Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
i can't stop thinking about you and how warm your back was from the sun when i put my hands on your shoulder blades and i walked into my kitchen earlier and i smelt you which was strange because you've never been in my house and also because i can't believe how close my lips came to your neck today and i can't stop thinking about you.
monday 22nd december '14 ~  'the first date man, i didn't kiss her and i should have'
i have a a cd of my favourite songs ('thinking of you' the very first on the album) wrapped in christmas paper, a present i never ended up mailing. a burned dvd of my dance concert (do you have any videos of you? you had asked) buried beneath a pile of books in my bedroom, patiently waiting to be given to you. there's a succulent on my windowsill, basking in the sunlight, facing towards the road, seeking your presence, your nurturing touch (you will never hold it's soil between your fingertips). i wrote a letter a month ago and never addressed it.
a plane ticket lies in my waste basket, ripped in a thousand pieces (much like my heart) in a moment of bitter rage. you don't know that, though. i bet you're waiting in england, kicking yourself for giving me such a hopeful present when i never gave you a thing (i never got the chance to).
monday 29th december '14 ~ would it be wrong to give your presents to my new boyfriend?
 Oct 2014 Ruthie
Modern Serenity
When we were little we didn't care
we would be scribbling everywhere
Grown Up's telling us to gather around
be very still and don't dare to make a sound!

The things we would tell our parents blew there minds
they were always learning us to be kind
Teachers and Parents taught us how to share
and it was truly up to us if we actually cared

Can you remember when you couldn't reach anything at all?
we were midgets about 2ft tall
Sticky fingers, scabs on knees and mind gone wild
all the things valued in a beloved life of a child
#Young
 Oct 2014 Ruthie
Skylar
you
 Oct 2014 Ruthie
Skylar
you
"And how beautiful it is to be so addicted to a drug that isn't sold on the streets"
-*you
 Oct 2014 Ruthie
Skylar
control
 Oct 2014 Ruthie
Skylar
Getting attached to someone
Is the one most ******
Up things you can do

Once you're attached
There's no turning back
It becomes too late before
You even realize

It is terrifying when you
Realize that someone else
Is in control of your
happiness

Because when they walk away
You find yourself stuck
Attempting to re-gain
Control of yourself.

**I Hate This
 Oct 2014 Ruthie
VG E Bacungan
The world where I stood was a desert
thirsty for a pint of rain;
longing for a kiss that never came.
Not until you did.

Everything started with a droplet of your essence,
Out of nowhere. Unexpected.
YOU... yes you MANIFESTED.
Without notice, you took me by surprise.
A beautiful surprise I say.
For the first time in a while I felt,
my worries washed away by your presence.
Hot sand turned mud where then I lay.

In those moments I lost,
all anxieties brought by drought.
When through the years I thought
I'd never touch the rain I ought
to ardently pray for every night.
Imbued I was with your* "love".

clothes soaked. body wet. soul drunk.

your name the promise I mutter through the drizzle.
This body jived to the beat of a million sizzle.

Moments passed faster than it seemed.
I, taken away by lust of a parched soul.


I slurped. I gulped. I glugged.

as much as I could, never thinking of
what I would drink in the latter.
When the land runs dry;
when then again,
I'm deprived of water.

So then, what caught me by surprise,
left without a word... woah,
SURPRISE!
everything turned back the way it was;
an arid heart in a blink of an eye.

But what makes me wonder is this delusive sense,
of your cooling touch amidst this false pretense;


I smell–
Your scent stick to my chest like perfume odour.
My nostrils clogged with the aroma of your neck.
A waft that distorts the senses of this
consumed man.

Thoughts of you linger long after you are gone...
*Like the fragrance of rain that stays after the downpour.
A poem
for her.
or maybe
for myself.

#MovedOn
Next page