Matthew 7d
Pain.
Love.
In my head, these words are now synonymous.
And looking back on it all, I wish I had remained anonymous.
I gave you my everything.
I gave you my all.
And you cast me off the edge
For the pleasure of watching me fall.
I haven’t slept.
I can’t eat.
And this is all due
To your little feat.
You ripped out my heart.
You tore off my smile.
When I say your name,
My throat fills with bile.
Now every day is spent filled with strife,
For you’ve drained all the hope from my life.
You told me you’d wait.
You promised you’d try.
Now I’d be a rich man indeed,
If a dollar was worth but one lie.
I said that I’d love you,
Until the end of all time.
The feelings I kept
Were nothing but sublime.
My promise would have held,
After the Earth fell to the Sun.
But since my heart you have felled,
Eternity's done.
Throw me up on a cross,
So the world may witness my loss.
Stab me in the chest with the blade of your lie,
And I will bleed a million reasons why
I would still give you one last chance.
But fall for it again, I won’t.
Though I still care,
You don’t.
I cannot bear to live in the face of your lie,
I hate you.
I love you.
Goodbye.
I wrote this as a result of my first love. Needless to say, it was a long distance relationship, and she couldn't bear to keep it in her pants.
Madisen Kuhn Jun 8
i am envious
of what you have,
but not
of who you are

regardless,
it withers me

instead of watching
your garden grow, even if
i find it
utterly dull;

perhaps,
i should start digging up
the earth in my own,
neglected plot

and observe
what becomes
I often find myself wanting what someone else has, especially if I feel they are "unworthy." I wrote this to express that feeling and attempt to correct + redirect my negative, unhealthy thoughts. Why not give all that energy and attention to my craft and see what grows?
I've got to give President Donald Trump
Credit for one thing.
He has succeeded
In opening up a lot of old wounds....
Reigniting
A lot of old bitterness.
These are conflicts
That were never fully resolved in the past.
So,
President Donald Trump
Has helped us
Become aware of This.
Subin Jun 4
The overcast skies reveal a cluster of cumulonimbus clouds,
a day so dreary and dark that it conjures the idea of fleeing
-- escaping into mindless memories of better times,
sitting in the grass field next to the Markthal in Rotterdam,
opening another bottle of soju in a murky downstairs Seoul bar,
a bar where more than once her feet had buckled under the weight
of one too many drinks, stairs lopsided and wobbly as her steps,
getting stuck in traffic on the way back to the airport of Kuala Lumpur,
tears on her cheeks streaked parallel lines, etched into her make-up
as if a part of her, dripping down into her lap where her fists
were balled up, clenched tight and shaking from the pressure,
visiting Singapore’s Supertree Grove in a one-day trip,
traveling back to Europe, now in Berlin, next day in Prague,
where the standout memory is one too many shots of Becherovka.
Back home it is ten degrees and rain is slowly drizzling down,
the streets are covered with a reflective surface, a mirror
she does not want in front of her, a confrontation she does not want
She left Carcassonne’s castle behind alone, retraces the steps
as if the outcome could still be changed, a mindless mind game
When the sky clears clear contrasts are formed
her escapism has escaped and she is like an esclave to her thoughts.
She travels through all her travels but no what ifs are left to be explored
Tomorrow the weather turns again and so will her memories,
an endless labyrinth she has not yet found an exit to.
Underneath, there’s a stream of something different,
tender feelings, fear, broken pieces, memories, wishes
of the future, a complete inner-world, where everything
is speaking in poetics. Maybe a whole disaster. Touched
and ever flowing. Shattered over the crackling floor.
Where everyone seems to step on. Musings, letting me
know, endurance and there is no promise of life. Maybe
it’s you that’s destiny. Colliding together. For I’ve written
poetry before. Because I wanted t say everything to you,
without fault of forgetting and still want to say everything,
without skipping a beat. I’m desirous of all of it, everything
that comes with love, simultaneously and burst in explosion,
as if love was the first time ever. Actions in wild passion,
forgetting what’s underneath, I’m wanting to love now. Like
if forever exist. Validation happens in love. The mastering
of flaws, happens in love. Perhaps even streams of the
stronger, meaning of one’s life. For we know, bypassing the
unexpected turn, the horror of stumbling upon love, poetry
would of never started, if wasn’t for moments like this. There
is life without you, for that I cry, it’s something I would rather
not, endure if I must, viewing the world with hate and complete
bitterness.
(knowledge variable)
Mike Groves Oct 2017
For One brief moment I found this love
This love that I had heard of
This love that heals all things;

This love that floods my soul
Like the water it find all of the cracks
It breaks down these things I try to hold
Giving me the strength that my being lacks;

A boldness that drives through bitter cold

A bitter cold that I could keep
The one that my soul longs for, for me
So I can make excuses and stay asleep
But He took that away from me
For one moment I am free.
Scarlet Rose May 6
She threw it away
A beautiful little bottle
It tossed between the waves
Crashed against the rocks
Shattered to pieces
Because she didn’t want it

Jagged edges
The smooth glass marred
It hurt those who stepped on it
And took pleasure in the hurting
Because it had been hurt once
When someone threw it away

A rose-cheeked little girl
Hands full of seashells
Sees a glint on the sand
Picks up the little piece
Gasps in awe at its beauty
Adds it to her jar of broken glass
And watches as a stray sunbeam
Shines through her jar
Creating a rainbow on the sand
Clara E May 1
Oh god we are so vulnerable, out in the open plains where people go to pray and mourn. Here there is no such thing as time, no such thing as God.

Next to a building of white wood slats, rising upwards, black tipped. Here I can reflect on my own sadness. My own to mourn. If how we met was anything less than bad timing I'd become everything good I've ever come across. But that wasn't how we ended up.

The cut out silhouettes of crows are still a cut out silhouette of murder in this gray-scale graveyard beside a rusted worn down place of worship I cannot believe in a God so cruel as to let die our hearts or our bodies. All I hear is the wings of crows and the open air for miles around.
Arima Apr 25
I wonder
when god
heard my wishes,
for being free of this love



did he laugh?
feeling cynical
It's Springtime,
And it's also wartime.
Just as the flowers that bloom,
Arise from seeds people planted,
War arises
From the seeds of hatred and bitterness
That have been planted
For a long time.
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