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  • sicklypoetic 5w

    To a dad I lost painfully

    If I could
    I would gently stitch
    patches to repair
    the parts of your heart
    I have torn apart.
    I would cut out
    the arguments and pain,
    sewing instead a
    beautiful tapestry
    of memories.

    If I could,
    I would fix it all.
    ©sicklypoetic

  • sicklypoetic 5w

    I am the
    space
    in a sentence:
    a temporary necessity
    interjected
    to avoid
    a slew of meaningless letters

    I am
    a pause
    upon which you stood once
    wondering
    which way to go
    and moved on

    I am nothing
    but emptiness.
    I am who I am
    because you were here.

    ©sicklypoetic

  • sicklypoetic 8w

    The end
    if you ask me
    was painful alright,
    but what hammers
    the nail on the coffins
    of those left behind
    alive
    is the finality of it.
    ©sicklypoetic

  • sicklypoetic 8w

    Miss Havisham

    When we reached a dead-end,
    my feet grew roots
    that seeped into the frozen soil
    of our relationship.

    branches, like tentacles
    rose from the ground
    climbing over and around my body
    with flowers that blossomed
    in black
    as if shrouding me
    as I stood in mourning

    the clock eventually
    lost the use of its arms
    while beetles made home
    in the cuckoo
    and time stood still

    (Edited re-edited..I seem to keep spinning this poem indefinitely )

    ©sicklypoetic

  • sicklypoetic 8w

    A light in the sea of darkness-
    a unicorn in the dense forest
    you radiated love

    flapping your wings
    you soothed our wounds
    with gentle breeze

    And stole our tears
    under your long eyelashes
    then spun us some clouds
    with your horn
    on which we lay and dreamed.
    ©sicklypoetic

  • sicklypoetic 8w

    Her home

    made of cotton candy
    in a child's mind,
    it grew to include
    ornate crystal chandeliers
    rosewood floors
    and eclectic art pieces
    of the things that she had lost
    on her way

    Her home
    was now more elegant
    in her imagination,
    but her dream was
    just as fragile
    that could come crashing
    like a delicate glass vase
    slipping off a silk tablecloth.
    ©sicklypoetic

  • sicklypoetic 8w

    Her shadows danced
    in hope of leaving
    her obstinate spirit
    that refuses to die out.

    ©sicklypoetic

  • sicklypoetic 8w

    A girl with a pearl earring

    She was a warped, distorted soul
    aching to free herself
    from the shackles of
    societal norms.

    Dress codes wrapped her
    waist into an obedient size,
    layers of silk around the girdle.
    Her unruly hair
    would not acquiesce
    until she snuck it
    under a bandana and a turban.

    Oh what a riot she was
    a storm inside her
    yearning to break out
    as she struggled to withhold
    her equivocal expression
    as calm as the pearl she wore
    only to be betrayed
    by her indiscreet impish lips.
    ©sicklypoetic

  • sicklypoetic 8w

    By Emily Dickinson

    Read More

    "Success is counted sweetest
    by those who never succeed ..."

    Emily Dickinson

    This hits home

  • sicklypoetic 9w

    We are in an ocean of love
    Out of depth
    that's familiar to us
    afraid of drowning
    with a chest full of hopes
    that we cannot breathe anymore
    on our own.

    @writersnetwork @miraquill #wod
    ©sicklypoetic