fabiana - Hello Poetry

Cultivo una rosa blanca en junio como en enero para el amigo sincero que me da su mano franca.. y para el cruel que me aranca el corazon cardos ni ortigas, cultivo una rosa blanca jose marti

0

Feb 24, 2014

Feb 24, 2014 at 12:43 AM UTC

fabiana

cultivo una rosa blanca

Cultivo una rosa blanca en junio como en enero para el amigo sincero que me da su mano franca.. y para el cruel que me aranca el corazon cardos ni ortigas, cultivo una rosa blanca jose marti

2

I dont wanna ******* write a love poem. i remember laying beside Ray, and i remember feeling this euphoria like ive met him in another life.. i knew him. We didnt speak we just looked at each other. words meant nothing i knew exactly what he was thinking and he knew what i was thinking. I love him.

0

Feb 24, 2014

Feb 24, 2014 at 12:36 AM UTC

fabiana

Rays of sunshine.

I dont wanna ******* write a love poem. i remember laying beside Ray, and i remember feeling this euphoria like ive met him in another life.. i knew him. We didnt speak we just looked at each other. words meant nothing i knew exactly what he was thinking and he knew what i was thinking. I love him.

2

The talk and the sound of secrets and hate it all means nothing when you are alone with an open heart and you see the true world. the moon shines you know what love means the wind blows and touches you and you wonder why you were ever scared in the first place take chances kiss him or her smile be a young lost soul because this is who you are your love is wroth more than you know and your soul is worth everything

0

Feb 24, 2014

Feb 24, 2014 at 12:32 AM UTC

fabiana

Untitled

The talk and the sound of secrets and hate it all means nothing when you are alone with an open heart and you see the true world. the moon shines you know what love means the wind blows and touches you and you wonder why you were ever scared in the first place take chances kiss him or her smile be a young lost soul because this is who you are your love is wroth more than you know and your soul is worth everything

1

" the summer after I graduated high school, I felt so alone and I swore to God no one could rip that out of my hands, but then I met you and everything I ever thought was sacred buried itself in the sand. You drew me mountaintop pages of bears and sunsets and how you pictured me. I sat in the valley and painted Starry Night on the underside of your tongue and hoped it would make me feel whole when you kissed me. I swear I didn’t mean to string our emptiness together and then go kicking and screaming when the earth below our feet opened up and I fell in with you. I told myself I ******* loved it. I told myself that I was not lonely. I promised myself this wouldn’t be another poem apologizing for all the things I said about you after I left. I promised myself I would allow it to finally sink in that you were not good for me. You were a fire that burned every inch of my skin, and for awhile, I swear I loved to hurt. You lived by the ocean and when I had to leave you gave me a conch shell, so I could always hear the way the waves tossed and turned outside your bedroom window. It’s been ten months and the pieces of that cracked shell still lay on my window sill. I still hear the waves in my nightmares, I still wear the laugh lines you gave me, and I swear I still see your hand holding mine some days. We were not all bad, I know this. But we were not all good, either. I’ve been stuck on this poem for three hours. It is time. It is time for this poem to come out and be written, but I cannot seem to get the words right. Let me be blunt: I have been bitter about our train wreck relationship and how you treated me like an abandoned motel for a very long time now. I am tired. I am tired of being bitter for very valid reasons. Listen, I do not want to be your friend. I don’t ever want to see you again, but if I can write you out of my system one last time, then maybe my head will finally clear out all of your **** Maybe, once and for all my heart can let out a sigh of relief for everything I kept holding onto just so I could write this poem, just so I could say goodbye to your ghost, still hanging around my ribs as if I belonged to you. Last year, on Valentine’s Day, I received your drawing in the mail and I gushed over the thoughtfulness of it. That drawing is what eventually made me write you the longest letter I have ever written, confessing to you that I was broken in all the wrong ways. I asked you to fix me. When we broke up a few months later, I became bitter. I do not know if I was bitter because you could not fix me or bitter over the fact that you tried to put me back together by using your hands. You only ever knew how to use your hands. I took a trip to the beach last week and you did not cross my mind once. I survived my first ice storm and I did not think to call you to let you know I was okay. I finally threw away your letters and your drawings and reclaimed my body out of the landfill. I have shed the skin you used to love and grown my hair out six inches past the length you said I should. I have been bitter a very long time. Tonight, I let go.

0

Feb 23, 2014

Feb 23, 2014 at 5:41 PM UTC

fabiana

Untitled

" the summer after I graduated high school, I felt so alone and I swore to God no one could rip that out of my hands, but then I met you and everything I ever thought was sacred buried itself in the sand. You drew me mountaintop pages of bears and sunsets and how you pictured me. I sat in the valley and painted Starry Night on the underside of your tongue and hoped it would make me feel whole when you kissed me. I swear I didn’t mean to string our emptiness together and then go kicking and screaming when the earth below our feet opened up and I fell in with you. I told myself I ******* loved it. I told myself that I was not lonely. I promised myself this wouldn’t be another poem apologizing for all the things I said about you after I left. I promised myself I would allow it to finally sink in that you were not good for me. You were a fire that burned every inch of my skin, and for awhile, I swear I loved to hurt. You lived by the ocean and when I had to leave you gave me a conch shell, so I could always hear the way the waves tossed and turned outside your bedroom window. It’s been ten months and the pieces of that cracked shell still lay on my window sill. I still hear the waves in my nightmares, I still wear the laugh lines you gave me, and I swear I still see your hand holding mine some days. We were not all bad, I know this. But we were not all good, either. I’ve been stuck on this poem for three hours. It is time. It is time for this poem to come out and be written, but I cannot seem to get the words right. Let me be blunt: I have been bitter about our train wreck relationship and how you treated me like an abandoned motel for a very long time now. I am tired. I am tired of being bitter for very valid reasons. Listen, I do not want to be your friend. I don’t ever want to see you again, but if I can write you out of my system one last time, then maybe my head will finally clear out all of your **** Maybe, once and for all my heart can let out a sigh of relief for everything I kept holding onto just so I could write this poem, just so I could say goodbye to your ghost, still hanging around my ribs as if I belonged to you. Last year, on Valentine’s Day, I received your drawing in the mail and I gushed over the thoughtfulness of it. That drawing is what eventually made me write you the longest letter I have ever written, confessing to you that I was broken in all the wrong ways. I asked you to fix me. When we broke up a few months later, I became bitter. I do not know if I was bitter because you could not fix me or bitter over the fact that you tried to put me back together by using your hands. You only ever knew how to use your hands. I took a trip to the beach last week and you did not cross my mind once. I survived my first ice storm and I did not think to call you to let you know I was okay. I finally threw away your letters and your drawings and reclaimed my body out of the landfill. I have shed the skin you used to love and grown my hair out six inches past the length you said I should. I have been bitter a very long time. Tonight, I let go.

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