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Samantha Wesley Oct 2021
The boy with the curly black hair from room 1402 zippered his dark puffer jacket as he pushed the door open. The air outside was chilly, the temperature flirting with the goosebumps on his neck. He ran his right hand through his curls as he walked with intention toward the intersection, looking both ways before crossing Spruce Street. Behind him glowed multicolored lights provided by the LED setup of his fellow neighbors on floor 14.
The Financial District was always calm at night, and that’s what he loved most about it. He smiled to himself as he roamed the streets, reminiscing on the promising outcomes of nights past. As he made his way toward Stone Street, he shed the skin of Zachary Taylor and slithered into Jackson Jones. Becoming Jackson was Zach’s favorite part of his nightly routine. Jackson had a winning smile and charming personality. He had money to throw away and designer clothes. Jackson didn’t have a mother in a mental institution or a father who had ended his own life. Jackson had two sisters and a brother, and they all vacationed in the South of France. Jackson had a Summer home in Florence and a Winter lodge in the Swiss Alps.
His mantra was interrupted by a blurry figure crossing his path. A beautiful girl with light brown hair and doe eyes glanced at him for a second before blushing and continuing on her way. This would be his prey for the night.
“Hey, my friends and I are going to Mad Dogs for a tower and some guacamole, want to join?”
This simple invitation always made women feel at ease and intrigued, instead of suspicious and threatened. Zachary knew that she would join him to eat, and after a few drinks he would look at his phone and tell her that his friends had cancelled, but that he was having such a good time with her and didn’t want the night to end. He would beckon her to come see the amazing view of the Brooklyn Bridge from his dorm room and she would happily oblige.
Walking into the front lobby of 1 Pace Plaza, Zachary nodded at the security guards who returned a smirk and a subtle shake of their heads. He lived for these small exchanges, these small stamps of reluctant approval from the men who went along with his routine every night.
Towards the beginning of his freshman year, they used to stop him and make him sign each guest in with a photo ID, but they grew to appreciate his craftiness and simply let him escort a new woman into the building every night.
The girl next to him gave a small wave to the security guards and a smile. Pete, the security guard who usually high fived Zachary as he walked the girls out of the building, had a peculiar look on his face. Zachary assumed it was due to the wave his date had given them. Usually the girls he brought in avoided eye contact with the guards and followed him to his room. This girl seemed different.
Tara, she had said her name was, lived “somewhere downtown” but hadn’t specified a location, and Zachary hadn’t pressed her. After all, he didn’t need to know where she lived, or even her last name. She was just his partner for this Thursday night, or rather, she was Jackson’s partner for the night.
He had told her that he was a New York native, which couldn’t have been further from his true upbringing in Miami. He couldn’t quite remember where she said she was from, but that didn’t bother him. It was always easier when there was no emotional attachment.
Tara walked confidently toward the elevators, and Zachary wondered if she had been to the building before. Maybe she was friends with a student, or had a previous rendezvous with another tenant of the dorm tower. Either way, he didn’t want to know.
The elevator was heavy with tension, and Zach wondered if the pressure would cause the doors to pop open while rising.
A ding signaled their arrival at the 14th floor, and Zach again morphed into Jackson, opening the door for Tara, ever the gentleman. Her eyes widened as she saw the glowing lights from the city below. “Wow, this view really is romantic. How did you say you got this room again?”
Zach shifted his weight between his feet. He caught himself and steadied his nerves.
“It’s my friend’s place, I’m just watching it for him while he’s gone.” Jackson answered coolly. She nodded, seeming satisfied with his answer. Zach chuckled internally at her admiration of the view, knowing she would never see the room again after this night.
Samantha Wesley Oct 2021
Life is bleak without you
The days are dark and long and cold
I wish for the earth to swallow me whole
Because at least we’d be together in the afterlife

I miss you even when you’re across the room
We are not Romeo and Juliet
We are not Montague and Capulet

And yet there are mountains that drive us apart
Do you know that in my heart
There’s a special home, waiting for you
Put down your coat, kick off your shoes
Make yourself comfortable in my life

If misery loves company, then I’m its wife

My mind is an ocean split in two
And you are Moses, right in the middle
Commanding my every move

Sometimes the wind whispers your name to me

It’s so easy to feel lonely in this city

I am Sisyphus, pushing the weight of this heartbreak up a hill
Every step you take back into my life propels the rock back down the valley, until I put myself together again
The Gods are punishing me

Artists are not supposed to have a happy ending
They suffer, they’re tortured
A writer’s tears wield awards
The misery of their struggles
Bring praise from literary fans who adore, them and
I guess I should thank you
For the streams of tears
That will spin my writing into a river of gold

When my anxiety keeps my breath captive
I think about the way your hand caresses the steering wheel
And how you played with my hair when you thought I was sleeping
It’s miserable living life in memories of you
And I hate you for being so incomparable
That despite the interest I find in others
I’ll walk through life alone,
in search of mere reflections of you
Sep 2021 · 28
Samantha Wesley Sep 2021
you ask me to read you some of my poetry
now I've forgotten how to read, suddenly
maybe it's the need to have you impressed by me
or maybe it's just my insecurities
Feb 2020 · 103
dreams (and denial)
Samantha Wesley Feb 2020
Hope held her pinky like a child
She wrapped herself in a blanket of dreams and denial
Falling deeper in her eternal slumber
Towards the land of make-believe
part 1 of the "dreams and denial" poems
Jun 2016 · 300
Samantha Wesley Jun 2016
words are just rushing out of me
right now
all I can think to do is
share them with you

I'm still slightly confused on how
I'm able to form sentences with subjects
and pronouns and nouns
and all I write is wow
and even spaces too

you're driving me crazy
in case you didn't know
and right now it's just you
and me
and we're together
someway, somehow
loving happily

but this fairytale is absolute nonsense
this make-believe relationship too
because you will only ever see me
your best friend, but not how I see you

but oh, your brother
your sweet, cute brother
that hottie of a guy who you call brother
has been dropping hints lately

and surprisingly,
it's all about him
and, finally, for once,
not about you and me

there's a ****, **** guy
with a heart, so true
he could solve all of my
problems- they revolve around you

and I could learn to love him
or maybe even sin
he could always be my first time
I've saved it long enough,
and Heaven knows he deserving of
my unequivocal love

so now's the time to make up your mind
if you consider it, I think you'll find
that we were always the match made to be
and I am more attracted to you than even Paul Wesley

but, bud, the time has come
either way, you've won
but will it be me who stands next to you?
or will it be her?
she's worthy enough of your love, sure
but not the one intended:

to make you happy every day
to grow old with you
to give you a new meaning of life
to be the one who you call wife
to share with you happiness and strife,
to fix your tie before work
and let you know when you're being a ****
to tell you how to live your life
with no regrets and memories
filled with laughter and love

no. she's not.

she may be  the one who gets to greet you in school
in the hallways and I keep my cool
because only I know the truth:

someday, if you are not too much of an idiot to realize
that we could wake up at sunrise
together, that way it's supposed to be
and when you're stressed
walking through the door, too tired to undress
the one who will soothe and kiss you will be
                                                              ­                                                      me.
the first time I actually put pen to paper (or hand to keyboard) to share my feelings and the absolute TRUTH.
Jun 2016 · 415
Samantha Wesley Jun 2016
oui* is the most beautiful word-
it reminds me of us.
we are a temple
sacred creatures looking for love.
but is it love we seek?
what about love has such a sweet serenity to it?
the word itself flirts
with danger and pain.
why do we wish for love?
love itself is so complicated.
do we seek to be loved
or to be able to love another?
I have felt this only one time
that has been as powerful as myths.
unknowingly, you have granted this to me,
this unhidden lust for love.
although we remain mostly platonic,
there is a fire underneath, itching to be released.
every touch is a burn,
and the heat rises with a simple hug.
our bodies fit together perfectly,
as if  they were made for each other.
teasing, touching, needing, loving;
you are like a drug I just can't quit.
when my honored eyes
are blessed to be cast upon you,
your perfect imperfections
and angelic self,
"two blushing pilgrims ready stand,"
always eager for a kiss.
I wish I had a chance
just one kiss.
I could prove myself to you,
how no one has ever loved somebody the way I love you.
although you are not mine,
at least, not yet
I await the day
I get to look at you and think that I have come
May 2016 · 544
killing him slowly
Samantha Wesley May 2016
unspeakable beauty,
the fairest to ever have been.
a plate in hand, then on the floor;
clawing at each other's heart,
like demonic angels.
he gives her a disappointed look,
with his dreamy, other-worldly eyes.
layers of love
slowly peeled away
by hatred.
a glass to the face,
his blood,
dripping down-
over porcelain.
his hand lifts up to her face,
upon the cheek
of the one he loved;
who was killing him slowly.
*angelic demon.
part one of the 'killing lovers' two-part poems
May 2016 · 263
(not) sonnet 18
Samantha Wesley May 2016
how can i contrast you to a winter's night?
the winter, which at night, fills me with fright.
the dark shadows among towering trees;
i slowly feel weak in my knees.
the fireplace is cackling,
to ignore it, i start babbling.
but you could never be ignored;
for when i'm with you, i can never even be bored.
if i should ever get cold, like the night outside,
you would warm me, side by side.
my  heart soars at the sight of you, taking off like a bird;
yet birds know nothing of flirting- only you are swift with word.
a summer's day, you are not, for  more beautiful you are;
instead to  me, a winter's night- you are the glowing star.
May 2016 · 272
Samantha Wesley May 2016
don't ask me for a poem-
i have authoritative issues.
don't ask me to be quiet-
i'm in tears; i need tissues.

don't ask me to do  it-
i'm not that kind of lady.
don't ask me to smile when you whistle-
to me, that's straight up shady.

don't ask me to be sorry-
if i do wrong, i might.
don't ask me to listen-
but get mad when i put up a fight.

don't ask me what's wrong
when you finally dull my light.
May 2016 · 602
unspeakable beauty
Samantha Wesley May 2016
golden* eyes.
honey sunshine smile.
espresso locks upon
chestnut waves
of warm beige hair.
almond skin tone
with a bit of sand.
ivory undertones
and porcelain hands.
nutmeg nose
and topaz ears.
rich caramel shoulders.
hazelnut arms.
caramel legs,
olive toes.
the rosiest of cheeks,
never as bright as
the perfect burgundy blushing lips;
they complete this:
unspeakable beauty.

everyone, no mater the color, is precious and beautiful and unique in a fascinating, one-of-a-kind way.
May 2016 · 246
if you cry
Samantha Wesley May 2016
if you cry, she wins.
if you cry, he wins.
if you cry, they win.
if you cry, we win.
if you cry, they win, and they share their angry feelings with you.
and you may get upset;
if you cry, they win,
and they sure as ****
are not going to win.
so, don't cry,
don't cry,
don't cry,
don't cry.
with all of their hurtful actions
and hateful words,
ares simply not
the tears.

my mantra everytime i start to cry
Jan 2016 · 745
Caught in the Act
Samantha Wesley Jan 2016
Caught in the Act
I leave him at my locker
My brand-new babe of a boyfriend
Clarissa walks toward him
She smiles at Charlie

I told him it would only take a second
To fill up my water bottle
I didn’t know she would show up looking for me
And find my current bae instead

I see her put her hand on his arm
His muscular arm, which should only belong upon my shoulder
Instead, it is running its hand through his hair
Anxious about Clarissa

She leans toward him in her lowcut tanktop
I sprint across the hall
With one arm reeling backward
A loud smack! fills the air

I see her put her hand on his arm
His muscular arm, which should only belong upon my shoulder
Instead, it is running its hand through his hair
Anxious about Clarissa

She leans toward him in her lowcut tanktop
I hurriedly make my way across the hall
And raise a fist, satisfied by the
Crunch! that follows

I see her put her hand on his arm
His muscular arm, which should only belong upon my shoulder
Instead, it is running its hand through his hair
Anxious about Clarissa

She leans toward him in her lowcut tanktop
I pace toward them both, and ask
What in the world is going on, then plant a kiss on my babe, smirking because Clarissa has been
Caught in the Act

Three different approaches, two violent and one vengeful
Personally, I’ve never been a fan of vengeance
lol obviously not a poem but also not about me
Jan 2016 · 1.7k
Never Been Kissed
Samantha Wesley Jan 2016
I have never been kissed
I should be embarrassed
To be 15 years old and considered beautiful but
I have never been kissed

I have never been squeezed
I should be embarrassed
To be 15 years old and considered beautiful but
I have never been squeezed

I have never had a poem written for me
I should embarrassed
To be 15 years old and considered beautiful but
I have never had a poem written for me

I have never had a guy ask me out
I should be embarrassed
To be 15 years old and considered beautiful but
I have never had a guy ask me out

I have never been asked to hook up
I should be embarrassed
To be 15 years old and considered beautiful but
I have never been asked to hook up

I have never been told by a boy he loves me romantically
I should be embarrassed
To be 15 years old and considered beautiful but
I have never been told by a boy he loves me romantically

I have never experienced the above things
I should be embarrassed
To be 15 years old and told by everyone that I'm beautiful
To be whistled at in a city, walking down the street
To be constantly complemented everywhere I go
To have such a 'perfect' body yet nobody to hold it close
But I am not embarrassed
Not really
You see,
I have experienced the above things
With you
You and I have done all of these together
In my mind
We are dating and perfectly happy
In my mind
The two of us have kissed
In my mind
You have held me close, not like a best friend but a lover
In my mind
So I guess this is a thank you
For giving me all of these experiences
For unknowingly leading me to hope for us
For truly being the greatest friend I could ever ask for
For showing me what love is

p2 of the 'i'm in love with my bestfriend' saga lol
Jan 2016 · 8.5k
Iced Coffee for Two
Samantha Wesley Jan 2016
Iced Coffee for Two
it’s more like milk with sugar than coffee, but the ice is a dead giveaway
yet when i drink them, so do you
or rather, i buy one for myself, and you put your distracting lips on my straw
thank you for asking, by the way
it’s not like i would say no- how could i??
how could i ever deny that face of yours anything you ask me for
my love for you is as black and white as my iced coffee and your backpack are
we are not total opposites
on the contrary, our similarities are why we are bestfriends
but you come along, with your smile and those compelling eyes of yours and
you drink my coffee
you smirk and make conversation and i laugh while
you drink my coffee
you talk to your girlfriend
you hold hands on your way to class
while i stand on the sidelines watching
drinking my coffee
then she kisses you
tasting my coffee
she drinks my coffee
don’t you understand??
you drink my coffee
i drink my coffee
this is the way it is supposed to be
this is what is right, the way it should go but instead
you drink my coffee
and when your cold, perfect lips meet with hers in what i’m sure is
an electrical kiss, a display of love
she too, drinks my coffee
she tastes the delicious, sweet flavor of my creation
she drinks my coffee
but it was not meant for her
to drink
no, it was meant for me
i bought it so i could drink it
savor it, enjoy it
then share with you and watch
you drink my coffee
don’t you understand??
this is the way it goes, the story of our
iced coffee for two

this story is about my bestfriend and i, i will be posting more about us soon

— The End —