I once drank stars from your silver tongue,
believed your verses were spun from sun—
eight years of echoes in a golden cage,
each line a spell, each smile a stage.
You scattered words like wild rain,
and I, too naive, mistook them for pain
worth keeping—thinking thunder meant depth,
and silence meant you had nothing left.
I read you now with eyes grown wise,
and see no fire behind those skies.
Your poems crumble, dressed in dust—
not broken hearts, just broken trust.
Yet I feel no burn, no bitter flame.
You've long since lost the weight of your name.
Sometimes you drift like smoke through my mind—
not cruel, not kind—just once, confined.
And me? I walk with quieter feet,
no longer waiting, chasing heat.
You taught me much, though not with grace:
how to leave without a trace.
Jun 13, 2025
Jun 13, 2025 at 11:07 AM UTC
Your eyes
blue
like sea glass
tumbled and polished
by the ocean
battles fought
on rough waters
tides turning
truth
Jan 21, 2022
Jan 21, 2022 at 4:24 AM UTC
I haven’t forgotten
the sound of your voice
or the way lines form
next to your eyes
when you smile
Though
I’m sure you’ve forgotten
those things about me
and everyday that passes
I think less and less
about that
or whether or not
you think of me or
if you lose sleep at night
like I did over you
The earth still turns
the sun still shines
and today is still today
with or without you
Jan 21, 2022
Jan 21, 2022 at 4:03 AM UTC
And then
quite unexpectedly
the sound of your laugh
unties the knots
I have been keeping around my soul
your eyes
are intense
and I’m scared
don’t make me regret this
please.
“Hello.”
Jan 2, 2022
Jan 2, 2022 at 12:54 AM UTC
You weren’t real
Thats why you were never there
when I needed you
Dec 31, 2021
Dec 31, 2021 at 1:34 PM UTC
Dear JC
Thanks for the gift
Its good to know I float
through your mind
every now and then
You should have given it
to the person who's
always on your mind
your new favorite person
your new best friend
At least you would have
spelled her name correctly
Dec 26, 2021
Dec 26, 2021 at 9:18 PM UTC
He was my love story.
And it seemed as though, to him,
I was nothing more
than a momentary experience.
Not a chapter.
Not even a page.
Footnotes.
I was footnotes.
The part no one reads,
but seen at the bottom
just before turning the page.
Dec 18, 2021
Dec 18, 2021 at 6:23 AM UTC
Behind me always,
a kingdom of spirit
war-torn, but
courageous.
Inside of me,
a haunted house
imperfect, but still
deserving.
True beauty
is not of body
or face
It is a thing of soul
It is of fire and air,
of breath and spirit
It is something
brave and unafraid
Dec 15, 2021
Dec 15, 2021 at 7:40 AM UTC
One day
“hopefully sooner rather than later”
(thats what you said in your email)
it will be someone else's hands
brushing my hair
away from my face
just before he kisses me
someone else's eyes
watching me sleep
when I can finally
let them lay next to me
someone else's voice
asking me
what I'm thinking
when I get too quiet
and I will be thinking of you
wondering if
you’re thinking of me
knowing you’re not
and if you do its when
you have nothing better
to think about
I’ll remind myself
it was because you
wanted someone
who wasn’t me
and I will smile at
this hypothetical man
hopefully he will believe my smile
and tell him I was
thinking about my favorite poem
because you were
all my favorite poems
even if I wasn’t yours
Dec 15, 2021
Dec 15, 2021 at 6:40 AM UTC
I loved none of you
except for one
my imaginary best friend
Dec 15, 2021
Dec 15, 2021 at 6:28 AM UTC