starrynight - Hello Poetry

I won't wait anymore, but you can always come back. I already closed the door, but you can always knock and call out my name. I'll gladly open it for you again. Just for you.

0

Dec 18, 2024

Dec 18, 2024 at 8:53 AM UTC

Just For You

I won't wait anymore, but you can always come back. I already closed the door, but you can always knock and call out my name. I'll gladly open it for you again. Just for you.

7

Gone but not really. I'm still here, yet slowly losing grip not intentionally, but because you're pushing me

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Dec 16, 2024

Dec 16, 2024 at 1:45 AM UTC

Gone

Gone but not really. I'm still here, yet slowly losing grip not intentionally, but because you're pushing me

6

To feel a lot is to write nothing. Emotions too intense, as if it's at its peak, that no word is enough to describe or deserves to be well-written. I feel a lot, but I write something. Vague, baffling, puzzling, like the stars up on the sky— certainly it's there, millions, hidden by the clouds, too precious, too deep to describe or to be even seen. I feel a lot, so I write this. Each word is encoded with a heavy heart and weary mind.

0

Dec 12, 2024

Dec 12, 2024 at 8:00 AM UTC

Untitled

To feel a lot is to write nothing. Emotions too intense, as if it's at its peak, that no word is enough to describe or deserves to be well-written. I feel a lot, but I write something. Vague, baffling, puzzling, like the stars up on the sky— certainly it's there, millions, hidden by the clouds, too precious, too deep to describe or to be even seen. I feel a lot, so I write this. Each word is encoded with a heavy heart and weary mind.

21

I miss you so much

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Dec 10, 2024

Dec 10, 2024 at 9:31 AM UTC

What if I kept it all bottled up, Like it didn’t hurt? And what if I chose not to write, As if it didn’t linger in my mind? If it wasn’t a pen I held, Would I have grasped a blade instead? Or would a piece of poem like this Take the place of a suicide note?

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Dec 9, 2024

Dec 9, 2024 at 8:38 AM UTC

If

What if I kept it all bottled up, Like it didn’t hurt? And what if I chose not to write, As if it didn’t linger in my mind? If it wasn’t a pen I held, Would I have grasped a blade instead? Or would a piece of poem like this Take the place of a suicide note?

8

I opened my eyes, Searching for light in the dark. A nightmare had bound me, Cold as ice where I lay. I blinked once, Then a few times more. There it was— Light, peeking through a distant door. My legs, weak from frost, Urged me to crawl. I needn’t open the door to see— A man stood outside, waiting for me. Tears fell, uncontrollably, Like it had been stored In a reservoir of longing and affection, Yearning to be reached. The familiar stranger smiled at me. His eyes looked sad but entirely happy, Like he'd been waiting for this moment, After years of life in torment. He held out his hand. I lifted mine. The moment they touched, I woke—and he was gone

0

Dec 8, 2024

Dec 8, 2024 at 9:19 AM UTC

False Awakening

I opened my eyes, Searching for light in the dark. A nightmare had bound me, Cold as ice where I lay. I blinked once, Then a few times more. There it was— Light, peeking through a distant door. My legs, weak from frost, Urged me to crawl. I needn’t open the door to see— A man stood outside, waiting for me. Tears fell, uncontrollably, Like it had been stored In a reservoir of longing and affection, Yearning to be reached. The familiar stranger smiled at me. His eyes looked sad but entirely happy, Like he'd been waiting for this moment, After years of life in torment. He held out his hand. I lifted mine. The moment they touched, I woke—and he was gone

24