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You know
You are beautiful
Your mirror knows
Too

And
That is enough
Genre: Experimental
Theme: Beautiful people have kind heart, compassionate mind, what makes them beautiful.

Note:
If still confused
Ask the writer
Who wrote
"About you"

See how
He will prove
You are beautiful
Arianna Jan 23
We meet again! One last time,
My dear Parallel Line,
Exchanging shy smiles.

You hand me the tea,
As I hold out the money:
"Nah, it's on us today."

But I put all of it
(And then some)
In the tip jar anyway.

Your kindly, sincere grin,
Still brings a warmth to my skin,

And I wonder if you realize how brightly
The quiet gentleness of your demeanor
Shines?

Ay, ay! Guillaume, if only
We'd been friends
Earlier, back then...
Visited a favorite haunt earlier and was fortunate to briefly catch up with and say goodbye to someone I still wish I'd gotten to know better when time really allowed. I have written about this person before in two other poems: "Guillaume (Café du Matin)", and "Crescendo con Moto".

Hélas, mais c'est la vie... :-)
Viktoria Jan 16
A seed planted,
Turned around,
Hope.
A look planted,
Turned around,
Hope.
A smile more,
Turned around,
Hope.
Another look, longer,
Turned around,
I hope I touched your soul.
...because you definitely touched mine.
Elaine Mar 2018
It isn't fair
You've gone and done it again
Made me love you
With reckless abandon
No thought of consequences or heartache
Just like last time

Did you know you were pulling me back in
Just when I thought I'd gotten out, gotten away
Were you aware
That with every text, every laugh, every touch
I was falling deeper in love with you
Until every poem I wrote was about you

Last time you weren't ready for this, for us, for a relationship
I waited as long as I could, but I couldn't wait forever
This time I made the same mistake,
Thinking you might finally be ready

And you might have been
Except that soon you'll be
Thousands
Of miles
Away

And I'll be here
Waiting
And hoping
And praying
That one day you might love me enough to come home
I just read this back and it sounds more dismal than I intended. I don't blame him for anything, he's the one person that can always make me smile right now. Unrequited love just hurts, you know?
Nick Huber Dec 2017
I can't count the number of times, the wind stopped me in my tracks.
The length of night that stretched out of my heart.
The number of times, I could not say goodbye.
I counted on so many things to signal your return.
Each time, the signs dwindled down, to what they are today.
It was never, the way you described; I found out,
unintentionally.
You'd call on a whim,
And miraculously, I'd be there.
Like the worn down music-box my grandmother kept.
My motor was wound, and I laid,
Always ready.

Even if I were blind,
I'd know you from the gentler notes.
The rate of your breath, the sound of your voice, the scent of your hair...
I didn't have the heart, to stay far enough away.
I wasn't a *****,
But, I couldn't call this freedom.

I was a poet, with a few words,
and a jar full of tears.
I'd carry them to town: every morning negotiating a fair price,
to those who'd pay.
They'd pay me in flowers, in kisses, and large bellowing laughs.
But my pockets were empty, my lips parched, my voice hoarse.
But I did have a smile. It spread from cheek to cheek.

My eyes would receive the light, and transpose it into something else.
Faces molded by a Gutenberg Press. Antiquarian, but lovely either way.
After a day or so, the ink would fade at an alarming rate.
Once red lips, now chapped and anguished.

Their arms, could not hold me.
I was already, very far away.
Now, I watched as tears fell, from eyes that weren't my own.
I watched, and felt a pain in my stomach.
Not the gut turning pain of guilt.
I was hungry!

But my pockets were still empty.
I spent it all (out of concern for my health), on a fake smile and an empty glass. But don't think it was all that sudden.
I was cold, I was alone, and I was drifting through a town I didn't know. I went back and forth with the angel in my heart, and the devil in my ***** for a whole 30 seconds, accepting the shame I knew you wouldn't feel.

Now, now, I know what you're thinking. This story deteriorated into one about me. But it hasn't. It's still about you. 100%.
So, I'm sure, one day, you'll read this letter.
You'll file it away with all the postcards I sent.
Maybe even loosely bind it in a folder, held together with rubber bands, stables and tape. Not with the notation "beautiful poems," nor "inspiring messages," and definitely not
"everlasting love."
You'll put a post-it note on top, and label it "Deranged, Obsessive Ramblings."
It'll float around, bouncing in between the chasm of your perfectly sculpted head, till one day you realize: "It couldn't be about 'Him'."

You see, my life had none of the adornments I mentioned.
It had no flowers, no kisses, and assuredly, no bellowing laughs.
But I can say,
I was really, quite hungry.

                                               The End.
For Mayra
alex Nov 2017
it’s 7:56.
i’m thinking about you
that’s pretty much what i do these days
think about things like
your laugh
the way you makes me feel
why i’m thinking about you again
things like that.
i think about you talking to me
in another room
away from everyone else.
i think about exactly what you said.
“i really appreciate how easy you are to get along with.”

and that was the moment.
i know
it seems like an odd thing to fall in love with
but so am i.

i think you about so hard
that i feel it in my chest
i dream about you while i’m awake
i think i’ve loved you for years.
it feels like i’ve been yours for decades.

it’s 7:57.
k
lieless love Aug 2017
your smile

the way the curves have always surpassed MY ***, which I thought was the fattest thing I had ever seen. but I was wrong. the curve of your smile had chased away almost every single bad thought of myself. almost.

2. your touch

I was uncomfortable with even the thought of human interaction. speaking is one thing but please don't... touch. you showed me that touching didn't always have to be painful. when you wrapped me into your arms and pulled me close. strangers be weary, there's still the bright red sign hanging over what he likes to call this "piece of art" and it still reads "please don't... touch." except this time, this time there's dark bold ink directly under the warning, "unless it's him. then touch all you want because your touches feel like... home."

3. your breathing

I know this one seems a little Charles Manson-esque, but let me get my point across. your breaths are the sound of the ocean tide calmly dancing up onto the sand. I just wanna dip my toes in, no matter the temperature. if it's cold, let it be so cold that my feet go numb. if its warm, let it be warm enough to boil the blood within me.

those three signs were the red flags making it painfully obvious that I wasn't comfortably alone anymore. I was home.
Al Apr 2017
Your first love is meant to be sweet
Gumdrops
Bubblegum
shared chocolates
and giggles
Texting late into the night,
long after we were meant to go to bed
Your heart skipping a beat when a notification from That Person appears
Holding hands
Sharing popcorn
knowing each other's favorite snacks
Your first love is meant to be gentle
making snow angels
pillow fights
watching your favorite movies
stolen kisses
and fumbling through your first makeout session together
like the love-drunk kids you are
Sometimes when I tell people about the things that defined our love
They get scared
They ask if I'm okay
They wonder why I stuck around
I guess when it's your first love,
you can't tell that it's painfully sour
because you've never tasted something sweet before

From C.C.
I just realized that I don't remember what your favorite soda is.
I'm really happy about that.
Samantha Ellis Feb 2015
in my head you're on a pedestal
not even real celestial
like a statue carved by artist
you make me feel less heartless

but i've hardly gotten to know you
i don't want it to be true
because what happens next?
it's like another vortex

like to keep it casual
trying to be adaptable
but your good looks are intimidating
what could i be implicating?
adding more later

— The End —