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Give it Sometime


She’s just a shy girl…

Sometimes bold, sometimes not.

And in her mind, a thousand words she could utter,

but all she does is smile.



She’s just reserved…

Sometimes coy, sometimes not.

And in her mind, a thousand opinions she could express,

but all she does is bow.



She’s just a coward…

Sometimes with you, and only with you.

And in her mind, a thousand scenarios she could

make happen but all she does is flee.



She’s just a different girl…

Sometimes around you, and only around you.

And in her mind, a thousand thoughts would save her

from this headache but all she does is stay.


- Nada

Just a Different Girl

The roots are blooming,

the ground is starting to be filled with entities

The roots are intertwining with every possible sense


The roots are tangled up with anger

But anger… anger isn’t a bad thing as they claimed


Anger is a revolution Anger is a savior,

anger is a rebellious sense Anger is the womb for every unborn possibility of worthwhile lives


Anger creates, creates and creates

Anger inhales the life right into the bodies


“Anger” will always remain a significantly immense sense that words won’t justify.



- @Reemamaybex

Perplexing Inwardness


I sometimes unwrap my bandages

And simply gaze at my wounds

try to understand them

Comfort myself

"it'll be alright"

"Give it sometime"


I have been trying to explain myself

Why things happened the way it happened

I try to be nice to myself with the answers

I made a new friend in the coffee shop yesterday

He calls himself Solitary Sanzid

I have never seen him

He notices things about me

Things I always tried to hide


how i feel empty as soon the party is over

How i go quiet as soon as my father walks into the room

How i recite poems to myself as i lie alone in the bed

And when he asked me about it

All i wished for

Is to disappear

His nails digged deep beneath

And He ripped off my skins (plural)

I bled vulnerability

He asks me

Where do the lost ones go to be found?


I have lived the pain

Way before the wounds ever arrived

April was a cruel month

Or maybe i was just cruel to myself on April

June was the aftermath

The dogs howled in loneliness

The birds chirped in joy of a new day

July was the spring

The flowers bloomed

I was still alive?

August was nurturing

It took care of me

Taught me to take care of myself


The morning of that day

My father was sitting beside me

And when the time came

He accepted it for it was

I was unchained from my cage that day

Every part of me sighed in freedom that day


- Sanzid