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Lyss Brianne Mar 7
To the man on the street that called my ex girlfriend and I ******, I forgive you. We were nineteen and in love, I’m sorry that you were raised in a way that made you look at two girls holding hands and laughing as something that wasn’t to be shown in public. I’m sorry that my happiness made you feel insecure in that moment. My happiness was not on display to offend you. My love life was never an act of rebellion against you. I will forgive you for how you were raised but I will not apologize for showing love in a way you don’t deem appropriate for wandering eyes.

To the people I went to high school with, I’m sorry I never heard the rumours you spread about me until you were already out of my life. I’m sure you meant to break my heart when you called me **** in the hallways but your words never made their way back to me. Your aggression towards who I chose to love never stopped me from falling in love with girls I never imagined could be real. I refuse to hide away my love. I will not let your words shame me back into the closet I was scared to admit I was stuck in.

To the people who used to send me anonymous messages telling me to **** myself I hope you’re in a better place now. I often think about how my big secret made you so upset that you couldn’t stand to live in the same world as me. I’m not sorry that I’m still here now. I still feel sorry that you were so sad with yourself that you needed to make me feel as hopeless as you were.

To the people who voted no towards same *** marriage but watch ******* girl ****, I’m sorry my love is only okay when it’s for your pleasure. I’m sorry that you have such a skewed view on life that you see women as objects and not as people. I would forgive you but I don’t think you’d fess to your wrongdoing to be forgiven. There is nothing to forgive if someone won’t admit that they are wrong.

I’m twenty three now and I’m still not sorry for writing love poems about beautiful girls. I have stopped apologizing for being something that I’m proud of. I no longer hide behind my assumed heterosexuality. I proudly proclaim my attraction to women because I spent too many years being ashamed of being in love. I will never again sweep hatred under the rug to keep peace. I have never needed your approval for my love to be valid and I never will.
Lyss Brianne Mar 7
For once I would like to be longed for. I have spent countless hours of my life yearning for love from people who did not know how to accept mine. I have been told time and time again that not everybody will understand the way I love. Not everyone holds their hearts in the same regard as I do so they do not know how to return my love back to me. Over time I started confessing my love in front of mirrors, my reflection both the sender and the recipient of my love letters.

For once I would like to be the girl you dream about. I want to be on the receiving end of smiles from bubbly girls. I long to be the one to make brooding boys laugh. I am the only one writing poems about strangers I see in the streets. I make playlists for my best friend to tell her I love her but never send them. My love has been rejected too many times to take chances. I have accepted that maybe I’m only meant to dish out love like donations. My heart is spare change in empty coffee cups on busy city sidewalks.

For once I would like to be loved. Not just liked. Not just a fling or a fleeting thought or another notch on another persons bedpost. I want someone to think of me in the same way I think of them. I want someone to look at me and see a spark. A possibility. A future that’s worth working for. I would like to be on the receiving end of goodnight texts sent long after I’ve already fallen asleep, so when morning comes I can know I’m on someone’s mind even when I’m not present. Maybe someday I’ll be the girl you hear about in love songs but for now I’ll keep writing love letters I never send. Spilled ink will never hurt as deeply as watching someone you love not love you back.
Lyss Brianne Mar 7
I have always been weary
of putting names in my poems
in fear that I will never be able to take
my confessions back
but when is a good day to tell you
that I have loved you in every lifetime

In the past we were entangled in each other

One life we were shooting stars
another we laid lazily in fields of wildflowers
a love too strong to explain through words
so we didn’t speak
instead you embodied the beauty of spring
a way to remind us of those April days
when nothing existed outside of each other

We hid our love behind buttercups and daisies
maybe that’s why I love to bring you flowers
to feel the flicker of a spark we shared
in a lifetime so long ago

In another lifetime we read quietly together
over coffee in smoky French cafe’s
we underlined passages
that we would read each other in secret
our love withstanding a time
when it was criminal to look at one another
with the type of love we shared

I don’t know if I have ever loved you loudly
there are no muscle memories
of me shouting your name from rooftops
or unapologetically holding your hand
without fear of repercussions
—even now I don’t know how to form the words
“I love you”
without looking around to see who’s listening
even after all this time I love you in secret
I still can’t put your name in my poems
but i promise in one of our lifetimes
I’ll write your name in every poem
and tell you that I’m in love with you out loud
someday the words
won’t feel stuck in my throat
but I hope that’s in a lifetime sooner than later
Juverine Wan Jan 27
My heart is a sea,
Dark azure and green,
Its waves crash and turn,
Goodbye, dear sanity.

My feelings are the tides,
Upon shores it rides,
A sapphire marvel,
Beyond which it hides.

My happiness is an ocean,
always churning in motion,
going back and forth,
An unstable emotion.

My sadness crawls deep down,
in the darkness I drown,
it holds on to me,
and sits with a guilty crown.

My waves are ever-moving,
Its height ever-looming,
I am never the same shade,
I am tea ever-brewing.

But this is the way I am,
the way I move and frolic,
the way I dance and fall,
the way I lie and crawl.

I am an emotional being.
I am okay,
then I am not,
and that is okay.
hello everyone, here is a poem about my emotions!
Lyss Brianne Jan 25
It was not love at first sight. When you walked into the room the rest of the world did not slow down. There was no movie magic moment where our eyes met and I knew that you were the only girl I was ever going to fall in love with. Instead you were longing at first glance, yearning for a love that I never could have imagined before. I couldn’t picture our wedding or growing old together but I could vividly see the two of us together. Cuddled under blankets reading on a Sunday night. Decorating our apartment for Halloween. I could see Indian takeout in bubble baths with three cats curled up beside the sink. You were not love at first sight but you were better, you were real. You made love believable. I never had faith in finding a fairytale romance but in you I found forever. A reality of two souls bound together by a force neither of them can explain. You may not have been my love at first sight but you’re my love in every glance since. It’s heartbreaking that I can only look at the world through rose coloured glasses while you live in a world so far from make believe.
Lyss Brianne Sep 2020
It’s been five months since you left
which means it’s been nearly half a year
of waiting for you to come back
which is to say that if my heartbreak
were a baby
it would be the size of a papaya
which means nothing
except now I want to cry
at the grocery store
which means I can’t escape you
even in the produce aisle
and I don’t know how to
stop wishing you were with me
all the time

On our first date you told me
you wanted a girl who you could have fun
grocery shopping with
except now I feel sad everywhere
and I’m no fun anywhere
which is probably why you left me
in the first place

Now I spend my nights wondering if
you found a girl with sunshine in her cheeks
and I wonder if she’s brave enough
to sing in the car with you
and maybe she dances in the
produce aisle in the same spot
I stand crying over fruits
and I’m thinking that’s probably
why you left me
not because I cry in public
but because in my mind there was always
someone better
someone more alive
more beautiful
and you got bored of reassuring me
that I was worthy of your time
Lyss Brianne Sep 2020
I don’t know how to tell you
that you make me fall in love
with being alive
so instead I’ll tell you
that since I met you I’ve found
beauty in a rainstorm
and sometimes at night
when I feel so close to giving up
because it would be easier than
missing you
I hold my breath and listen
as rain knocks on my bedroom window
and I’m reminded that the first time
you touched me
lightning coursed through my veins
and brought me back to life
like a kiss in a fairytale
you woke me up when I didn’t know
I was sleeping  

I don’t know how to tell you
that before you
I traveled three frames
behind everyone
as the world sped by
and words fell from lovers mouths
after they had already walked away
I struggled to catch up
with jumbled words
that tumbled through my trembling lips
but I was always too late
so I became mute to save myself
the heartache
and when you came along
I had forgotten how to speak
so I stayed silent
instead of admitting how much
you meant to me

I know that if I were lucky enough
to be heard by you again
I would tell you that I want you
in the most mundane ways
like Sunday mornings with iced coffee
and menthol kisses
—like listening to you sing in the shower
and watching your eyes light up as you laugh
I want summer evenings at the beach
bowling dates and early morning hikes—

I’ve never known how to tell you
that I will always take you for who you are
and what you’ve done
so I tried to show you through
good morning texts
and words of affirmation
but I need to stop assuming
you know what I mean
when I speak in metaphors
so I hope someday my words find you
and you’ll understand that for me
you were never a phase
and I can only dream
that you can still see the rainstorm
you unleashed inside of me
all those months ago
Seranaea Jones Oct 2020
-

i took no pleasantries in that adjustment
from the top shelf of Pastry Perfection
to the wicker-wire dust bunnies at the
"sole" level of humanity

after i mistakenly thought —you—  took
some element of freeverse i had posted a
couple of years ago at one of the more-read
poetry sites on the internet-

then i realized something, Poet..

that for all those sleepless hours you
spent cramming for the SAT—

i posited on how many welding rods
could be burned down during a two
hour period of trade school

and with respect to those thousands of
words diligently packed into your
undergrad dissertation—

(including that humorous description of a
knitted strap you used to keep the pencil
from rolling off the table
)

i wrote a brief essay of commonalities
on how much Gerald R. Ford and
Elwyn Brooks White
actually disliked
football,

and to those thoughtfully crafted lectures
in front of scores of distinguished
scholars and senior staff—

i was projecting shadow puppets onto a
screen during a slideshow while the
teacher excused herself to the restroom.

basically this;  

as to the volumes of books
you have published
over the decades—

i have a few thousand words of
amateur poetry posted online
inside of a few years.


That Said,

for those carefully-placed words
(of mine)
you incorporated into your
latest masterpiece,

realizing poets will not always
happen upon the same instant
at any given intersection,

i recognized that most familiar sensation
we Both get when having correctly
delivered the punchline to the funniest
joke of the evening.

we —in fact— have only the readings
of fellow writers to blame for each
other's blending of creative impulses,

that during these miraculous,
yet humble birthings of verse—

i have it now on good authority,
that we all could possibly exist
within this capacity

                                      as mere equals...



"The Lanyard of Amateur Poetry"
© 2020 by Seranaea Jones
all rights reserved


.
my regards to Billy Collins..
Juverine Wan Aug 2020
I miss(ed) you
the girl with black hair
who loved the blue sky
and breathed in fresh air

I miss(ed) you
who had no cares in the world
who came home to no worries
in her mother's arms she curled

I miss(ed) you
who lived as a child
when friends gathered round
born free and wild

I miss(ed) you
who had innocent eyes
who dreamed of fairies and mermaids
and didn't worry and sigh

I miss(ed) you
who didn't cry when things were tough
who held hope and beauty within
who didn't fake a laugh

I miss(ed) you
who wasn't stressed day and night
who could hug her parents close
whose days shone bright

I miss(ed) me
what happened to the years
I miss(ed) mom and dad
when their eyes didn't fill with tears

I miss(ed) me
it's hard leaving you behind
it's hard leaving young mom and dad
it's hard not looking back

I miss(ed) me
I miss(ed) coming home
I miss(ed) dreaming
I miss(ed) loving

I miss(ed) me.
it's been some time since I wrote a poem but I'm feeling down after coming to university and got really nostalgic tonight so here's one for the ones who miss(ed) their childhood folks.
Lyss Brianne Jul 2020
My mother’s addiction is a shapeshifter—
It takes on so many forms it’s rumoured
that nobody knows its true face
It’s a master of disguise
it hides itself behind thin lipped smiles
and tired eyes—
It changes so often it’s hard to tell
if it ever recycles old forms
I frequently ask myself if I would
recognize her if I did not have her eyes
If we didn’t share a body for 7 months
would I know the sound of her heartbeat
even when she’s disguised as a dragon
—sober is the shape she fails to hold the longest
the edges between make believe and reality
blur almost as quickly as they form
It’s easier to be a flame than still water
so she burns down everything in her path

At home we don’t dare say the word addiction
we walk on eggshells like her cover will crumble
at the slightest vibration from the floorboards
—we glide through the hallways like spirits
there’s no need for a haunting here
ghosts already roam in the walls
you hear wailing more often than silence—
I’m beginning to think Halloween is my favourite holiday
because it’s the one day of the year
people can look into this haunted home
and they don’t judge me for what they see
behind closed doors
—I’ve never been one for haunted houses
but maybe it’s because I’ve been living in one
for 22 years without a break
I wish to escape from my own house of horrors
so why would I pay to enter somebody else’s
Instead I put on devil horns
and watch movies where there’s always a final girl
wondering if it would be worth my soul
to make a deal with the devil
so my mom can stop shapeshifting
so my brother can sleep at night
so I can finally breathe, even just for a moment

—my mother’s addiction is a shapeshifter
I hope someday soon I can see what she truly looks like
I have been living with a stranger for so long
I’ve forgotten what it feels like to recognize
the people you love
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