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and I write them.
love letters to strangers,
I support the troops,
I organize a drive,
I make out letters to faceless people,
knowing not the strength of their smile,
but imagining the topography of their hearts,
of their hearts,
I pencil out conversations,
that don't matter,
in order that they know that they matter,
if only to me,

I compliment strangers,
I tip more then the bill,



and I am a face less white girl,
who seemingly has got her things in order,
see my left hand, I've hid my right.
and as they rationalize these random acts of kindness
the gestures,
that I want to matter,

I wonder if they think of me?

I write love letters to strangers,
because their easier to love,
then myself,
I write love letters to strangers,
because I 'm not willing to start one to me.
its a concept and I haven't quite nailed it. I haven't quite said all I need to say but words fail me but music never seems too. love love this song
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FSMZZaxC8RM
Yours et cetera Mar 2014
No facade elaborate enough
To adequately conceal
The inner-conflict
In which I am embroiled

No crooning of comfort
Can delivery me peace
Or forestall my mind's
Eventual unhinging

No foxed, tattered pages
Of forlorn loveletters
Strewn with stark promises
Can resurrect my will

My compass confiscated
My map of reason
Torn and trampled upon
My future at the mercy of shadows
I. Can't. Anything. Today.
A few words about disorentation
Fluffy  Jan 2011
Not Again
Fluffy Jan 2011
Your face is asymetrical in a way that makes me love nature.
Your voice is light and charming.
Full of care, sensitivity, and fun.
It tells me not to tell you again.

When you smile, I know you're tired of hearing.
Maybe you're not as happy as you could be,
But you're content enough where you are.
The sympathy in your eyes says that you remember.

Keep it to yourself. I know, I know, I know.
Don't remind me. Don't keep hurting yourself.
Move on. Please. It'll never be you.
Yes: when you sip your tea, I hear you think.

I bite my tongue.
I'll be quiet. I'll keep it light and unimportant.
I don't need to tell you how badly I care for you.
It would only be selfishness, and you feel guilty enough.

So instead of writing loveletters,
I devise the most boringly cliche poems.
And when I find your photo, the fantasies fill my head.
And at the end, I stare up at you from the water.
And I can't breathe.
Nana Magnus Apr 2018
they warned me never to mumble, fingertip-tap morse-code morosely; never to mangle & mar the monosyllable.  and so i silenced any speech.  

they warned me to avoid glass, come noontide monsoons. and yet, come their noctem nightmare moon-tide, i'd curl against the windowpane-patch of pale as the storm-sounding swamp snapped moss-slung cypress asunder.

they warned me my body comprised a temple.  and they were right: a sempiternal chapel of unreason; oratory through atrophy.  and yet, they never understood the love-letters (bludgeoned bruises & bites) woven in my skin.

they warned me never to desire even the monosyllabic moan; never to crave the hurricanical clash; never to desire the wordless-word loveletters of bludgeoned bruises & bites.  

they warned me, warned me, warned me.  and so i knew i was sacred; and i was, Lord, i was -

but i knew the sacred rite of sacrifice.  i knew i'd never bear witness to a dawn in my Dark Night.  and so i suffered in my sin and knew my disparition Blessed, if only in the eyes of the ******.
fifth  Jul 2018
telephones
fifth Jul 2018
you would sometimes pick up the phone
and whisper, "i love you" to me
whenever strange signs you
wish would happen happens
every 1st day of the 1st week of every
month you'd send me sweet loveletters
inside pink envelopes mailing them
a week before since post moves
slow but i wonder how it gets there
exactly when you want it to be

and when you wanted to break up
you got what you asked for
how i cried for hours after dark
and maybe float my head while
in school trying to conjure up
ways to make you mine again

i had the that last chance
dated august 14th
you had practice of your sport
and i see you flying your
ways in your shorts
sweaty with the passions
gritty on demand
a bunch of flowers in my hand
you saw me saw you
and you closed the gap between us
just to rub my hair all wrong again
you walked away
i walked away

i never saw you then
since high school flies
as people move on to places
sometimes forced; others out of open will
i was one of the middle kind
forced to get away from all the bad memories
openly running as far as my feet can bare
but before leaving
i took our old telephone set
and its still with me in my apartment
then id wish for strange signs
like maybe if i see a man in a red shirt
in a red car you'd find a way to call me
and maybe whisper "i love you" again
Qualyxian Quest Sep 2020
I read a lot of books
And I still like to read

A wrote a few loveletters
In which my soul did bleed

I am so afraid of death
And I have a need

To communicate my heart
And plant a mustard seed

                Indeed.

— The End —