Deny the fact
Live in a dream...

The reality was not meant
for some of us.

But if I slit my wrists
and cry
an ocean
then you'll love me,
love me when I'm broken

I grew up being told,
"people won't always remember what you said, but
they'll never forget how you made them feel."

It has been too long
for me to not have
noticed
that you consistently
leave me feeling like
you love
seeing me
hurting.

there are two types of sadness

there’s the kind of sadness
we ignore and
try to get rid of it
by finding new things to do
or we find someone to talk to
by blatantly avoiding any type of conversation
about feeling sad
about having any feelings at all
and then there’s that kind of sadness
that takes over
and it consumes any activity we do
we know it’s there
and there’s no possible way to avoid it
so we feed it exactly what it wants
it craves the sad music
it craves the isolation
it craves the anxiousness
and the sadness comes storming in
it has no manners
here we are calling sadness, an “it”
when all it is
is a feeling
that most people
call home

brother knows you better
brother knows you the best
he stands beside you, steady
as they lay your lover to rest

“i’m sorry,” he whispers, softly and slowly
why is it now that he chooses to be kind?
when all that you have ever wanted
is now six feet under, left behind

weeks later still, he watches you with sorrow
and under the weight of his gaze, you crack
anger flares and strikes
“why do you look at me like that?”

he turns his head away
but you’re stubborn and won’t turn back
“what loss have I suffered that you must be
so sorry, and look at me like that?”  

brother had always been a poet
he had always been soft with words
but the ones that gave his answer
this time, they really did hurt

                                        “tell me,” you had demanded,
                                        your breath puffing under the sun.
                                        he had smiled bitterly as he replied—
                                                        ­                        “a great one.”

She said "I'm falling in love."

I said "I'm falling apart."

life is like a candle

as the wick lights up
we are impregnated

as the wick melts aways the surface,
we are kids, experiencing the firsts

as the wick burn deeper, giving a burning scent
we are teenagers, experiencing good and bad

as the wick melts halfway, with only a beautiful scent
we are halfway, we are with our new family

as the wick continues to heat the frozen wax,
we are warm, together

but as the wick burns the last remaining wax,
we are living the last remaining life

and as the wick blows out
there is no more scent, only smoke, our soul... floating away

our life is like a candle:
we born, we grow, we die
but as long as you keep burning
the wick never dies

I think I've realized the more poems I write about someone the more toxic they are to me

Here's number 25 for you

I suppose that pales in comparison to the thousands I wrote for my first love but I've known you a lot less time

And you've never even been mine

And that's okay

Because at this rate

You never will be.

You would stand in front of the window, naked and raw,
Black tears still stained down your face.
The moon's light doesn't quite frame you the same as it used to.

You think of the days of being illuminated and bright.
Of sunlight dripping off of you as your hands touched
Someone new, someone deserving, someone else.

Nothing since has ever felt as real, as true.
This light has traveled from a quarter-million miles away
To accuse you, cold and pale, cloying to your skin.

Id cry too,
Cry for me,
Cry for you,
Cry every time you see the color blue.
Cry alone in bed,
Cry each night after the prayers that are said.
Fill a bucket full of tears,
Those aren’t yours anymore,
Give them here.

i think that the most damaged people in the world
are the kindest
and the softest

because they know
that scabs can be picked
and you can bleed

She never understands poetry,
with all it's metaphors
and symbology;
no, she is more concrete.

She is not a fan of Shakespeare,
prefers Jane Austen;
clear words,
structure plot.

She does enjoy a drink
and lazy afternoons,
the ocean, the beach.
Most of all she fits.

You are not the love of my life,
You are the life of my love ❤️

It's 11:11
and for the first time
after a very long time
I'm wishing for myself
and not for you

"The worst battle is between what you know, and what you feel"

I felt alive all misty eyed that night I cried,
tears that would slide
all wispy and wide
down cheeks by a bedside that for two weeks had denied you left justified
it’s just a fight I replied but you were right and I lied
alongside actions, transactions, and reactions that tied,
my immaturity and pride,
I guess that PM really magnified how much of me I could hide

Jump back
Jump fourth,
but don't become,
a morph
In computer,
animation of course,
Instead use biology
back into human form,
the sheet protected,
an inside form


© 2021 Carol Natasha Diviney



.

I
Simply
Want
To
Scream.

I am human
and I have lived, and breathed, and seen...
and fallen and stood,
and loved and lost.

And I seek.
And I seek.

And I breathe, and I look, and I live.

And I live.
And I love.
And I see.

In the deep corners of 3am,
I find her.

Stop penning love poems

I loathe all of those

because once I read

I get erratic

asking

from where are these tears
and feelings belonging

I don't burn bridges, I preserve those wonders of old. I let the waters rise, whilst I remain underneath its ridges and contours.

I don't burn bridges, not because that I am mature.

I don't burn bridges, because I am alone; and a bridge is a well travelled road.

I could have been the sun,
the light of your life.
But
You only wanted to know me,
In the dark of the night.

1.Writing poems for you
2.

The emptiness in my eyes,
The truth behind my lies,
The fall before my rise,
And the goodbyes;

It scares me.

The dark beneath my skin,
The light within my sins,
The voice that loudly sings,
And my broken wings;

It scares me.

The wounds I can't heal,
The pain I can't feel,
The loss I can't deal,
And when I am real;

It scares me.

The silence in my little talks,
The stillness in my moonlit walks,
The thought of separate ways,
And my numbered days;

It scares me.

The demons under my bed,
The words spinning in my head,
The blood in my sweat,
And my cold breath;

It scares me.

-Paras Bajaj #PoetrybyParas
Instagram : @mr.parasbajaj

I am a poet,
or I like to call myself one.
My heartaches and heartbreaks give life to empty pages;
I rarely compose from glorious days.
I’m inspired by the world, by people around me
but mostly by my pain.
I consider myself an introvert
for you will rarely hear me speak,
but on the other hand, I have much to say
just not with my lips
but with a pen.
I hide behind ink and paper
ready to write my feelings away.

I am the poetry that I write.

your name is
forbidden in
my mouth
or in my heart
because when
i think about
you;

i'll cry a little more,
hurt a little stronger
love a little softer
because you no longer
make me feel sober

i'm drunk on the
memory of you

Has it been too long
since the last time you truly
felt you were wanted?

8:28 PM
24/2/21

you're a salty and sweet dream
praline and cream

If you could read my mind,
You’d see a thousand papers
Filled with broken poetries
And deadbeat proses
Full of woeful verses
With mournful pieces
Of unfinished stories
That are yet to be written
And failed to be spoken;
If you could read my mind,
You’d hear horrible screams
And earsplitting weeps
From shattered dreams,
Kept in a nasty notepad,
Scribbled on a bed
Of bloodstained words,
Ringing in my head.
If you could read my mind,
You’d see the shadows
That lurk within me;
You’d hear the bellows,
Screeching the words
“I’m tired,”
“I’m a failure,”
“I’m stupid –”
I know it sounds stupid,
It’s pathetically foolish
And seems like *******.
If you could read my mind,
You’d feel the tears
I had ever failed to cry;
You’d see the people
That make the weak weaker;
You’d see the monsters
That consume my head;
You’d hear the hollers
That failed to be freed;
You’d see the heart
That still bleeds and bleeds.
If you could read my mind,
You’d see the face
I’ve failed to show back then,
The face I’ve faked back then.
If you could read my mind,
You’d see a character
I had ever failed to become
If you could read my mind,
You’d be able to read
A book you never wished
To touch and read,
But sometimes I still wish
Someone could read my mind.

I can recall the dates
I can recall the events
I can recall the kisses

Before we went

I remembered nothing.

I love him
I tell myself
I know that
We will be together forever
I don’t believe that
We could be separated
My thoughts tell me that
He’s the love of my life
Sometimes my heart lies and says
I could live an eternity
Without him
Like my friends say
“We’re perfect for each other”
And you can’t tell me
He’s not the one.

Now read from bottom to top.

The hurt may go away
but your memory will
forever rest in my soul.

A broken heart for sale
Can be mended
With a bit of Love
And affection
With some Warmth
And tender hugs.

A broken heart
Waiting and yearning

A.Hana