I remember when we were friends and
we could just sit and listen to music in your room.
The Beatles want to hold your hand,
but I thought Not nearly so much as I do.

When we weren't dancing to old grooves,
or laughing about the newest fad,
I'd see a glimpse in your eyes of the true
sadness that you had; Those eyes were so **** sad.

That's where it began, I think.
The sadness is what made you beautiful to me.
I tried to hold your hand, that night,
but you pulled it in horror away from me.

Though the way you recoiled from my touch alarmed my soul,
I wasn't surprised to know. Still, it hurt, I'll admit,
it hurt more than words could describe for me to know
you for you: a beautiful puzzle piece for which I was not the right fit.

I remember the days, though they seem so long ago.
I remember when we were such fast friends.
When we weren't, (I wasn't surprised to know)
that's where our story dies bitter; So it ends.

I just clicked the "shuffle" button on the main page, for the first time,
Did y'all know that was there?
Honestly,  it saddened me because all the poems I read only had, on average, about two or three likes and most of them were absolutely amazing!
So, I went to these unknown poets pages and got even sadder, hardly any followers either!  
It's a shame that with all the readers,  poets and writers alike that any poet would go unnoticed.

This is my challenge for you...  It's not to write any poems...
Click the shuffle button! Read the poems, like them, share them, add them,  everything!  

Help the new and upcoming poets get the recognition and feedback they deserve for their writing!  

*Challenge:
1. Click shuffle
2. Read Poems
3. Like and Comment
4. Repeat Ten Times

Te gustaria acostarte a mi lado, y quedate la noche, tal vez?
Como amigos, y nada mas, obviamente.
Mi corazon es mi propio, pero...
puedo prestartelo por una noche, si lo deceas.

Quieres acostarte a mi lado?
Me gustaria mas de lo que puedas saber...
Puedo prestarte mis labios, y yo reciprocaria.
Nuestros latiodos sincronizados, y nuestras pieles relucientes.
Tu me bésarias apasionadamente,

Y quedate la noche, tal vez?
Como amigos, y nada mas, obviamente...

"Found you!" she squeals,
My laugh assaults her senses as I bend my legs out of the tree.
Jerry thinks she's talking to him, and swings out from his own branch.
His feet hit the leafy floor, and she smirks. The smirk is all she needs.
"Found you too, I suppose, Jerry," her voice is the melody of youth,
it rings with games of hide and seek, and the freedom that only children know.

"Found you..." I whisper sadly.
Her tears assault my senses, and I realize that Mike broke up with her.
Jerry thinks Mike is a decent guy, but her makeup tells me otherwise.
Her tears hit the bathroom floor, and she sobs into my shoulder.
My shoulder is all she needs right now, and I give it gladly.
"I just need a moment." She pleads. Her tears will ruin my tuxedo. I realize I don't care. I nod.

Found you, I think. The speech is in ten minutes, but here she is in the park.
I suppose that's what love does to a person. Time becomes meaningless.
Jerry whispers something in her ear, and she giggles, and kisses him.
She thinks her speech is at ten, I realize. Not in ten.
What would she do without me?
I break about fifty traffic laws getting her to the audition.

"Found you!" She scolds. Her veil muffles the reprimand, and she grins.
Her beauty assaults my senses, and I clear my thoughts.
Jerry thinks it's odd that a dude was picked as the Maid of Honor, but...
Her tears mar the lace of her veil, and now it's my turn to scold.
"Tears aren't what you need right now" I joke. "Today isn't the day for that."
"I'm just so happy..." She whispers. I nod, and I smile, and I take my place.
They say their vows, and she turns to him.

"Found you." she whispers, and I know my job is done.
I suppose that's what love does to a person.

Today I put on my most expensive suit,
then sat on the floor and watched Netflix.

She laughed out a challenge and pulled
capturing his heart with her hand and lifting it
like a marionette with aorta strings out of his chair.
Her golden hair, his mud brown hair, their skin bare
as the day they were born.

He brushed against her, and she pulled
his heartstrings again, dancing away, still laughing,
her voice the wind-chimes on his porch; the summer sun
could not shine so bright as her eyes... or was that the marionette
talking? His strings were sore from the movement.

She brushed against him, and he pulled her close
and they felt the strings snap and shivered
in the wintry chill from the bedroom window.
He closed the shades, and he pulled her close,
and she let the strings fall from her hands.
The summer sun could not outshine
the fiery lust in both their eyes.
Their passionate cries cried out in time
with the gentle cadence of a loving rhyme.