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Rianna Apr 2017
tell me, boy,
when did you begin to notice
the Stars falling from my eyes?
you always told me how bright I was...
surely, you must've seen the light going out.

was it the night
I sobbed into your chest,
and told you that some nights
I feel so cold and alone
even while someone I love
sleeps soundly beside me?
the night I told you
that I am not a good person
and you would be better off without me?
you never believed me
because I buried my secrets so deep,
but ****, if you knew...
boy, you would have ran
before I had the chance to convince you to stay.

or maybe it was the night
I told you that maybe,
just maybe,
there is no forever in our future?
I bared my soul and was met with
resentment and resistance.
we both cried that night.
you told me
there was no one else,
and that you couldn't picture a life without me in it.
snd I cried because
I could not say the same,
and I did not know why.
slowly, you faded from my future -
I could no longer see you
in the life I envisioned for myself.

no, but surely it had to be the night
I left in tears,
in search of answers
to questions I couldn't quite understand.
I almost found them
six feet underground...
I was saved, but not by you.
once again, I saved myself
because I learned my lesson before...
you can't expect the answers you seek
on the journey toward your Self
to roll off the tongue of another.
Wrote this a little less than a year ago, but I've been thinking about posting it for while now so.
Rianna Dec 2015
I always have this nightmare
where I’m tumbling down a hill,
rolling faster, picking up speed…
until I’m catapulted off a cliff
into a deep ravine.

In my dream, I wake up gasping
before I can find out
what is at the bottom.

Maybe there are piles of sharp rocks,
glass, needles...

Or maybe there’s a cool river,
plenty of beautiful trees and flowers,
or a soft bed of cotton.

My point is…
maybe it isn’t a nightmare.
It could be a dream.

I know there’s a difference
between falling and flying,
but I don't think I was born
with the ability to tell which is which.

Maybe one day I’ll learn
to let the tide take me away,
to let the ocean take control,
to lose touch with the Earth
without feeling like she’s sitting on my chest.

I hope one day,
I can feel the joy of flying
without feeling the panic of falling.
Rianna Mar 2015
the hardest part
about missing you
is knowing
I shouldn't.

yet here I am,
up all night
aching and thinking of you
and you're sound asleep.

your dreams aren't filled
with the faces of a lover
who made promises
that were not kept.
(but mine were.)

you don't wake in the morning
wanting to return to your dreams
just to see my face
or hear my voice.
(but I do.)

you don't go about your day
wondering where I am
or what I'm up to
or if I'm thinking of you.
(but I always am.)

and at night
when you lay down to sleep
you don't wish
you were lying right next to me.
(nighttime is the loneliest, you know.)

but I think the hardest part
about missing you
is not dreaming of you,
or thinking of you,
or wishing you were here.

the hardest part
is knowing you made your choices
and I wasn't one of them.
Rianna Feb 2015
He asked me
as I said goodbye
for the very last time.

Rambling on about how I was selfish,
cared about no one but myself,
I was a menace,
a *****.

With my belongings in my hand,
and a brooding glare,
I said,

"Because I'm too good for you.
There's nothing egotistical about knowing your worth."
Literally wrote this in 5 minutes, but I started thinking about him again and this is what came out of it. I'd say this is progress.
Rianna Jan 2015
In my eyes,
the sun rose and set
in yours.
Rianna Jan 2015
°°°
You asked me once,
“Will you write about me
if I break your heart one day?”

*I thought you were joking.
"If a writer falls in love with you, you can never die."
Rianna Jan 2015
I don't think
I could get
close enough
to you,
even if
I melted
into your skin.
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