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  • queenofsouth 5w

    One word for you

    I tried to search for a word,
    to describe you, as my speech slurred.
    I stared at the sky and the clouds whispered loud.
    I closed my eyes and heard no sound.
    I felt the wind telling me your name;
    I tried to listen for the word.
    I wanted to hear the wild wind tame,
    and whisper the word after your name.
    I waited, for what felt like a lifetime.
    I've known you, but yet, can't think of a word.
    Past the cloudy confusions and the loud sunshine,
    I stood there sublimed yet grim;
    trying too hard and undeniably failing.
    No words can describe you,
    because no one can know you, like I do.
    I opened my eyes, back to reality in a flash.
    I told them your name, and said, "There's nearly 350 thousand words but I still can't think of one for him ".

  • queenofsouth 5w

    I'm the page that didn't make it to the book.

    I sat there in the trash can wondering what she had done to my words.
    what went wrong where and when that I didn't make it to the store?
    Beautiful inked words like caligraphy not sewn properly, perhaps.
    My words cry, she has failed them, or perhaps they were just too many pages to fit in.
    But, why choose me, was I the least best?
    I sat there looking at her peek at me, occasionally.
    I sat there watching her add more pages to the trash can.
    I couldn't tell you but if i had a heart, it would've been broken by now.
    She skimmed through her final copy, with 190 pages and 500 pages of trash.
    I was in the majority but, is that what I say to move on?
    My words ache for love everyday, to be read and felt.
    I ache everyday to be touched and held.

  • queenofsouth 6w

    love isn't to be defined.
    before you came to my life,
    love was defined, love followed a set of norms,
    love was simple and feels like fuzzy poms poms.
    love was a feeling, love was something i could never get.
    so i fantasized and wrote about the love I wanted.
    and then you came, and shattered my idea of love.
    love isn't defined, it's relative.
    love has no norms or forms.
    love is complicated and feels real.
    love is a person, love is something not to get but to give.
    so now i write, hoping love never leaves.
    love is you. you are love.

  • queenofsouth 7w

    I'm the cloud in confusion.
    I dont know if I have to rain, thunder, or let the sun shine.
    I'm dark, and i got lots of emotion waiting to pour out.
    I'm the cloud that keeps running and has no idea where to go next.
    I'm the cloud that was once white and right.
    I'm now dark and confused on whether to hold or fight.
    I'm a hopeless cloud running away from confusion.
    I'm a helpless cloud with no silver lining.

  • queenofsouth 7w

    when your bestfriends are both in love with eachother and they want you to write their story��

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    She was young, vibrant like all the colours of rainbow collided together, her eyes reflected love, pure yet dark. He was the bad guy, the jock, everyone's crush but nobody's passion. Passion, is what he was searching for. He wanted a love that overwhelms him Two uniquely different people, one epic love story. The both of them met outside school, shared laughter, stories and soon memories. Her eyes smiled big when she saw him.His reflection in her eyes, was everything she could ask for. From a non-social being to becoming a very comfortable companion, she brought life to his world. She gave him what he was searching for, the passion and the purest of love. Everytime they held hands, they go to their own world, the land of love, escaping the land of sins.

  • queenofsouth 7w

    i heard my brother's distant cries from his little room.
    and my mum said, "man up, man up, young boy".
    this thought stuck into my head like glue.
    men aren't supposed to cry, they feel nothing, they are a toy.
    men are strong physically and emotionally,
    men dont shed tears.
    men dont get scared they have no frights and fears.
    men want to keep the world strong by holding it up in their arms.
    they want to take up the work of gravity to regain their sanity.
    women are supposed to be physically weak,
    a prick or a tuck would spoil their style on fleek,
    their hairs' down for men to hold it up;
    and mascara running to the cheeks for men to rub it off.
    taking the job of make-up wipes too, i guess.
    women are always said to protect their virginity and stay pure for the man to come;
    while a man can run around fucking people and wouldn't necessarily be called a scum.
    when will we change these stereotypical thoughts about what genders should be like?
    beneath the skin, the hair and above the crazy harmones;
    we are flesh and blood and we are no different.

  • queenofsouth 8w

    the story of the rain drops

    every drop that falls on me, whispers the story,
    about the love it had for the sky.
    but the sky loved the earth too much,
    to give all it had to the pits and the depths.
    every drop that falls on me, weeps,
    knowing what 'falling in love' means.

  • queenofsouth 8w

    i dug my foot in the sand,
    my hands clutched my knees,
    my hair in sync with the breeze,
    but one of the strands,
    searched for his hands,
    to tuck it back in it's place.
    i was helpless and hopeless all over again.

  • queenofsouth 9w

    Being brown

    I remember when I was five,
    little, sensitive and naive;
    familiar faces surrounded my crib everyday.
    They looked at my woebegone eyes with awe,
    but one face, was rather curious, I recall,
    "She isn't white and pretty like her mom",
    my little brain couldn't process this,
    all I remember was people agreeing,
    and telling, "her color isn't ideal".
    The next day, was my first day of school;
    and I asked mum, "Why am I not pretty like you?",
    while she packed my face with powder
    and little did I know why.
    I grew amidst pretty faces, my friends and cousins,
    everyday I come back home and cry to my mom.
    Yesterday, I went up to my mom, and told her;
    "Ma, you used pack my face with powder thinking I would get pretty but I already am. I know it was because of me you did that".
    She looked at my non powdered brown face,
    And started tearing up like a child.
    I said, "I'm beautiful and people do love me.
    Being brown changes nothing. It just made me resistant to constant mockery and judgements. Color looks pretty on me."

  • queenofsouth 10w


    You dodge a bullet,
    you get down on your knees,
    take a reassuring breath,
    your cold lips whisper, "heavens"
    your hand on your heart, thanking thee.

    You turn around,
    take aim and fire;
    while the poor man cries in despair.
    His blood on your hands,
    you wash it along with your guilt.

    His body turns stale,
    you confidently inhale,
    the scent of victory.

    As days pass by,
    for every unjustified action,
    for every bullet you've dodged,
    you'll convince youself that it's okay,
    for you'll live.

    Maybe you'll understand,
    when the time has come,
    when the bullet this time surely will hit,
    but by then, it would be too late.