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Emily Miller Feb 2018
Fourteen years seems
like a long time
when you haven’t lived very long.
And it is.

But more than that,
It’s a long time,
Not to tell someone that they have you.

Yes,
Have,
But no,
Not own,
Like a car or a house,
Just have,
Because have means that it’s there,
But you don’t necessarily possess it.
But even though it’s just “to have”,
Fourteen years is a bit long to be so very “haved”
Without telling someone that they have you.

I know it’s not a word,
At least not in this context,
But most people can relate,
I think,
To the feeling of being haved.
The feeling of being tied,
As a Bronte once said,
Inextricably,
From under one’s left rib,
To a similar place in another’s frame.
The feeling of knowing that if I’m ever to sacrifice myself to the eternal flames of matrimony,
It would only be for him.

And he’ll never know,
Of course,
Unless I tell him,
That he had me on the first day of school,
A new district, a new life,
Confused and concerned,
Scared of the newness,
And all of the sudden there he was,
Wearing lopsided glasses and a lopsided grin,
Perpetually wrinkled clothes from running wild,
And me,
Nose in a book,
Incapable of noticing him had it not been for that impossible, infectious laugh.

He had me,
When he grinned and offered friendship,
Something I was unfamiliar with,
And he’s had me every day since,
Even after the turmoil of childhood,
Deaths and epiphanies,
An engagement ring,
And numerous loveless nights,
He still has me.

I’ve been “haved” from the moment we met.
Haved by the way he says my name,
Haved by the dopamine that floods my veins every time he’s near,
Haved by the silliness that returns me to grade school,
Third grade,
Playground dust on the palms of my hands,
Tossing rocks to him under a mesquite tree,
And here I am,
Already a woman,
Yearning to be a mother,
A matriarch,
Something more,
Something solid,
And yet I’m still haved by him in every way but one-
I don’t have him back.
He’s haved by everyone but me.
Dedicated to anything and everyone that happens to have him at that time,
But no matter what I do,
No matter how hard I try,
I’ll never have him
As much as he has me.
Druzzayne Rika Feb 2018
many days I feel it isn't worth it
it is better I end it
I just do not fit
right

Small disappointments
unfilled expectations
make my daily lessons
I am no longer surprised

gifted with so many unused liberties
armed with many facilities
having all basic amenities
why still unsatisfied?

my thirst for what?

but compare it to so many of them
where do my problems stand
should my opinions even matter

God still has to hear my many complaints
every other day
No wonder he doesn't listen,
I wouldn't too.

Blessed with so much
wasted it all
on being this bitter self I hate
my present state draws the ugly future
and the only cure
is to feel gratitude
on the things I still have
on my conscience who still cares
.
Sanjali Feb 2018
9
This dark piece is not completely sweet
Melting on the tongue, I feel its make-believe.
How can it be bitter when I let it rest
And be like nectar when I cannot possess?
Dark Chocolate
Amanda Kay Burke Feb 2018
One moment everything was fine
We could laugh and life was good
You took my picture while I sat
Cross-legged on your truck hood

Yesterday we snuggled close
Watching Breaking Bad in bed
Away from the harsh Autumn chill
Your chest a cushion for my head

But now you have left me all alone
There was no warning, no flashing sign
Not one single red flag was waved
To let me know you were no longer mine

I had nothing but the bitter truth
When you touched my cheek and said goodbye
But I wasn't ready to let you go
Or watch our relationship crumble and die

It's been so long since I've seen you
I can't believe youve really moved on
But what other explanation is there
For the fact that I'm still here and you're gone?
Written on 11/2/12

Just another poem about having a broken heart
joel jokonia Feb 2018
We mostly float other people's boats
Rather than just snatching a leaf from their book
Brainwashed to think our ideas are chasing rainbows
When they are actually worth the salt
George Krokos Feb 2018
Underneath the wild lemon tree
was where I found my love to be.
Lying there with the lapse of time
and the gusts of a winter's clime.

She looked at me but didn't smile
and this went on for quite a while.
I looked back and had some pity
knowing that she once was pretty.

We traded glances back and forth
to view each other and our worth.
I stood there and could see at least
that she had changed into a beast.

Without a hint it then did seem
she spoke to me in the extreme.
I heard all that she had to say
but kept silent to let her splay.

Then without any sense of pride
such time revealed another side.
Our feelings for each other were
like a doomed bitter lemon slur.
____
Believe it or not this poem was inspired by some fallen lemons under the lemon tree in the backyard. Written early in Feb 2018
Sand Feb 2018
It's lonely and cold
Without your voice
It's bitter and miserable
Without your words
But if that's the price I have to pay
For the paths we've chosen
So be it
K Balachandran Feb 2018
wind flutters a leaf,
moth eaten in nice patterns;
dignity hides pain!
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