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May Brouss Poem
The cold is leaving the air
And the smell of the grass is sneaking in.
The train is bringing me home,
The home where I was the reckoning.
My body shivers in the summer while remembering,
Remembering how the other me was acting.
The lowest part of my soul is gravitating
In the cafés, passages, and places,
Without fear, shame, nor guilt,
Screaming: here I am — have you thought of changing?
I respond with anger: I have, have you?
And she said: why change when you know what's coming?
The duality of my selves keep rhyming,
And the place where once was home is shifting.
Did I leave that façade in this city?
Did I come back new and with eyes of pity?
Trying to fit in the mold of desperation,
Knowing deep down my true consolation is just building a new foundation.
Copyright © May Brouss | Year Posted 2025
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May Brouss Poem
Is my writing only good when I’m drowning?
When I’m down to my knees and my soul shouts heal
Is my happiness on only when I’m socializing?
When I cry of laughter only so my sad tears can be sealed
Is my depression the only motive of my paintings?
When I pour into a canvas only so my ideas can be cleared
Are those same ideas present with my happy self?
If not, who am I when I’m happy?
Is my tongue only flexible when I’m faking?
When I play with sweet words only so that my façade can be shielded?
Is this double sword personality of mine the only way to be acceptable?
If it is, is this fair to my heart? To my brain? To my body?
Is it fair to me? Or even to them?
Or is it the hidden rule played by the elite?
Copyright © May Brouss | Year Posted 2025
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Details |
May Brouss Poem
Still connected to the world, and yet everything feels so distant.
Still connected to the world, and yet everything feels so different.
Would you hold onto them if you can’t hear them saying the cheers?
Would you hold onto me if leaves can’t even hold onto the trees?
Would I be here for you if I’m not even here for myself?
Would I forgive you if I don’t forgive myself?
Still connected to the world, and yet connection isn’t what I feel.
Still connected to the world, and yet connection is what I fear.
Copyright © May Brouss | Year Posted 2025
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