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Amy Perry Jul 2014
What does it take
To have a joyful cheer?
What is it at stake
To smile; that's unclear.
When our gaze meets,
And a smile, it is spread,
And I announce myself a greet,
It is unreturned instead.
For this reason, I am unsold,
I need your reasons why.
A smile unreturned is cold.
Don't say I didn't try.
Madisen Kuhn May 2013
she was like
        a wilting flower
drained of all things
that kept the others upright

he was like
        a rushing brook
who saw her crumpled and tired,
crowded by overgrown weeds,
and wanted nothing more
than to clear the earth around her
and see her bloom again

so he took all he had
        and poured it into her
and when finally the pinkness
had returned to her cheeks
        she looked back at him
        and saw that

he was now like
        a withering shrub
frail and planted in dry clay

and despite the deep conviction
she had in her heart to restore him
        like he had restored her
all of her best efforts
left her with with exposed roots
and dirt beneath her fingernails

he wouldn’t let her stay
        to continue to try
        to quench his thirst
so she left him with a watering can
and promised he’d soon find relief
Qweyku  Aug 2018
Oceans Speak
Qweyku Aug 2018
drenched in a sea of waveforms,
dancing on the ebb of a digital ocean
its crests crowned with sound

pitched upon amplitude tides      
their volume compressed;
reverberating through glass speakers
mere dots in the sands

i hear cadence...
within the music of your speech
how can it be,
such a many word
written,
yet forgotten,
indelibly on your beach?

if we could interpret the oceans
what stories would its sea speak?
of its corruption?
treasures unreturned
to lost and found?
or of its time to give up the dead,
or of the angels that fell to its ground?


© Qwey.ku
Have I told you of how I love the sea?
A duplicitous temptress.
choosing to drown or carry you afloat.
Oh, I know not!
I see not, and master not!
Why t'is caprice - t'is tender whim, is unwilling
to unveil my soul, conquering it with
mounds and plates of rapturous
yet canonical attention. How I dread
such falsehood! Strong, strong falsehood!
What an inconsiderate urgency! A matter, matter of the heart -
as mighty as it probably is, of its own accord! How serious
t'is would be! I am suffrage; and akin to its vigour areth my laugh,
and joy - I would be hatred if none cameth to stop my pace;
my frosty haze; and t'is gruesome maze! Yes, I would but be,
in th' length of some furt'er days!
I shalt no more be of t'is delight, and clustered inside my gloom,
pressed to th' walls of dainty loom; from which I shalt never
be comely enough to be granted an escape.
How terrifying t'ose scenes areth, to me! A poet as I am,
unenviable is my littleness, and humility; to t'ose who glare with jealousy
at pangs of my laughter, and childlike demands - as how t'ey always
chastised during t'eir coincidental encounters. But I am blessed!
I am blessed by my words - and t'ese cheerful, yet unending poems -
as unlike t'em I am, ungrateful and vile beings, flocking to th' church
only for th' sake of brand-new dowry, and enforced blessings.
Murderers of peace! Sons and daughters of vice! But I am convinced
t'at virtue shalt forever tower over t'em; and in th' right time t'ey shalt
be pulled off t'eir horses, and unedifying pleasantry. And goodness
shalt t'en win! For truth never bears t'eir unfaithful boasts, just like
it hates t'eir dishonesty; which so insistingly frosts me
with atrocity within 'tis lungs, and so soon as doth it start to cling stronger -
abashed shalt I be! Incarcerated shalt be my front, and dutiful
countenance - in t'at gross conflagration with secular flatness,
hesitations, and worldly doubts, in which yon grotesque salutation, corroborating
'tis assailed countenance, gouty and drained by rightful mockery;
comes but to avenge my love, my wondrous love -
which yesterday was dazzling and dripping fast
but contentiously, like a ripe cherry. Like a small burst of wine
craved by scholarly epicures, t'is feeling but anonymously grips
my lips, trembles my heart, and distracts my limbs;
should I be to think of thee, I shan't but be away
from t'is nauseatedness, of regrets, again! My thee, my thee,
areth thou truly gazing at me from afar? With fascination in thy stares,
wilt thou bestow me such destiny I hath been so desirous of - my dear?
And with thy serene, bulbous eyes - t'at sea of blackness
basked in marred turmoil - ah, a sign but of peace after such fire! - wilt thou
mould thy mind, thy stony mind, like a black-painted rose,
to throw at my being, just one, voluntary glance?
I am but anxious, my love, how I shake all over
with unreturned passion like t'is, my blood is circling
in distorting, yet irrepressible agitation.
How I wish t'at thou could be here, and rendereth me safe, in solely
but thy arms, my love! And shalt thou be my giddy knight - I entreat!
In my unmothered dreams, and t'eir precocious brambles - on t'ose journeys
of loom, doth I fear not, for thou shalt be t'ere to mirthfully comfort me.
And off shalt I fly again, to greet th' thoughtful morning!
But ought I to leaveth my dreams now; for thou canst be here to celebrate
t'is snowy day, and lift me onto triumph! And how I wisheth to cast away
t'is imprisonment, how I longeth for but thee here - just thee, remember t'at,
o but hark to my swift whisper, t'at calls only for thy name, my love!
How aggravated, and corrupted my conscience wilt be -
within th' membranes of my brain; t'eir hardship is severed by thy unpresence.
My love, o my restrained - single love, t'is ode that lights my soul
shalt illuminate thine; and 'tis long words - threads woven along
an abstracted lullaby, and vanquished by silent accusations, from thy, thy mouth!
A well t'at is perilous in its standing - standing like a torch, unruptured
albeit neglected, innocent in 'tis acute forlornness. Poor misery!
Hark, hark, my love - how t'ose dames, irresolute in t'eir volatility, and
charms of miraculous beauty - but tumultous inside, entranced by fear
of losing which, as so graciously raved and ranted all over th' year!
Th' dreary years - which th' above phrase caused me to be well-reminded,
and duly recall how t'eir sickening remorse tossed me around; and decreed
my jests of dread, sickness, and disdain - surges, and waves of animosity
wert but all about me. But how they areth happening again! Amongst th' snow -
running about as t'ey art, t'ose heartless, indignant creatures -
blind to th' tenderness of nature, bland and untouched by its shrieks, and
flickering toil! How I wish to save it, but incapable as I am - a minuscule shadow
of early womanhood t'at I own, I choose to stay distant,
and pray for t'eir impossible atonement, somehow, before t'ey entereth
t'eir silent graves. How t'ose ghosts of malice areth in no way acquainted
with th' woes of th' churchyard, and th' grimness of death - I declare!
How unafraid t'ey are, sacrificing t'is coherent life for such courses
of abomination. Victories upon th' misery of others,
dances to mourning songs, how evil! But I wish for t'eir salvation,
for t'ey art unable to even salve t'eir poor selves. I shalt be fervent
in my generosity, for 'tis th' most rewarding part of humanity;
I shalt be but a faithful servant to my innocuous nature. I adoreth my nature
just the way 'tis, and I shalt build its madly-scarred way back; with tons
of brightness, care, and hearty bliss! Yes, my love, my bliss - which inhabits
th' entire space of my maturity and unmolested passion. Inapprehensible as it is,
I am but to win its grace, and t'erefore thee - just as I hath so ardently dreameth of -
as heretofore, and shalt thou but be saluted and fended for
by my, my sincere and unbinding, affection.
Rejection

There is a tightness in my chest,
because repeatedly I've been put to the same test.

Torturing me over and over again,
I'm longing now for emissary vein.

How much longer should I maintain optimism,
it just wants to carry on to pessimism.

It's a wound that won't stop bleeding,
but still showing gratitude and I'm still breathing,
for how longer should I except defeating.

I've been tested to love, but she won't love me back.
I've been tested to be shoved,
but thereafter I can't remain in place for walking upright on that track.

I've been tested counting down the list of all Woman whose affection
was unreturned.
But this list is yet far from having a cut to be undeterred.

Thereof I'm asking myself again"
Does true love really exist ?
Today I still would say yes, cause I've been able norishing my list.
by Zouhayer Ben Amor
Lunar  Aug 2016
Unreturned
Lunar Aug 2016
I borrowed the book you have been yearning to read, for you, on your birthday. I never returned it in the end, just to give it to you, that you may read it forever.

I bet you have been wanting to hear the lines of that famous book being said to you out loud, by the person you love.

Little did you know that everything in that same book, are the ones which I wanted to read out and say to you.
Another friendzone writing, as i wrote this for my friend when he still loves the girl from a long time ago.
Lunar  Apr 2017
I Will Be Happy
Lunar Apr 2017
Seven years. It has been seven years since that day.

And now here they were in the alfresco of that overrated café, with the man sitting across the lady: he was sipping his black coffee and she, her jasmine tea. The scenario almost seemed impossible in the past, but for someone with her tenacious personality, something ‘impossible’ just meant ‘a little later’ than ‘never at all.’ This moment played by fate was comparable to the persistent rainstorm that forced them to stay together a little longer in the coffee shop than planned.

“I’ve been thinking,” he sighed into his coffee mug, “About leaving this place and heading to the States. Study more on film and acting from the professionals themselves. Get into showbiz of the global standard. Be a real director. What do you think?”

She straightened her posture and settled her cup down on the table, nodding in acquiescence at his idea of endeavors that appeared promising for his future.

“Well… Why not? I say go for it. I support you in that decision.”
He diverted his eyes to hers, trying to read the gaze behind those wide eyes. Though wide and nonchalant they may seem to be, only a few can notice and genuinely understand what swims in those dark depths. Their staring game ended as her voice surfaced once again through the sound of rainfall.

“I support you. If you’re ever wondering why, it’s because I had to make a decision just like that—seven years ago.”

This time it was his eyes that widened, and he placed his mug alongside hers.

“What kind of decision was it? You definitely weren’t aiming to be an actor like me, considering you’re a licensed interior designer, not to mention writer, right now,” he chuckled, leaning back onto his chair.

A soft smile of nostalgia emerged on her lips as she remembered what she wrote on the night of the sixteenth, a day before the significant seventeenth.

April 16, 2017; 11:15 P.M. — I’m satisfied of this unrequited love. I’m happy this is all one-sided. I’m glad everything is ending before it can even truly begin. It would be easier for me to leave him who doesn’t even have the slightest knowledge of my existence, who doesn’t even know my sentiments, who doesn’t even miss me, yet alone think of me. It’s all good; perfect, even. A broken heart is better than two. At least there will be some times when I might let him and his strong hands put my weak heart back together and restore it to me. I’d rather have that than us both losing and scattering the pieces of our mutually shattered hearts. He must never be broken; I need to protect him from being so—I will take myself away from him. I’ve never been any happier to be in a love that’s unknown and unreturned. He will be happy, and I will be too. In the end, his happiness will always be mine.

“I had to leave the places and people I love, to be where I am and who I am today,” she exhaled. “It was tough, but thinking of those moments and people I held onto and appreciated… all of that kept me going.”

“Was it a happy one? I mean, did you find the happiness or ending you were looking for?”

“If I were to be dead honest, yes. More than happy, actually. I’m not just relieved, or satisfied; I’m overwhelmingly grateful. I earned the careers and lifestyle I aimed for. I managed to travel all over the world and see the places and people I’ve wanted to see. My soul roams free, finding home in the many corners of this earth. I’ve finally come home, and this time I know I’m not alone.”

The man was a grown man in a smart-casual attire, but he sure maintained the curious eyes of the child that he furtively kept in himself. Being under his scrutinizing eyes, she reminisced of the same intensity he gave back when they were still twenty-one and on the verge of growing up.

“But what about ‘him’ whom you left behind? Did you come to know him this time, maybe love him too, again?”

She picked up her teacup, providing a little wall between them both, and swallowed the remaining aromatic drops along with the thoughts she wanted to tell him ever since then.

I came to know him—you—but I don’t love him ‘again’. The feelings, which I harbored for you for all these years, never left me even when I left you back then. I know I was told to reach for the moon that I may land among the stars even if I failed to reach it. But I realized I had to reach beyond the moon—the sun, the Milky Way, the entire universe—because I wanted and needed to be worthy of my existence. I wanted and needed to prove myself to myself, to you and to everyone else.

“I did. And I’m happy with how we are right now, even if it seems like we’re back to zero this time round.  Though I’m not sure how my feelings are for him now, if I seek him as a friend or as a potential love interest.”

He seemed doubtful of her response hence did he hesitantly express his last thoughts: “So you’re happy now because you left him previously. But what if he’s the one who leaves this time? Would you still be happy?”

The clouds were emptying now as the pouring rain concluded to a light shower; likewise the people they were surrounded with under the alfresco umbrellas. She knew that she was prepared to answer this question. For the past years, concerned individuals would ask her the very same thing, and for this was she thankful. She herself would recite the words to her reflection every day, much like a prayerful mantra.

He caught a faint twinkle in her eye, a proof of which her answer would be echoing with conviction and it made him realize that those particular words to be said would be one of those things that would remind him of her.

“It won’t matter if he learns how I feel then or now, and yet doesn’t feel the same way. If leaving me would direct him to his happiness, then so be it. Perhaps we aren’t meant to love each other in this lifetime, any other lifetime, or even in parallel worlds, but I still am and would be happy about it. What’s greater than this feeling of being able to love someone so much? Like I said: in the end, his happiness will always be mine.”
There's an angel called wjh I've let into my life, and I have to let him go now.
mc  Sep 2013
unreturned
mc Sep 2013
I thought I loved you
while you barely thought of me at all
Jorge Guerrero Nov 2012
we long for what we can't give. (title for now) I long to converse with you without our words turning to anger, but still we find ourselves standing at opposite ends of a verbal battle. I long to spend time with you, without it turning into a confrontation, but we still stand at opposite ends of the chessboard. I have longed to hold you, even close, but you kept me at arms length; both physically and mentally. I try to do right by you but I always seem to fail, like a child blindfolded in a dark room who was asked to distinguish between colors. You ask for passion, almost like that of two star crossed lovers who have stolen a single night for themselves. But the many times I've tried to express it, the passion was unreturned like a lover waiting under the stars for a soul that seems will never arrive. I've waited for the happiness that is supposed to come from two hearts joined as one, and yet I'm filled with a sadness that comes from a pain of a solitary beating vessel. I have asked you for affection, that of a caring mate that says "I love you" without words, and here I find myself unknowing of a speechless love, for when I'm in pain I can't feel you there holding me. I hope for a strong open mind, one that can not only stand up for her beliefs, but also admit to the mistakes that befall all human beings. Yet, for you to see your errors would mean for you to admit your faults and imperfections, which your pride may never accept. I simply ask for a companion that would take the time to understand me and love me for my imperfections; for I know I carry many with me. However that effort and understanding has not been received from you. And even though I've had all these obstacles in the way, I've tried to love you with every drop of blood that pumps through my veins, but no longer can I shed tears for your sorrows, or bleed for your pain, for it is as if my heart has pumped its last drop of my pain.
Zoe Sue May 2014
You held me between barbed wire teeth
With ******'s tongue
You knew I couldn't leave
To the collected dust that was my former being
You told me so each day
When my eyes seemed to wander to the person I could've been
Could be?
Unreturned calls of friends
Forgotten faces
Lost and found you
Radio static numbness
I am yours
Forever
the Sandman  Jul 2014
Blue.
the Sandman Jul 2014
I sit on a droopy windowsill and gaze out
at the stars above me in the stately sky of coal.
I let the smoke fill me, pollute my corrupted lungs,
‘til it plugs me, completely consumes my sticky soul,
and midnight sorrow blanket hugs the heart in my hole.

I sit and I consider the sky
with its million-and-one jewels
that adorn the vast carpet of night
and its one, lone cloud that slowly drools
fat, drippy drops of deep fed'ral blues.

The ashy, burnt taste is still in my throat;
it lingers- a dull, cloying candy cane.
The muted flavour chokes and jabs and pecks
persistently, in the back of my brain
and leaves a steel blue/gray trailing stain.

Vague memories of fourth-grade English lessons
take me with a deep sigh to forgotten thoughts
of Roger McGough and unrequited love-
dazed recollections of school poetry taught
in obscure slate-blue classrooms, littered with blots.

It seems feeling unreturned affection
isn't quite as great as I’d thought after all.
I must've been wrong, all those hazed years ago,
when I yearned to feel unrequited love’s fall,
convinced it would be a wondrous, dazzling ball

Instead, I'm just ******* in the pale-ing sky
that seems to be growing into lighter hues-
the navy’s turned to electric, to powder,
matching the sapphire in my soul of glue.
I'm suppose I'm feeling somewhat, slightly blue.

.
Romanticised notions of unrequited love are rarely ever as much fun as the ideas make them seem.

.
Frank DeRose  Apr 2015
Meaning
Frank DeRose Apr 2015
Beauty in pain,
Such a sorry sight.
Love unreturned,
Such a forlorn feeling.
Helplessness,
A despairing disease.
Time passes by,
But nothing changes.
Routine,
Such a boring comfort.
Meaning becomes meaningless.
Meaning is rare,
Found in hidden corners,
Unseen doors.
It must be sought out,
It can never be
Discovered.
Because no moment has meaning.
Meaning is not intrinsic.
It is given,
Awarded.
To a time,
A place,
A memory.
Meaning,
Is nothing more than
A human construct.

— The End —