nobyelse Mar 11
Love can't be precisely defined.
As it could shatter souls,
mend hearts, break bonds,
make connections,
make two people inseparable.
And in another view,
It's a chemical reaction.
A stimulus to deepened affection,
that could last a lifetime,
or end in a day.
But even if it went by quickly,
it doesn't mean that,
it isn't real.
Because you don't know love.
Heck, I don't know about it either.
Why did I even write this?
Love. Love is...

Idk. Hi.
nobyelse Jan 28
here comes the pile
walking down the hall
shuffles, pauses
one pushes a button
door opens
eight stepped in
door closes
five pushed buttons
breathe in
count to ten
breathe out
long silence
door opens
step out
nobyelse Dec 2017
in big, bold letters,
i wrote
just to exhale it out of my nose
i cried
just to make the advices pass through my ear
and out of the other
i'm being sappy,
but most of all, unhappy.
from my bed i rose,
checking my phone that was on top
of a pile of dirty clothes

Read 13:25

He doesn't like me,
not even close.
  Dec 2017 nobyelse
You'll meet again
And he'll keep you at arms length
Making sure you're not too close to his heart
But not too far from his touch
Tell you words you've melted for before
But words that, for you, he'd never felt at all
  Nov 2017 nobyelse
Kaylee H
So, what are we? Can we share a bond?
A bond that can be strong
Through any situation
Even if you or i may be gone?

Time has slipped past me
As i am in your presence and glory
You have set my wonders free
And i wonder if this 'we' can be..?

Memories you have made
I hold on tight hoping for it to not fade
The thought of you here is my jade
But you leaving would make me afraid

Your impression on me isnt hard to find
Encrypted in my mind
Of all the times you were caring and kind
Just rewind

Can you see that you mean so much to me?
So, what are we?
  Nov 2017 nobyelse
S Olson
We are elaborate animals made of wood
earth, flowing like water into the veins
of the sky.

The sun being a fist of lava, and the night
being an enticing molar—we are
a succession of tides, being swallowed
by successions of day; and how beautifully
we wilt in the presence of joy.

The moon may be nothing
but a luminous

and to eat the poetry of it
is how one chokes
on love

but the romance of morning
is that if by midnight
you are alive, that is joy.
nobyelse Nov 2017

City lights.

Hidden smiles.
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