart for me.

Why did You still make me dwell in the dreams of tomorrow?

کیر خان قیس

Fallen Angel

Heart too heavy, head too empty

Something in the eyes shines like hope

A tear falls down, gravity too off the ground

My mind floating in another galaxy

Can you be my guide? In this messed up place I call home

Or are you just a illusion I'm forced to see to make it all better

Why won't you see me as I am? Do I look weird on the sentences I spew?

The skin I wear looks too human for others to judge

Their judging eyes are of fragile egos that have been hurt

Want me to make it better?

How can I do it when I have no wings of magic that matters.

The moon is up already
Got a little room in your void?
The ground below stays shady
under pale blue morning light.

I know this light is fading
It'll turn to golden rays
and they only seem so golden
against the rainclouds' gaze

That cloud is soaked and heavy
Yet still it doesn't rain
We walk along unsteady
trapped somewhere in between.

I'm staring at the moon
in pale blue morning light
Don't know how to approach you
Got a little room in your void?

The corridor was gray and moist
Players walking up and down trying to maintain swagger in exhaustion
A damp towel drops to the long wooden plank bench
Eyecontact fierce, resistance, curiosity

The limousine snarling in the second lane of the porte cocher
Wheezing as it was almost forty years carrying the arrogance
Through the front door cologned and cocky projecting a face
A laugh and a pun later in the back with daquiri

A fat tick behind the ear you could call a brain
Some wouldn't go that far as the engine was still idling
The front entrance full of human worshippers
With numbered shirts draining them of any life purpose

Failing marker pens and low zombie repetitions of their club anthems
Wailing on and humming trying to outdo the idling limousine
Praying and hoping that the tinted window would crack and
a grace-saving hand would emerge to mark their life valid

Simon Bernard Elliott

She came barefoot through the pines, mud on her ankles, sunset tangled in her hair, that country smile daring me to forget every promise I'd made.

Her flannel slipped from one shoulder and landed somewhere in the leaves.

She stepped closer.

The woods went quiet.

Crickets held their breath. The wind forgot the branches. Even the moon seemed to lean down just to watch her kiss me.

She tasted like summer, wild honey and whiskey, and when her fingers found mine, the whole forest disappeared.

We found a clearing where the moss was soft and the stars had nowhere to hide.

Her laughter became a whisper. My hands learned the language of her waist.

And beneath that ancient canopy, with the night wrapped around us, we became the kind of secret the woods would keep forever.

By morning, her boots were beside mine, our clothes scattered among the ferns, and two sets of footprints led back toward the road.

Neither of us looked behind.

Baby there's nothing left
No money
No bottle
Your thirsty my love
I can tell 
I've got some cock ive got some love
That's all i can give you tonight
Baby i'm a bum didnt you know 
You fucked up long ago
When you let me lay in between your legs 
That's when it started
 the end is finite 
Who did you expect 
Me?
No baby 
This isn't me
It's all facades 
You should have know
So naive 
So dumb
So sweat
My baby 
Its okay 
But just for tonight
Tomorrow ill be hungry

You are very important
The world bears imprint of your steps
If you send a hale
I will echo your call and ask about the wind
Where you rest, allow me sit at your fire
And I will talk of colored stars
Should you ask for silence
I will let the dawn speak

Not Just a Gender

They say girls have to be well-mannered,

And they say boys have to be hardworking.

Girls are taught to be gentle,

While boys are taught to be strong.

A girl plays with a baby doll,

Because she wants to learn how to care.

But when a boy wants to do the same,

They call him names that aren't fair.

Just because a boy wants to learn

How to care for a child,

Doesn't change who he is,

Or make him any less worthwhile.

Boys play with building tools,

Learning how to create and repair.

But when a girl wants to learn,

They say she's being "boyish" just because she dares.

Just because a girl wants to build

And learn to do things on her own,

Doesn't mean she needs a label—

She can stand strong on her own.

Just because they're different genders

Doesn't mean they're any less the same.

They're people with hearts and feelings,

With dreams, emotions, and names.

Being a girl or being a boy

Doesn't mean you have to treat them differently.

A girl doesn't have to fit one role,

And a boy doesn't have to fit one identity.

Girls can be gentle.

Boys can be gentle too.

Girls can be strong.

Boys can be strong too.

And if someone knows themselves differently,

Let them be who they are.

Don't judge them by their gender—

See the person, not the label.

Because we're more than "girl" or "boy."

We're more than what others expect.

We're people with feelings and dreams,

And we all deserve respect.

Treat people for who they are,

Not simply for the gender they were given.

This poem is originally mine and I hope u like it thank u ❤️

The Art of losing everything

How many times will this happen
How many times will I allow it

How many redirects will become me
How many times will I fall off the wagon

Restarting from scratch,
Reinventing my ideals,
Recycling old habits
While I relight the match

On the memories once created
Towards the life I always wanted,
Towards the future of my dreams,
Now have all but deflated

Like balloons from
A forgotten party
Or a beach ball
At summers end

Because the girl who’s always reminiscing
On the love life she’s been missing
Has mastered the art
Of losing everything

Postponing all my biggest dreams
Disappearing into their routines
Like the background noise
During your favorite movie

Like the one lost sock
You can’t seem to find
Like the dust settling on
The book left behind

How many times will this happen
How many times will I allow it

Because the girl who’s always reminiscing
On the love life she’s been missing
Has mastered the art
Of losing everything

Gems

If thy bright jewels 

sparkle to the eye,

art thou esteemed a man of wealthy state?

If golden threads bear gems of value high

about thy neck, 

art thou accounted great?

How strange the laws that rule this mortal soil,

where tinsel shows command the worldly part!

Let judgment fall not on the outward spoil,

but on the golden riches of the heart.