butterfly wings stuck on car grills

quill, I've been following along with your thread, and I can feel how meaningful each poem is to you - there is this sense of honesty in your poetic voice that is so unmatched, like how you write about forgiveness / disillusionment here. for instance, with your latest poem: "aggression is safety even when it kills you / because at least then you tried to fight it" is such a raw, vulnerable line that feels like it encompasses the overarching "theme" of all of your poetry so far.

I also love your sunset / sunrise poem and how you explore beauty and subjectivity, especially here, on this website, as we are making and sharing our art. lots of food for thought. I'm definitely looking forward to see what else you write! never doubt your voice because YOU ARE A POET, and a good one at that!

but I will always remember
the beauty it was to have known you

<3

words are difficult
sounds and intonations making up this so called communication
lips and teeth and tongue cut up by sharp words
deriving some meaning from a history of assumptions
our souls were lost in translation
spread across a long existence of never saying what we mean
descending into a loop of showering shards

Eyes hold the deepest depths of our truth
windows into the parts we could never hide
Paradoxes of fire and water
residing within hollow caves
they hold both dark and light in fragile grasps
the ants of this fleshy world, the gossip girls
carrying the burden of this humanity

hands, calloused and broken
holding together the last definitions of self
tactile signals receive rough nothing
fragile senses lost as they grow cold
once the most delicate artists in everything
stumble upon the smallest inconsistency

All these parts of humanity form my perception
Of what it is to be me on this roller coaster
it adapts as the tides come and go, ever-changing, always remembering
erasing the footprints i left in the sand
but then again they told me to leave no trace
remove these reminders of my imperfections
like shards of glass from a mirror
maybe all of it has been a mask of deception

in this neverending maze of words with no meaning
eyes too tired to see
hands too broken to hold
Words which shattered what cannot be glued
nor add value with kintsugi, only a heavy reminder
who can tell what is real
on this weathered shelf we stand upon
When it breaks, will my firewall?

If it's me, when you run
will the sun be in the east or west?
and when we fall at the feet of ambition
will you claim the role of a sheep?