Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 Oct 2024 J J
Malia
Oxygen
 Oct 2024 J J
Malia
i was messy crying but you
took me into your arms and
told me that you loved me
and that i would be okay.
i am far too scared to let you see
my tears, most of the time,
but sometimes they break free
and i color blue outside my lines.
i thought, somehow, you would leave
me to my tears, alone, but you
did not, and picked me up, brushed off
the dirt, and let the dam break.
it is not always like this, but today
you keep me safe.
the inside of my mind was as harsh
as any bleach, corrosive, acid,
so harsh it needed a warning sign,
so harsh that i could hardly survive,
but now it is quiet and warm and suddenly
i can breathe again when i thought that
the oxygen had run out.
 Sep 2024 J J
Malia
i’m sorry
 Sep 2024 J J
Malia
I struggle between the truth and peace
Balancing on this crystal beam—
So fragile, on the edge of breaking
As I try to make myself lighter
To keep it in place.

I keep it in place
And it keeps me in pieces.
I would shrivel to nothing
For this.
I would disappear—
Just say the word.

I’m sorry.
How many more times
Must I say it?

I’m sorry.
You never said that to me.

I know I’m the one in the wrong
But it hurts like white-hot tongs
And I cannot ever sing you this song
So I let go of the pain and move on.
is it dramatic? is this feeling too dramatic?
 Sep 2024 J J
Poetoftheway
Perhaps
you divined
everything, each word,
is musically inserted
in the bonds tween us

Them
those
poems that untie with
shoelace knots so quick
reveling, seeing her bare back,
is but a bridge over waters
that demands crossing,
for a mid-way joining

When the night is dark,
trembling, each, we stand
by each other, tumble &
fall where we stand

Anyone can see, our unique
trinity, the admixture of
she-me-us, as we untwine
rolling downwards
on a staircase to Heaven,

Nothing makes me wonder
  more; she is east, smoothie~polished,
  me rough hewn from cacti
  and dusty dirt, the only thing
  polished is the tune, sung to her,
  much practiced, strummed upon
  her cheeks, hummed into her soul

If
I had a box of wishes,
  they would each be a
  song that we sing, that
   made angels cry
you should be able to divine
exactly which songs were heard
while scribbling this
 Sep 2024 J J
Maria Etre
Deaf Ears
 Sep 2024 J J
Maria Etre
Maybe my poems
have fallen on deaf ears
to a point
where
they lost
their
voice
 Sep 2024 J J
Kalliope
Bus Stopped
 Sep 2024 J J
Kalliope
I hang onto your every last word like it's the last bus home at midnight but the driver is inconsistent and now I'm stranded.
Do I wait under the flickering lights
Or
Do I start my walk home alone
Next page