sydrose2018 - Hello Poetry

there is no other point in trying to tell you a story, with all the reasons i ever loved you, and all the reasons why i still loved you after you stopped loving me. and all the reasons why the seasons changed, and you moved on but i stayed, and stayed for so many long hours, as the nights regret me nothing but sleepless tears. there is no reason why the coffee tasted expired in the afternoon, because i overslept for months and neglected my dusty grocery list on the counter, because we were supposed to do it together. besides the fact that i was facing depression that was not curable without the treatment of your love. my hot bedroom that summer gave humidified air, with ventilation of my breath on the brink of dying without your love. it did not equate to the fantasies that you wanted to never burn, but brought the reality of a barely lit candle that was once lit, as you held my body close through those late summer nights. there was no reason my stomach hugged my body tight, as my phone stayed charged to not guarantee a phone call from you, forcing me to cut my bill off or the way i stayed distant from family. because what once was “what is mine is yours” now became the nightmare of just only mine. because i gave you the opportunity to see a future with them, that you never promised to keep, which labeled me as a failure. it was not anything you did to me, but it was everything you did to me, and how you still continue to do everything to me. due to the way i am, and how you know you will live life in regret of not remembering my existence. you will still continue to do everything to break me, to help me hope that i have nothing but the best of the worst, as you look away to tell a different lie upon your sorrowful face, that once had tears that glorified my beauty. it was not any way that you wanted to make me feel, it was the way you wanted to make yourself feel. because you were too young to know the true love that you lost, because i still hold onto everything, every memory, every touch, every smile, every dollar that we last spent to savor our love. because we were worth millions on this earth, more than whatever you have chosen since i have been gone.

0

May 31, 2025

May 31, 2025 at 5:24 AM UTC

when seasons change

there is no other point in trying to tell you a story, with all the reasons i ever loved you, and all the reasons why i still loved you after you stopped loving me. and all the reasons why the seasons changed, and you moved on but i stayed, and stayed for so many long hours, as the nights regret me nothing but sleepless tears. there is no reason why the coffee tasted expired in the afternoon, because i overslept for months and neglected my dusty grocery list on the counter, because we were supposed to do it together. besides the fact that i was facing depression that was not curable without the treatment of your love. my hot bedroom that summer gave humidified air, with ventilation of my breath on the brink of dying without your love. it did not equate to the fantasies that you wanted to never burn, but brought the reality of a barely lit candle that was once lit, as you held my body close through those late summer nights. there was no reason my stomach hugged my body tight, as my phone stayed charged to not guarantee a phone call from you, forcing me to cut my bill off or the way i stayed distant from family. because what once was “what is mine is yours” now became the nightmare of just only mine. because i gave you the opportunity to see a future with them, that you never promised to keep, which labeled me as a failure. it was not anything you did to me, but it was everything you did to me, and how you still continue to do everything to me. due to the way i am, and how you know you will live life in regret of not remembering my existence. you will still continue to do everything to break me, to help me hope that i have nothing but the best of the worst, as you look away to tell a different lie upon your sorrowful face, that once had tears that glorified my beauty. it was not any way that you wanted to make me feel, it was the way you wanted to make yourself feel. because you were too young to know the true love that you lost, because i still hold onto everything, every memory, every touch, every smile, every dollar that we last spent to savor our love. because we were worth millions on this earth, more than whatever you have chosen since i have been gone.

46

i guess the average human takes the maximum of three to four hours to complete laundry. perhaps my procrastination is a perfected performance i love to execute. letting my hamper of clean clothes sit, freshly slept from the dryer, as heat exhausts like a bakery opening its doors on a fresh spring morning after a long winter dawn of hot showers making love of steam to the mirrors that break their kiss with the winds of the bathroom door opening. perhaps folding clothes the same day they’re washed isn't in the vocabulary of my to-do list. maybe it’s because the light peeking through the blinds pulls me into daydreams, where my pillow reminds me of a lost love who once suffocated the life out of me. now i sit here, struggling with folding clothes after a woman’s long, hard work of washing and drying, only to be greeted by another week’s worth of wearing and wearing down. my drawers bloat with clothes that have never seen a moment of my life. saved for first dates, a girls' night out, the day i finally wear my boxed makeup for the perfect photoshoot to post online and pretend i’m okay. but i’m not. just like my closet screams with hangers trying to hold on as time flies by, like the empty bottles of alcohol i’ve lined up like décor instead of scheduling an appointment for an AA meeting. my chore list builds like clutter buying vegetables, stopping at the dollar store for plastic silverware, but i still haven’t found enough quarters to avoid the minimum ten-dollar card charge. so it all builds up just like me lying in bed with undiagnosed agoraphobia that didn’t exist until one rejection broke something soft inside me. it still visits me every night in my sleep. and every week, i lie to my therapist, draining both of us because i can’t think of another excuse to avoid facing what might actually heal me. because those sessions feel like just another chore like my laundry. i guess the laundry sits with me better than the people who left when i needed them the most. at least the clothes stay. and one day, i’ll have to fold them and move on. but today i sit on the floor, with laundry waiting to be folded, reflecting on the rock bottom i never quite climbed out of.

0

Apr 14, 2025

Apr 14, 2025 at 1:02 AM UTC

***** laundry

i guess the average human takes the maximum of three to four hours to complete laundry. perhaps my procrastination is a perfected performance i love to execute. letting my hamper of clean clothes sit, freshly slept from the dryer, as heat exhausts like a bakery opening its doors on a fresh spring morning after a long winter dawn of hot showers making love of steam to the mirrors that break their kiss with the winds of the bathroom door opening. perhaps folding clothes the same day they’re washed isn't in the vocabulary of my to-do list. maybe it’s because the light peeking through the blinds pulls me into daydreams, where my pillow reminds me of a lost love who once suffocated the life out of me. now i sit here, struggling with folding clothes after a woman’s long, hard work of washing and drying, only to be greeted by another week’s worth of wearing and wearing down. my drawers bloat with clothes that have never seen a moment of my life. saved for first dates, a girls' night out, the day i finally wear my boxed makeup for the perfect photoshoot to post online and pretend i’m okay. but i’m not. just like my closet screams with hangers trying to hold on as time flies by, like the empty bottles of alcohol i’ve lined up like décor instead of scheduling an appointment for an AA meeting. my chore list builds like clutter buying vegetables, stopping at the dollar store for plastic silverware, but i still haven’t found enough quarters to avoid the minimum ten-dollar card charge. so it all builds up just like me lying in bed with undiagnosed agoraphobia that didn’t exist until one rejection broke something soft inside me. it still visits me every night in my sleep. and every week, i lie to my therapist, draining both of us because i can’t think of another excuse to avoid facing what might actually heal me. because those sessions feel like just another chore like my laundry. i guess the laundry sits with me better than the people who left when i needed them the most. at least the clothes stay. and one day, i’ll have to fold them and move on. but today i sit on the floor, with laundry waiting to be folded, reflecting on the rock bottom i never quite climbed out of.

52

and that is why she always sleeps. i believe that she finds comfort in her dreams, because that is the realm she is able to escape her reality. she can live the life she wanted to, without any regret of her mistakes, and be united with her daydreams that haunt her in the daylight. that is why she always sleeps, because it is the only thing left she has to rely on. it is the beauty of a second chance at life for her. it is her opportunity to rewrite the story, to live and breathe again without him. she no longer needs to wait for him. she was once a person without him, and now she knows she has permission to be herself again, even if he never comes back. she cannot fully accept it, but she can live, wait, and also start again, even if he doesn’t return. let her sleep.

0

Apr 14, 2025

Apr 14, 2025 at 12:53 AM UTC

let her sleep

and that is why she always sleeps. i believe that she finds comfort in her dreams, because that is the realm she is able to escape her reality. she can live the life she wanted to, without any regret of her mistakes, and be united with her daydreams that haunt her in the daylight. that is why she always sleeps, because it is the only thing left she has to rely on. it is the beauty of a second chance at life for her. it is her opportunity to rewrite the story, to live and breathe again without him. she no longer needs to wait for him. she was once a person without him, and now she knows she has permission to be herself again, even if he never comes back. she cannot fully accept it, but she can live, wait, and also start again, even if he doesn’t return. let her sleep.

19

i am trying to find the advantage in the disadvantage

0

Jun 3, 2022

Jun 3, 2022 at 5:35 PM UTC

balance