Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Clover May 25
Your goodbye didn’t come in words.
It came in colors-
Soft at first,then cruel.
Like a crayon box left in the sun,
Melted,twisted,
Still pretending to be whole.

There was a bleeding red in the way you first loved me-
Too much,too fast,
The kind of color that stains your fingers
Long after the page is gone.
I thought I was your favorite,
The one you'd never let dull.
But love can look a lot like fire
When you don't know it's burning you.

You drifted into quiet blue,
A shade that never speaks but always lingers.
It was the kind of sadness
You don't notice until the room feels colder.
Until your name stops sounding like home,
And starts echoing like distance.

I clung to your flickering yellow,
The last of your laughter,
The fake smiles you wore like stickers-
Easy to peel.
Never meant to stay on
But your warmth was borrowed,
And you gave it back before I was ready.

There was hope,once-
A trembling green we drew together,
When we still believed in growing things.
But even gardens wilt without hands to tend them.
And you let go so slowly
That I didn’t realize I was the only one still holding on.

Your silence came next-
Not cold,not loud-just...black.
The kind that seeps into the cracks,
That waits until you're alone to settle in your chest.
You didn't say goodbye.
You just stopped coloring with me.
And somehow, that hurt even more.

Now I sit with with this crayon box
That still smells like childhood and endings.
Picking through pieces you left behind.
The wrappers are torn,the tips all worn-
But I can't throw them away,
They remember you too well.

And maybe the worst part
Is I still sit with that crayon box in my lap,
Picking out the broken pieces,
Trying to draw you into a picture
That never finishes the same way.

Because even now,
With fingers stained and a heart worn thin,
I keep choosing the same colors-
The ones I loved the most,
The ones that hurt the deepest-
And I still press them to the page,
Knowing they'll break again.
But I color anyway.
Because that's how you taught me to say goodbye.
IM SO SORRY IT'S SO LONG.
I really hope that everyone reading this liked it!
Rabiu Ameen May 12
At mercy's feet a coward came
Revoke the spell that brand me shame
Immortal cloak, With cold embrace
Preserve this soul unlinked from grace

Confess thy struggles says the thought
A thousand deeds undo no drought
To wash thy guilt complete with haste
Anoint with almond, pray no waste

(Urge)
A past repeat, if time recall
Invoking every shameful fall
Controlled by lust, my handy deeds
deny this groin, its pleasure needs

(Thought)
Your reckon day, awaits its fate
To settle heaven's pass at gate
by night, an hour of death will prey
it's waste of time to weep and pray
One of my oldest works
B C Stan May 6
a cat, they say
both dead and alive, in a sway
trapped in the box
become a metaphysical paradox

a flask of death, a trigger tick
a game of chance, so cold, so sick
they call me life, they call me death
but no one asks to hear my breath

a man, I say
become the halfway
let his atoms hum and twitch
become the theorist’s broken glitch

see how you like the in-between
will you then be so keen
maybe then you’ll see the cost,
see the life lost

seal the box, install the locks
put a man in that box
Often, I yearn for the visitor of my destiny to come, I am often astray in myself at how he will ask, “doesn’t the scent of the night’s cool air after rain feel entrancing with jazz music?,  I walk upon the grass as the moth heralds it’s sudden appearance before vanishing, I envision him in my mind’s eye arriving gentler than velvet wings before myself in the meadow of white flowers carrying the stars lustre, they behold their floral gaze upon us, the two mortals who cradle each other in their arms as he softly speaks to my ear, “oh songbird, hold the music box of my soul dear, it plays the notes of my heart for you” to which I would remain calm, for I could not find my voice to return his treasure of symphonies, I would linger in this phantasm, though for now I am savoring the sun’s first light over the verdant heights.
Odd Odyssey Poet Dec 2024
The box: a cradle for the delivery
of new life born into this world

or

the space where a man may wander aimlessly,
lost by his lack of self-control.
Ariannah Nov 2024
Think outside of the box for a second
Just one, please
Forget all about what you know, want, feel
Look at me, us with no power, knowledge about any of this

He cares, he asks, he's looking for you, he wants you
But "just as friends"
He fights, he wishes, he's doing all he can to stay with you
But "just as friends"

I sit, I cry, I lock myself in a cage up in the sky
I wait, I cry again, I hope for everything to end
Therapy, tears, anxiety, is all I think
When you just sit and talk to him

You know it hurts me
You wish for everyone to be ok
Yet you always say "it's not that way"
I swear to you he's *

But it hurts, and I cry
And I never fall back from the sky
Because I always feel
That "what if" running through my veins
It's evil, it's dark, it makes me do things
I never wish I've done

So please, one second
You don't know me, him, us
You look, you analyze everything
From the outside of the box
Erwinism Oct 2024
Tongue daps vinegar,
and your face winched,
as if offended,
as if death was a butterfly
fetching nectar from you,
but your soul has never resided
any body other than yours.

Yogurt is enough
to make you scoff,
sandwiches the same,
you shudder at the sight
of my teeth flensing fat
off a rind and the cream
of hardened tallow on steamed
rice.

Your lunch box comes with
this world’s gravy,
mine comes with
I-am-lucky-that-I-am-here
kind of deal.
Mine comes with bricks
my scrawny frame has to bear,
mine comes with my mama’s
expectations that I need to
build a better road for my siblings
and I to walk on.
Mine is more edible than
what papa keeps in his belly.

You have a lunch box,
I have lunch, now go eat.
Nigdaw Sep 2024
box
I put you back inside your box
and placed it just behind my eye
the lid is loose and the sides cracked
light shines as though under a doorway
your story paramount in my library
when you're not here I hold a breath
that is yours and yours alone, a sigh
for when we are once more met
and history tumbles like yesterday
Jeremy Betts May 2024
I can't live with these thoughts
Take them from me permanently
Or ready my pine box

All life's cheap shots
I've never found a remedy
All pleasantry coagulates or clots

Vast planes of sparse lots
Riddle my memory so little to no memory
Only empty, inflammatory subpar plots

My past leaches off my future as it rots
Leaving mostly nothing left for me
Subsequently having less than the have nots

©2024
Next page