Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Haley Rezac Oct 2013
Depression is not
beautiful, though it can make
one hell of a poem.
Haley Rezac Sep 2013
You act as if I planned for this
but you don’t know the half of it,
you haven’t a single clue.

You could never understand
my love for rain;
how beautiful it is even after the wind subsides
bringing petrichor.
I wanted to dance beneath it--
you said people would stare
I did so anyways and
watched as you walked away.

You never bothered to decipher
my love for music
or the particular webs of notes
that made my heart strum like a six string
no--you never bothered looking for a pick.
Your only concern was how my preferred genre
contrasted from yours.

You never once fathomed
watching a full movie
without touching your lips
to mine
never truly grasped the scene
or fell in love with any of the characters
got offended when I forced you
to keep your eyes on the screen--
we were in a theater, for God’s sake.

We never spent a single day alone
at your house, nor mine,
never lazed around
watching the day go by around us
while baking fatty desserts,
not watching our favorite movies
playing stupid board games
I would have loved it
but no--when we weren’t with our friends
you were begging on your knees
for me to be in the same position
wouldn’t take no for an answer.

You once asked the medical
definition of depression,
never inquired for more.
Never unraveled the ribbons that tumbled
out of the dusty corners of my brain
late at night
when I couldn’t wipe the tears away
fast enough.
Never respected the days
where I woke up
wishing I didn’t wake up
I just wanted to be left alone
quit trying to hold my hand
you’re just ******* me off
.
No--all you ever said
when those days came and went
was, “I’m sorry”.

Parts of this were my fault too--
I could’ve tried harder
to make you understand--
but the more I distanced myself
the more comfortable I felt.

You never claimed to be a poet, Dear,
but I did;
I claim it each and every day.
You never read the words
I asked you to
but the one good thing
I’ve held on to from our time together
are all the poems I’ve written of you,
all of the words that have collected themselves
to form the patchwork essence of
who you are
and I have finally come to understand
even though you probably haven’t
perhaps you never will
but for this,
I thank you kindly.
Haley Rezac Sep 2013
Although you've locked yourself away
and your whole world has turned to gray
I hope your mind has settled down
and you no longer feel you're bound.
I hope the seraphs in the sky
give you lessons on how to fly
and even though we are apart
I pray that you still cross your heart;
that you'll not try to follow me
and you forever hesitate to be
another angel in the sky:
one that's clueless on how to fly.
Haley Rezac Sep 2013
He fell in love
with a poet
and that is enough
tragedy
to last a lifetime.
Haley Rezac Sep 2013
ii.
He fell in love
with a poet
tried to understand
the seemingly random
phrases
continuously tumbling
from her mouth
but he could not keep up
with her thoughts

she was eventually tired
of waiting
left him behind
as he was still processing
her final
sentence.

Barely even noticed
her absence
lost in a sea of
irreparable, misunderstood
words.
Haley Rezac Sep 2013
i.
He fell in love
with a poet
and prayed for a meaning
to her words
but God, her insight
overpowered
what was their's
and soon her words
were gone;
so was
she.
Haley Rezac Sep 2013
Love tumbles quietly down the small of your back
interrupts our mumbled arguments
and lingers in the pads of your fingertips.

You've been waiting for me to notice,
dropping little hints of worn gratitude--
segments that have been used in great quantities;

the previous recipients were oblivious
to the warmth of these words and actions
but I'm starting to sense fire under my skin--

I can smell the smoke.
Next page