Jettyd22 - Hello Poetry

Lost in translation, lost in anticipation— like a plant you left behind on your windowsill, root-bound and reaching for a sliver of light. I outgrew my *** faster than you ever expected. Your friends stopped by. They marveled at how I still grew under your neglect. They pinched off my dead leaves and offered me a few sips of water from their own cups— just enough to keep me alive for another month or two. I stored every drop in my reserves. My vines stretched wild, creeping across your apartment, claiming space you never gave. You shouldn’t have underestimated me. I was far more invasive than you ever thought. But even the hardiest plants run out of what they’ve saved. And just when you think I’ve fully taken over, my reserves empty. My leaves are crisp and yellow. And exactly as it should have been— I die under your care. I was never meant to be yours.

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Dec 12, 2025

Dec 12, 2025 at 9:47 AM UTC

The plant that you forgot

Lost in translation, lost in anticipation— like a plant you left behind on your windowsill, root-bound and reaching for a sliver of light. I outgrew my *** faster than you ever expected. Your friends stopped by. They marveled at how I still grew under your neglect. They pinched off my dead leaves and offered me a few sips of water from their own cups— just enough to keep me alive for another month or two. I stored every drop in my reserves. My vines stretched wild, creeping across your apartment, claiming space you never gave. You shouldn’t have underestimated me. I was far more invasive than you ever thought. But even the hardiest plants run out of what they’ve saved. And just when you think I’ve fully taken over, my reserves empty. My leaves are crisp and yellow. And exactly as it should have been— I die under your care. I was never meant to be yours.

29

It started in our twenties. She doesn’t have a care in the world, and I’m already breaking myself trying to love you right. She’s making you mixed CDs, eating the dinner I made, wearing that stupid smile that tells me she thinks she’s won. You’re leaving her cryptic love notes on social media while I sit alone in the house we built. You’re out with our friends. You’re erasing me, and I’m watching myself fade in real time. I’m holding everything together as you pull it apart. I throw up every time I picture her hands on you. I dig my nails into my palms while you shoot tequila like none of this matters. I pray the rest of my twenties will be kinder than this. But it feels like I’m breathing in the dirt you bury me with. Our friends toast the version of me I can’t be anymore She’s holding your hand. She knows about your hidden scar. I realize she’s already living in the space I used to fill. And finally, I collapse— from what my twenties were supposed to be, from who you were supposed to be, from the weight I carried alone, from not being enough, from heartbreak, from growing up.

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Dec 12, 2025

Dec 12, 2025 at 9:45 AM UTC

The other girl

It started in our twenties. She doesn’t have a care in the world, and I’m already breaking myself trying to love you right. She’s making you mixed CDs, eating the dinner I made, wearing that stupid smile that tells me she thinks she’s won. You’re leaving her cryptic love notes on social media while I sit alone in the house we built. You’re out with our friends. You’re erasing me, and I’m watching myself fade in real time. I’m holding everything together as you pull it apart. I throw up every time I picture her hands on you. I dig my nails into my palms while you shoot tequila like none of this matters. I pray the rest of my twenties will be kinder than this. But it feels like I’m breathing in the dirt you bury me with. Our friends toast the version of me I can’t be anymore She’s holding your hand. She knows about your hidden scar. I realize she’s already living in the space I used to fill. And finally, I collapse— from what my twenties were supposed to be, from who you were supposed to be, from the weight I carried alone, from not being enough, from heartbreak, from growing up.

38

I don’t want the sunshine, I don’t want the rain, I don’t want the moon— I just want your ocean to cover me in its waves. Lick the salt from my wounds, shake the sand from my hair. Crash into my shore. Cradle me in your sea. Rock me in your depths. It’s you that I need. I’ll call you my Neptune. Under your clouded sky I’ll swim in the starlight, holding you in my hands. I don’t want the sunshine, I don’t want the rain, I don’t want the moon— I just want your ocean to cover me in its waves and for you to lick the salt from my wounds.

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Dec 12, 2025

Dec 12, 2025 at 9:43 AM UTC

Neptune

I don’t want the sunshine, I don’t want the rain, I don’t want the moon— I just want your ocean to cover me in its waves. Lick the salt from my wounds, shake the sand from my hair. Crash into my shore. Cradle me in your sea. Rock me in your depths. It’s you that I need. I’ll call you my Neptune. Under your clouded sky I’ll swim in the starlight, holding you in my hands. I don’t want the sunshine, I don’t want the rain, I don’t want the moon— I just want your ocean to cover me in its waves and for you to lick the salt from my wounds.

19

There are wolves in my garden, ripping the rabbits apart. This illness seeps off my skin. All I can do is let them in. There are wolves in my house, sweet-talking and cruel as can be— they won’t be tamed. My furniture torn to bits, teeth marks embedded in the wood. Everything I once loved is missing; it’s gone for good. They say I am too sentimental, that I need too much. There are wolves in my bath; I can’t get clean. The stench of desperation circles us. There are wolves in my lap calling me “baby.” They’ve disconnected the phones— they keep me quiet in my own home. I can’t get free; please just let me be. There are wolves in my bed, curled against me, breathing down my neck. They mutter sweetly, “baby.” I tell myself I am wild too, I can’t be tamed. They forget that I have teeth too. But still, there are wolves.

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Dec 12, 2025

Dec 12, 2025 at 9:42 AM UTC

Wolves

There are wolves in my garden, ripping the rabbits apart. This illness seeps off my skin. All I can do is let them in. There are wolves in my house, sweet-talking and cruel as can be— they won’t be tamed. My furniture torn to bits, teeth marks embedded in the wood. Everything I once loved is missing; it’s gone for good. They say I am too sentimental, that I need too much. There are wolves in my bath; I can’t get clean. The stench of desperation circles us. There are wolves in my lap calling me “baby.” They’ve disconnected the phones— they keep me quiet in my own home. I can’t get free; please just let me be. There are wolves in my bed, curled against me, breathing down my neck. They mutter sweetly, “baby.” I tell myself I am wild too, I can’t be tamed. They forget that I have teeth too. But still, there are wolves.

23

Your voice is honey slipping down my throat, my skin prickling as you lay your claim— not once, but a thousand times. It’s always the same rush, the same familiar high. I touched your hand for the first time as you drove us into the dark, lit only by passing streetlights. The air was thick with anticipation, with the promise of something I still can’t name.I soak in your every word. I want to wear them on my skin, taste them whenever I breathe. Everything else stings in comparison— the buzzing in my ears, a small sacrifice. You lean in to whisper a story, your breath warm against my neck. My sweat clings to your skin, and I drink you in, sweet as honey sliding down my throat. The humid Memphis night keeps me guessing.

0

Dec 12, 2025

Dec 12, 2025 at 9:41 AM UTC

The Sting

Your voice is honey slipping down my throat, my skin prickling as you lay your claim— not once, but a thousand times. It’s always the same rush, the same familiar high. I touched your hand for the first time as you drove us into the dark, lit only by passing streetlights. The air was thick with anticipation, with the promise of something I still can’t name.I soak in your every word. I want to wear them on my skin, taste them whenever I breathe. Everything else stings in comparison— the buzzing in my ears, a small sacrifice. You lean in to whisper a story, your breath warm against my neck. My sweat clings to your skin, and I drink you in, sweet as honey sliding down my throat. The humid Memphis night keeps me guessing.

19