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“You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes. You can steer yourself any direction you choose. You’re on your own. And you know what you know. And you are the one who’ll decide where to go…” — Dr Seuss

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Chuck Akot, from The Pilgrim of Flowers and Other Poems, SACRED PLACE
Have I failed you to love me?
Why I could not trace
your shadows in my fingers?
The sensations are hiding from your touch;
but this sacred place protects my feelings–
this long silence is an omen;
something in you has finally lifted,
and something is waiting to break free.
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[notes] I decided to use some of the prompts for this fic. :) And I’m terrible with endings. LOL. This has not been edited. So…errors.

[fandom] Banana Bus Squad. 

[pairing] minor H2oVanoss, Krii7y.

[wc] 776

[warning] Mild murder/assassination. Minor relationships. Implied kissing. Hugging. Swearing. Friendship. Minor blood. Nothing is explicitly graphic.

Keep reading

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A Sailboat leaves the harbor hopefully.

It finds the ocean and mistakes it for home.

The ocean loves the little boat not.

The ocean loves to move and turn the boat.

It loves to fill the boat’s sails and pull it along.

Stronger and stronger it pulls.

The ocean doesn’t notice the tears in the sails.

It pulls and feels the joy of knowing the Sailboat is it’s own.

And when the Sailboat is ready to sink the Ocean doesn’t see - it’s hurricane eyes are elsewhere.

And while the Sailboat fills with more and more water it hears something.

A call from the shore that had seemed so far away.

So, the Sailboat floats as best it can in the direction of the call

And somehow, unbelievably, the Sailboat returns to the Harbor.

It cannot sail anymore - or it simply doesn’t want to.

The Sailboat hears the Ocean screaming with it’s sharp waves for it’s boat to return.

Even a silly little boat knows that the waves will swallow the Sailboat whole if it does.

What a cowardly boat it is.

The boat thinks this, but still wishes that someone would come take it apart and fashion it into something new.

This Sailboat does not want to fix it’s sails.

It wants to use it’s wood to build something steady and whole.

But it doesn’t know where to begin, you see.

Because it has, for as long as it can remember, been a Sailboat.

And, tied to the dock, a Sailboat it remains.

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Clean Slate

Wipe me down

Baby I feel dirty all over my skin

I wonder how I got this way

Pulling on the string of your bow

Arching, waiting

Resenting your absence from my ache

Reinventing what my name means

Rolling off your tongue

Baby you sound so unlike yourself

While we share sighs

Into one another’s personal space

Cut me down

Until I am one with you

Make me forget all about the demons

That live under my bed

And I will wait forever

Until you are alright again

While my eyes are filled with you

Blurring into a ray of light

Burning your shape into my body

The sounds of the world stand still

And our noises become music

Ringing against our walls

The painting on your back

Pushing into the sheets

Reminds me of a work of art

Baby when we part

I come close to the realization

Of why some would die for the ones they love


And god knows I love you so much

It’s been forever since I’ve said

And meant with both body and soul

Don’t take this away from me

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I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you simply, without problems or pride: I love you in this way because I do not know any other way of loving but this, in which there is no I or you, so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand, so intimate that when I fall asleep your eyes close.

- Pablo Neruda

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These Letters Are About You: Gold

Gold was what reminded me of you. Not the artificial gold of watches and rings. No, the gold of Mother Nature’s sun is what you looked like.

Goldish brown hair covered the front of your face like a veil. Warm skin and dark brown eyes that were engraved in my mind. I brought the image of you throughout my day as if I kept you in a locket. And just like a locket, I would bring it out in brief moments, knowing the thought of you kept me grounded.

Though your light was tender, you were fuelled with unmatched fire.

Rage.

It had been hindered by cracked pieces of you that fuelled the small fire in your heart. And for years it grew, slow and patient. But unlike the sun, your rage was filled with sadness and longing.

So when you told me at sunset, your face unsettled, that your world had been pieced with fragments of the unknown, my heart ached to hold you. My fingers reached yours. The light, the fire, gone from the words that befell your lips. A curse in itself I think.

But how does one comfort the sun when nearing it could cause one to burn?

To hold you was to ignore the dangers. Those dangers could burn us both completely. Foolish, young me, had thought those dangers more and more to the point where I had to stop myself from seeing you. I let you go. Consequences I can never take back. You live in harmony, you suffer no regret, but I hold the burden of losing a true love. That sunset of us, that real brief moment of us, a dream now.

A luxery of gold that I can never have.

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and when he asked me to describe

my ideal date i told him to picture this

picture the sun asking for our permission

to wake and sit with us

imagine the waves only crashing down

when we want the interruption

the galleries would be empty;

allowing us to roam

touch and kiss

in between the paintings

your hands finding my hair

while my back finds a home

pressed against a door

we’d talk with our actions

while the night watches us from afar

wishing it could be us


kira malibu

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