Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
 Nov 2014 Hannah
kendall
Untitled
 Nov 2014 Hannah
kendall
single and never going to mingle again unless they're someone absolutely special or He comes back.

people are slowly finding out that i'm no longer in a relationship and girls will hit on me in the hallway and kiss my cheek and asking for a nice sloppy kiss on the mouth.
i wish i was strong enough to kiss those pretty girls right on the mouth and completely forget about Him.

but i wont, because i cant, i feel like i'm cheating on Him in some way even though he's already gone and completely forgotten i exist.
(completely erased me even though He loved me for 15 months.)

i want to talk to Him, thinking of Him keeps me up at night crying, seeing Him makes me cry and feel nauseous, watching Him be fine makes me angry, i'm terrified of Him after he left me with a broken heart.

(there's so much power a person has when they have your heart in their hand and can crush it at any moment, it's scary.)

it makes me happy when people say,

"I can't belive he broke up with you. He has no idea what he just lost, you're so amazing and beautiful. Forget him."

but i can't believe it or want to because i love Him. i love Him so much that it's hard to breathe.
i wanna puke
 Nov 2014 Hannah
PrttyBrd
To You
 Nov 2014 Hannah
PrttyBrd
here's to all the beautiful people
with cracked facades and glorious souls
to the ones transparent and forgotten
who's mind's hear in rainbows and see in music
here's to the true odists and bards
who share their laughter and shine through pain
to all the invisibles within which the only true beauty resides
may you always share your truth
may we never become blinded to your grace
11714
 Nov 2014 Hannah
Jaee Derbéssy
Live* before you die.
 Nov 2014 Hannah
tori
not forever
 Nov 2014 Hannah
tori
it's forever and i'm in love

i call you at 2 in the morning
i am crying
"it won't happen again"

it's forever and i'm in love

you text me at 11:57 pm
"we need to talk"
my heart stops
and my throat tightens

it's forever and i'm in love*

my mind wanders to
the pills left in my top drawer
my heart is heavy
and my lungs want to sleep
you come across my mind
and i stay

it's forever and i'm in love

i call you at 2 in the morning
i am crying
"i'm sorry."

*it's not forever and i'm in love
 Nov 2014 Hannah
Christian Bixler
What happens when two lovers meet, twine hand in hand, gaze spellbound into the endless depth of the others eyes, and wishes the moment to last forever? What happens when they kiss, star crossed lovers, bound by love and tragic fate, to part in grief and bitter tears, Their screams echoing up to starry heavens, to fall at last, unheard, unsung, a tragic echo of bitter grief and the scream of tortured hearts, ripped apart, to die in pain and bitter age. White hair streaming, tears falling, he falls at last, succumbs to Time and tragic fate, dies at last, beneath the stars and pale moon, a tragedy for ages gone, A single drop in that endless sea of grief and bitter pain, watered by a constant rain, of broken lives and shattered dreams. For this is life, a bitter gulf, penance for some ancient crime, and though beauty lies in fleeting spaces, rainbows shining, leaves set sighing, by the fragrant breath of an autumn breeze, They are but glimpses, shadows of what we had, for all shall fail and pass away, and the days shall be filled with pain and bitter tears, from now until the end of time. For after all, Autumn is a time of dying.
I hurt. I bleed. The light of ages gone, darkened by a speeding car. I wish.....I wish I had died then, as she did, that I could journey with her out into the vastness of unknown space, two souls set  adrift, to join the throng of wanderers and set ourselves on this last and greatest of journeys together, and to walk for eternity, in our eternal light.
 Nov 2014 Hannah
Sam Knaus
(Inspired by Ethan Smith's poem of the same title.)

You’ve taken so many different pieces
of others’ personalities
and put them together to form me
that I don’t even know who the real me is anymore…
Let alone knowing that I am still partially you,
as much as I hate it,
I have to recognise it…
and what’s more
As much as I hate it,
I don’t hate you
don’t hate the way you still bore a hole
into my heart,
Remember that.
Sarah…
I haven’t said your name in so long
because I’ve spent years trying to convince everyone-
myself included-
that you were gone,
that you are nothing but a distant, fallacious,
distorted memory,
that the thought of you drowns out my reality
and leaves me shaking and broken
and that at the same time,
I haven’t changed a ******* thing about myself,
but we both know that
that’s complete *******.
We are two completely different people,
you made me feel like a prisoner within myself,
but I suppose you were only doing
what you thought needed to do
to survive.
It’s a shame it didn’t work,
I’m sorry, that we ran out of time.
When grandma said her baby girl had died,
that the light had gone from her eyes
she was wrong,
I told her so
but she’d be incorrect to assume that you
are still living inside of me,
instead you are ticking inside of me,
ticking like a bomb waiting to explode,
Sarah.
The name sounds foreign
your eyes are terrifying me
your old friends are boring the hell out of me;
your voice is one I don’t recognise.
Hell, I barely recognise myself anymore
and I guess I have you to thank for that
But remember
as much as I hate the fact
that you still exist inside of me…
I have to recognise that
I can’t hate someone who was me for so long.
 Nov 2014 Hannah
ashley
For all of the months we spent together, I thought of you in neatly organized sentences. “I love you.” Always with a period, because that’s how you know someone really means it. The first word of every sentence about you was capitalized, because you weren’t some sloppy diary entry splattered on an old composition notebook page. You were a carefully crafted novel, bound by alternative rock bands and chinese buffets. You were different, and you could not have possibly been summed up in a measly three paragraph essay, like the one I wrote about Abraham Lincoln in the fifth grade. Every comma was the pause I had to take when I saw you, because I swear each day you continued to take my breath away. And with you, there were no misspellings, there were no grammatical errors. You had flaws, but they were so deeply hidden in between the lines that I didn’t even bother looking for them. I guess that’s why I didn’t notice when I became less and less of a priority. And when the “goodmorning” texts came to an end, that should have been a red flag. Your copy of How to Treat Someone You Love would be similar to a guide on how to take care of a goldfish. “Feed twice a day and change water once a week”. It’s really that simple for you, because you have the mind of an engineer. Logical. Precise. There is no such thing as passion and forgiveness, just empty “I love you”’s. Because you once told me that we are just in high school. You never really explained what that meant, but I got the hint. So I left.
            Because if there’s one thing I realized, it’s that you cannot make someone love you. You cannot make them care, and you cannot make them stay. And it’s one of the hardest things to do, but once you realize it, you get this new sense of… freedom. Not the feeling you get after the last bell on the last day of school, not that. But more like you see the world for all it’s worth, for the first time. Because it feels good to let go of the idea that you need closure. People don’t need closure, they need to turn around and walk away. They need to not put up with the people who wouldn’t put up with them. I don’t need closure on why we ended, I don’t need to know why you never took me back. You made your decisions, and now it’s my turn to make mine. Because if it were meant to be, my birthday would not have passed with nothing more than a text saying “hbd”. Hbd. I guess that’s who you’ve become. Your novel-like qualities have become nothing more than text lingo in the inbox of a teen girl. I swear I use to look at you like you were a poem written by e.e. cummings, but now you’re nothing more than a piece of scrap paper under my bed. And it’s sad because although I don’t know much about love, I knew enough to make you see the world in shades other than black and white like you’ve been raised to see.
            And thinking back on what we had, I see it as an art collection. But it wasn’t structured around the basic principles of primary colors and symmetry. It had life and depth and meaning. Things I could never get you to understand. But now I realize it wasn’t because we had it all wrong, it’s because we try to make it too right. But art isn’t right, it isn’t pretty. It’s brutal and honest, but it makes you feel things that engineers can’t. And I guess that’s what a poet gets for messing around with numbers and figures. I guess what I’m trying to say is, I’ve exhausted every word and every sentence that could possibly be used to talk about you. I paid you the highest form of flattery, I made you into my art piece. I made you dance across the page, and brought what we had to life, because in reality it was dead. I tried to salvage us, but now I’m happy with letting my idea of you go. Because it’s not closure that I need, it’s distance. Especially distance on paper. So as this course comes to end, so does my time spent on you. Some people are better off wrapped up in the laws and theorems, because not even words can make them beautiful.
 Nov 2014 Hannah
Jason Cirkovic
Is there tear gas in this room?
Because I can't stop crying
The gas crawls down my esophagus
And crushes my wounded heart.

“God this hurts”

I keep typing,
Praying to computer screen
That I'll forget the smell of your hair
I type till my fingers bleed
So I can forget what your touch feels like
How our lips fit perfectly together.

“God I hate myself”

The only phrase I think of
When I'm pleading for things to back to normal
Back to the days
Where you didn't want to to crack open my skull
And see all of the ugly things
That drift around my cranium

“Baby please I'm sorry. I’m a mess,
A klutz, who waltzes around with stupidity
Baby I get this feeling in my head
When you are not around
I want to keep writing you these love letters
By sliding them under your doors called your eyelids”
But I can’t

I sit alone in the bus called life
Looking across my seat
I see you, my love
Holding onto the bar
Your pretty Blue headlights
That make me drawn to you
Your pretty Blue headlights
Covered with the rain I caused
I'm a rain man,
you see, when people get close to me
I get scared
And force the skies rain to tears with pain.


The only thing that floats in my mind
Is that I hope the man of you life
Buys you flowers
Sunflowers especially
And shows up to your work unexpectedly.
I hope you can travel to Paris
and keep a long list of all of the countries
you've cuddled in.
With him.
I hope you he can handle seeing the stars
From your eyes every time you guys cuddle
Under the moon light.
I hope he can teach you how to slow dance
And I hope that he can teach me
On how to be a better man.
Next page