I could paint black and red and pink and glittery golden all over my face
and hands, and arms, and *******
and then spit painty ***** to see it turn into a galaxy
I could cut open my veins
and add flow to the piece
and I could maybe then attract
everyone else to admire this art.
how much time until it's fine?
one day i will stop searching for you
you suppress the urge to check him back one last time
because last time you checked it shattered you so fully even brought home in-sanity
but how can we forget -- the correlation b/w heartbreaks and sanity is less
the lesser time it has been.
who inspire poetry through me with your distance
who tease me into pain
so much so that I
finally write this.
It's been 40 days since I last saw you.
40 days since my stomach twisted that disgusting yearn-ish
and I haven't called you since
So it's 40 days of heavy, heavy courage
One that almost takes my life away
how do i remove you from my system
whom do i share this feeling with
this deep, hollow, ******* freak of a feeling
how do i tell anyone im "sad"
im not sad.
it's all your fault.
i miss you without wanting to
i write words after words because that's all i can do
in our distancing was a calamity that had set my heart on fire
in my pining is the pain that is turning me to ashes.
I miss you. I am not thinking of you.
It's not at all painful for me to think of you
"One day you will make one hell of a heartbreaker!" she told you.
You laughed that clinking-bells laugh of yours, blurring the world with heaven's sigh.
Then you whispered something in her ear and left her smiling too.
You did make one hell of a heartbreaker, sweety.
But it was more hell than heart,
More tumult than treasure.
It was more vomits out of sheer extremity of sadness,
tears out of mere helplessness.
It was more blood than poetry,
More distrust than sanity.
You have already won that compliment, my tormentor,
Wish you'd never struggle more.
Hey it's just your remembrance messing up so much with me
You searched for ...*
Are you sure you want to remover your search?
Yes, god ******. I can't handle this.
He is so much to bear. This pain of this
Distance is so much to feel. I don't want to
Die with a sharp shard in my heart.
my heart hurts, that's all.
this is not a poem.
just a helpless cry maybe
I don't think you get it. I am suffering every moment.
I miss you more than you do.
*Do you even?
It's extremely painful to not be able to not miss you
I miss you so many times in a day it leaves me less
and lesser will to live.
I realized I cannot do with you
I realized I cannot do without you
What it looks like.
the same pinch of obsessed
the same twinge of distance
the agony, the agony, the agony of love.
she says it's a sin that I still check on you
I tell her it's not like that, I don't feel it anymore
it's Karma I am waiting for, you see, I want to know how bad
it hurts him in the end.
she believes me. "I'll give you a free pass then", she laughs
And I wonder how I could cut you from myself forever
why are you ingrained here...here.
I checked on you regularly to maybe just know that you were there somewhere... it wasn't out of love, or curiosity, or even obsession. I just kinda missed you on occasions but not with the idea to want you back. Because I wouldn't ever want you back, or the agony, or the deep, harrowing experience of every deeply harrowing emotion ever. And still I have only half moved on. Because I see you and it means to me. I never show, you'd never know, but something still matters whether or not I want it to.
I don't want it to.
I don't think I like you. But you are still number one
On my browser history.
And number one whenever I want to share about something close to me
But you are not
Close to me.
I miss you and it's eating on me
I miss you now.
But I won't miss you forever
who came to help you pick yourself up
when life weighed you down
in the end, it's only this that matters
******* for reminding me how it felt
You are as far as a soldier from his bricked home, his brave, frail mother, his noisy night by the mustached man's shop who was also his friend's best uncle. Best friend's uncle.
You are far but not like finding water in a long desert far. That image alone chokes me. You are far like clean water on a beach far, when your shoes are filled with mud and every step forward is a burden you have no choice but to take.
You are far like help on an empty road far, when night and horror fills in the lungs and only a whisper splutters out.
You are far like hope for a bright student's first big failure, redemption for a sinner, and love for a newborn - one whose mother died delivering.
You are far but not like light in a blind's eye far. You are far like light in my life far.
My drug. My poetry. My lost dream.
Maybe dying would've been easier if I had forgotten you.
I could still show the pieces of your then-polluting, now-rotten heart, and prove to the world it was not I who was mistaken. I can also present myself as an evidence — a heap of mess, covering blisters caused by the burst of these emotions that never wait too long to spill. Ah, of course because your name still holds magic.
I am sitting on my bed, laptop in front of me.
Searching vague terms.
And then it hits--
It was you. I remember the dream now.
It was your text, after all this time, and only I on this space can imagine the feelings it brought.
It was your text, and then I had replied, and then...
And then I couldn't find it in my phone anymore.
The dream ended on searching and searching
has seeped through in my day since.
Maybe another night? Maybe another day?
Maybe you will come back and say hi once again
Maybe we will start over and never let go.
If I told you I still look back at the footsteps you left when we parted ways,
Would you believe what it means to me still?
Would you come back?
Or... or was it nothing?
i was a blooming flower - even you made fun of my naivety
questioning it, as if you didn't know i wasn't making it up
that i really was confused, that you were my first,
and it felt like a leap of faith that i took for you
and fell headfirst.
today i am a wilting one, my colors bland and muting
lifelessly, i pick myself up only to fall again
i can't find enough strength in me to make myself whole again
and you are nowhere in sight, and still here, not leaving my side
It's not much, right?
I only can't share this song with you that you really ought to listen,
and can't tell anyone about my dreams anymore.
I am listening to a song and wish I could send it to you. It's so our type. Or what once was our type.
I haven't as yet deleted your number. I sometimes open your chat window and the last time we talked blinks as an old, old date. Reminding me every time how it's not the time to still stay. That I should move on much like you did, but then you never cared enough in the first place.
I miss you a little because you left a part of yourself here. I told you I would miss you and I wasn't wrong. One thing I'm especially proud of is never claiming false love or promising you lands I couldn't ever let you enter. But you did that, and I hope someday guilt eats at you.
You lied about love!
Won't I tell you that I think of you still,
that your thought became a part of me before it was a memory
and I still, very much, live in that hollow space that is not a void
but isn't anything else either.
Do I cause you pain?
Good. Because it's been a long wait.
I hope it makes you sad too
I am not over you yet.
So I'll keep looking
for that one last clue;
an ultimate goodbye;
with or without wanting to.
I need you more than ever today
You have never been this far
I feel like a little bird caught in a strong, grey storm.
Looks like no website, no magazine got a clue
If ya miss someone so much, what d'ya do?
Let's sleep tonight. We can be sad later.
If regret was a bird, it would be a blue thrush
Singing songs of yesterday that you no longer want to hear
but can't shoo away.
This feeling. It leaves speckles of blue like dust on the ground
Every time it flies, round, round, and round.
late night rambl
I am writing stories about you. And poems. Lots and lots of poems.
I am filling words with fantastical versions of love so people won't see how broken I am.
My characters dance.
Their laughter echoes throughout the book.
But here, look at my heart:
One big wound; blistering blood.
We will keep wanting each other
but never say
and live like that
but never live.
Stop looking for me everywhere and let me
rest in peace.
These past few years I have seen and learned 'letting go' in a lot of forms:
In the deafening roar of a train leaving your lonely figure past, past, past...
a father on his bed taking last, tortured breaths
or friends you used to meet everyday but are no longer there when you're crying your nights away
and grudges, leaving them only so you'd feel lighter, if not fuller, again
letting go of a lot of things except
you. Your memory doesn't leave.
“Maybe that’s worse, not letting ourselves be loved. Because we’re too afraid of giving ourselves to someone we might lose.”
This pain is too familiar.
Is it bad that I went back to have a glimpse of you,
lover lost in haze and days,
and got myself this deep knot tightening every minute?
Is it bad that I miss you without loving you
The best and the hardest thing I did for myself was putting a price on my love.
You couldn't love me when you didn't love me entirely.
You couldn't love me only because you needed someone to have conversations with.
You couldn't love me because, and only because, you needed me.
To love me,
You have to be honest.
To love me,
You have to love all of me.
At some points in our lives, we have to draw margins for people. It's too painful, makes you a sorry state. Miserably so. But you have to cut away some ties, you have to know what you're worth, you have to live it strong and live it true. You got to love yourself most.