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13.6k · May 2019
We like each other, okay?
Candlewood May 2019
I don’t know how to love you.
He broke me down like
the longest math equation.
But, in the process of solving he found
no solution. Only lost numbers
memories stuck on the chalkboard.

You say you’re too broken too.
But now you’re here.
Confused and softened possibly
Definitely afraid.

And in this moment my mind
flushed with all of the feelings I kept in
my little locked box.
The cherishment I have for you and the
care and want that come along with
you. I wanted you. I want you.
But my brain tells me I don’t.

So my words are broken but my mind
is made up.

I want to be with you but you
don’t want to be with a
f—- up.
I liked this boy for a long time. We dated for a bit but he didint like me so we ended things, we are still vERY close friends. I still like him to this day and I have since our relationship. He’s been really intimate lately and I set some boundaries because “he doesn’t like me.” I also don’t know how to have any sort of contact with anyone because my ex boyfriend was so possessive of me so now any physical contact makes me think that people are being romantic—which is obviously not the case. The guy I like is really touchy that’s why I put those boundaries. And today, he texted me and told me he now wants to go out, he didint ant to the first time because he had just gotten out of a breakup. But the way he said it was very vague. So, I didint want to asume anything, so I said “okay?” And he got very upset. Now I’m hoping things work out because I’m lonely and really like him. Let’s jsut hope my awkwardness doesn’t **** me.
344 · May 2019
Wow, here I am.
Candlewood May 2019
Crazy, huh?
I was born and that’s weird. But here I am I guess.
Candlewood May 2019
It’s like a splitting sensation.
Like a thousand screws are twisting
within you.

He went quick and painfully.
And although he didn’t suffer
much it still brings me no comfort that he’s gone.

"In heaven."

F—k that.

He’s gone and I can’t fix it.
He died. No one to hold him.
No one to pray with him to the god he so loved.

No one to call his wife, no one to call his kids,
No one to do anything for a man

F—k that.

Don’t tell me it’ll get better.
Don’t tell me it’ll get easier.
Don’t tell me he lives a good life
or believed in the lord in heaven.
Don’t tell me he’s happy now

He’s was happy then.

So let me cry my memories out
until he raises again.

He’s in a box, on display,
like tissues in a kindergarden classroom.

F—k that.

Let me cry. Let me live. Let me eat
until I ache. Let me yell and punch and scream
about how I loved him and how he’s
never coming back.

We’re all disposable, like those tissues I suppose.

But that doesn’t help.
It never does.

So leave me alone
stop talking to me
and let me get over him.
Sonder: n. the realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own—populated with their own ambitions, friends, routines, worries and inherited craziness—an epic story that continues invisibly around you like an anthill sprawling deep underground, with elaborate passageways to thousands of other lives that you’ll never know existed, in which you might appear only once, as an extra sipping coffee in the background, as a blur of traffic passing on the highway, as a lighted window at dusk.

Anemoia: Nostalgia For A Time You've Never Known.
219 · Aug 2019
The boy to the left?
Candlewood Aug 2019
I look to you a smile.
Why is that?

I don’t even know your last name.

But I turn to you
in the middle of our
geometry lesson and that
stubbly face and gap between your teeth,
I always smile.
200 · Jan 2019
Believe me, it hurts.
Candlewood Jan 2019
It hurt
that hand in my skin.
But what hurts more
is when you shouted

"You deserve it."

That stung more than a bee every could,
That bit harder than any rabid dog could
even dream of; if I could dream, that is.

Although now that you’ve struck me,
I no longer have dreams.

You say you’re lonely and angry
maybe that’s what you deserve
to feel at treacherous as the roughest seas.

to feel worthless.

like me.

I’m not like you though,
even though you’ve struck me
It brushes off when that
metal friend of mine paints
lovely pictures with my skin.

Then I am happy.
and you are happy.
and although it hurt.
I suppose it all works out.

But that’s not what either of us
197 · Sep 2019
9/18/19 10:32am
Candlewood Sep 2019
He seems sad today.
Maybe his cat died,
or his girlfriend left,
but there’s a sadness in him.

But he still smiles big and
teaches with his big, open
138 · Sep 2019
Eating me.
Candlewood Sep 2019
My ankle is infected and I’m in
walking class
straight out of marching band.

A whole show
two whole hours
four days straight.


I wish my legs would just give out.
Like my mind.
121 · May 2019
I want to make you moan.
Candlewood May 2019
But we’re just friends.
118 · Aug 2019
Teddy Bear man.
Candlewood Aug 2019
He’s a big man,
but he’s gotten smaller.

His smile and perks are radiant this
3-minutes-past morning.

He shines through even though
the thunder is slamming
down on the roof of
the labyrinth that is the School.

He’s really cute,
in that stylish, yet masculine
man way.

I’m really glad he’s here.
He makes it better.
116 · Aug 2019
Candlewood Aug 2019
My face goes a deep red,
melting in like the slap of skin,
leaving tension and darkened marks.

Wow, more.

His hands are perfect,

like a noose, but you
give me life.






Candlewood Aug 2019
The prickly surface.

My fingers always find my way to you.

But your longer arms,

Hold me while we watch
Freedom Writers.
The others.
Candlewood May 2019
I don’t like happy poetry.
People loving and laughing and smiling.

I like it when people twist through their
ever existing thoughts and manage to
tear out shreds of the universe.

I like it when people cry so hard they wake up
the next day feeling like they could climb a mountain.

It’s not healthy. But poetry is life.
And a happy and perfect life is boring.

I hope you’re happy. I hope you’re sad. But I hope it’s the best sad. Get sad, write some good poems. I’d love to read them.
100 · Aug 2019
Home with myself.
Candlewood Aug 2019
I can’t wait to meet me.
I hope they’re happier.
But I am happy also.

I’m sure we'll get along just fine.
Candlewood Aug 2019
Choir room.
Cold marble floors and hard plastic chairs.

Just like me.

But he’s there,
I can see him, I can feel his
scorn harshly across
the room.

I can smell him, even after filling
my nose with others.

His smell.
I love it but it’s hurting me.

I’m gonna explode in here,
I need to leave.

I take a bathroom break but I come back and his smell is ten times stronger. I wanna cry. I also want him in my arms.

But he doesn’t want me,
and that’s fine,
but that "second chance" always
sits in the back in my pocket,
Whether it’s the second or not.

And that’s probably the worst part.

I love him.
57 · Jan 2020
Peach Ring
Candlewood Jan 2020
You are my favorite poem,
dear. But you are so unwritten.

— The End —