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I miss you more than words can express,
but I must try anyway.
The issue, the core of this whole mess:
I'm dust since you went away.
.
I think of you ten times a day,
tormented by memories:
a wink, a joke you would say -
lost in my reveries.
.
And I only really smile
when I replay our greatest hits;
It's been lonely for a while,
Gone astray, falling to bits.
.
I pray, I do, though I'm not sure
if I deserve to have you back,
or if oblivion could even cure
this tattered soul, this crystal crack.
.
Fare thee well, my shooting star,
wherever you might land;
For I have fell from you too far,
forever changed by your hand.
.
10.3.2024.
(for G.)
Nao Mar 8
Your fingers make their way in my mouth, wrapped in my tongue like a gift, digging my waist and softly ripping appart my psyche.
I am unwell for you, too ripe and too ready,
The sweet ache of my teeth holding down my pleas makes itself known
What is love if not ruin
I wandered back to the scene of the crime.

I remember all that transpired from that night.

As I was making my way across, the bridge went up in flames.

And the smoke still lingered even after all the tomorrows came.

I saw the match from your hand.

I smelled the gas before I could land.

I blame myself for not expecting it sooner,

when all of your crimes leave the same signature.



All the houses that burned down carried your name.

History said you were going around claiming you were framed.

Yet the clothes you wore still reeked of the fuel.

The last thing they found were skeletons inside a cubicle.

Did you think I’ll always play your game,
never thought I’d grow tired of the same joke every day?
When I came to bid you an honest farewell, 

you thought it was an invitation to send me straight to hell. 


Perhaps I truly am the one to blame.

You did tell me about the things that drove you insane.

And I recklessly chose the path of extrusion.
Perhaps I deserved this execution. 


I wandered back to the scene of the crime.

Where the ghost of the bridge we burned still haunts its culprits.
I saw fear when we locked eyes.
Did you think I’d be reduced to ashes?
Did you think you were burning a witch?
Darling, you forget I’m a phoenix. 

Fire is what keeps me alive.
amber Jan 9
That night, the back of your head was such a sight to see. Your worn-but-new sneakers slamming against the pavement was a symphony, the volume decreasing with every step. Your hands running through your hair in angst after being gelled to your forehead by sweat. Lastly, you throw your head over your shoulder for one.
Last.
Look.
You were the devil in disguise under the muted yellow street light. Your expression sent a thousand messages, but mine only expressed one.

I’m free.
I struggle with my heart.
It’s so bruised. I’m still healing.
It feels tender to the touch.
When anyone gets close
a guard rises up out of my mind
to close off access.

Through the shield she peers out,
desiring love, to press against
another’s beating heart.
But she still bleeds sometimes,
the wounds don’t heal
like they do in the physical.
I don’t know how to close
the lacerations,
and so they remain open.

I look into myself,
and cry into my broken heart.
The astral tears are bitter
and cause the heart to ache.
Perhaps all that can be done
is to hold my broken pieces together,
and let time pass,
recreating me again and again.
Create so many new layers of me
that my heart is intact once again.
Day by day, choosing to be whole
will manifest a whole new being.
Time heals all wounds. Isn’t that what they say?
Hunter Dec 2023
It commenced not in the ordinary,
No, it carried a profound yearning,
A yearning to be cherished, not reviled,
To be esteemed, not deemed average,
To experience something, not nothing.

Gradually, it evolved beyond that,
Becoming my sole wellspring of joy,
Aware of the inherent imbalance,
Yet, akin to all my remorseful attachments,
I found myself unable to let go.

Indeed,
The concept of letting go eluded me,
A foreign notion, seemingly distant,
Yet, akin to the frigid days of February,
I understood it would conclude someday,
Nonetheless, I persisted,
Holding on tenaciously.

As the days stretched out,
Snow gave way to melting streams,
Blooms emerged from their wintry cocoon,
And akin to the scorching heat of summer,
My affection blazed brighter than stars.

Picture winning a grand lottery,
That's how it felt,
A sensation of prevailing in life,
The notion of letting go never occurred,
It seemed unnecessary.

Then came September,
A month I abhor with fervor,
When everything crumbled beneath,
Love waned,
Evaporating like recollections of better days,
And the embers of letting go flickered anew.

Fear settled in,
Reluctant to relinquish,
I convinced myself it would mend,
For I acknowledged,
I couldn't let go.

Fourteen,
Fourteen,
Fourteen,
Etched clearly in my consciousness,
That's the date it unfolded,
The day I dreaded,
The day I was compelled to let go.

Anticipated as it was,
Those phrases,
"This isn't healthy,"
"It's irreparable,"
"I'm sorry,"
Tore me asunder.

Here I am,
Penning this poem,
Still in pain,
Still shattered,
Rife with remorse.

Such is life,
A journey void of utopian conclusions,
A cycle that persists,
Until the day we depart,
Until the day we dissolve,
Until the day we finally let go."
Realeboga M Nov 2023
Never thought I would come back to this.
A part two never made sense.
Especially since I hoped that at some point we would be friends.
Didn't really think that things would end so tense.

I told myself that with you ego would ruin me.
That if I couldn't go to you, then there's none I'd confide.
If it wasn't you I could run to. Then I would always hide.

I thought that I would only see colour with you.
That our places, would belong to us only.
The vibrant colours would belong to us only.
Just like the song you wrote for me.
I truly believed that it belonged to us only.

Little did I know.
It was not my ego that would ruin me.
But yours.

You told me that this song was ours.
That it would keep the colours alive.
No matter what.

I know I told you that these places are not mine alone.
Not matter how much colour has drained from my eyes.
They remain beautiful to others.
I know what I said.

I just never thought you would be the one to drain them from everyone.
That you would forget me and change the narrative.

It was your heart on my sleeve.
It was my heart on yours.
It was our place.
Drained of colour to us but so bright to everyone.

But your ego chose to forget me.
Just like your heart decided to let go.

Who would have thought.
That it was not the poet that changed the narrative.
But the artist that really wanted a platinum on their creative.

**** man.
All along.
I thought that this would be our song.
That regardless of the pain we both experienced.
That this. No matter what would be ours.

My poems to you are yours.
But your songs to me are theirs.
Tell me that's fair.
You told me I took you places. Yet you changed everything
Emily Jane Oct 2023
My bones ache
My eyes are hot and raw
I am utterly cast out to sea
Unanchored
Treading water in a vast expanse of terrifying blue turbulence
I shout into the empty nothingness
Driving the air out of my lungs to call for you
"Where are you?"
"Please don't leave"
"I am not ready..."
But you are gone
and my voice echoes in the deep
like the devastating and futile cries of the last Kauaʻi ʻōʻō bird searching for a mate who will not come
So this is heartbreak?
Phoenix Rising Oct 2023
I wish heartbreak
came with a manual.
But honestly,
would it even help?
I imagine it would
be contradicting and maybe
go something like this:
"You may experience
the feeling that you are walking away
from the rarest love you'll ever experience...
But don't you worry,
because even if you stay a little longer,
eventually you'll convince yourself
you don't love them anymore, just enough to finally
end it.
Give it a week.
Oh, there it is... You feel that?
THAT feeling is the numbness wearing off
and only remembering the happy parts."
Or some ******* like that.
Probably nothing that specific though...
Only enough to have the majority relate.
I imagine the narrator would sound
overly enthusiastic...Which is hilariously inappropriate ...
But, really, is it that hilarious?

I thought getting older and
having experience in dating
would result in all of this
**** becoming less confusing...
But it really just feels worse
every time for me.
At the end,
I couldn't even differentiate
the pain and anger from the source.
Did he create this suffering?
Was it my reaction that set the course?
Was this all in my head and I was just overeacting?
Or was I justified to feel this ******?
Even if I was justified, would it have even made a difference?
It really got lost in translation,
and I feel like I got lost in identifying that.
Was this a hypnotic trance from narcissism manipulating the narration or was it using my reaction as an excuse to self-sabotage?
I just want to know what really happened.
I think that's the scariest part.
Am I so broken, I convince myself it was them?
Well, ****.
What are you still reading for?
I don't have the ******* answer.
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