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Moral point of view,
no books with any answers,
my lover, it’s weird without you around
& I have not yet mastered
the words of poetry, to convey to you.
While surprised that you ever loved,
while I was screaming about
everything being Holy.
For this had changed the course of my
affairs, it’s like I no longer have
any rest, I’m sure my emotions are
sending me to hell.
Wept, to how I suffer, my stanzas are lost,
though it seems selfish to vent
for me only, I was your keeper, because
you promised to be mine & war
broke out.
eli Feb 23
yikes i love you guys and-

i know i wasnt dating them first and that it was a mutual thing

but god.

im catching feelings
tina lombardo Feb 14
I love you
I was lost and unloved
I was crying at night
I was crying in day
I was felted left behind
The longer I wanted the longer I hide
Sun shine
It rained
My Heart didn't wanna
The one day I found you
And my life changed
You make me smile
You make me laugh
You make me happy
You made me live again
You make me safe
You make me beautiful even when I wanna cry
I love you until the day I die.
Lu Sep 2019
I'd rather set myself on fire,
than see you hurting.
Donna Bella Aug 2019
I’m getting older
In an multitude of ways
I can look at my yesterday and see so many things I thought I would have never seen
I fell in love again when I thought I didn’t have anymore love in me
I’m getting older
Maybe he’ll still love me as much as I love him
Im getting older
Thera Lance Aug 2019
Snow piles up against the walls, but thin clothes are all they wear
As the boy gardens within the greenhouses behind the school,
Red, bright tomatoes slipping out of his fingers, and popping into his mouth
That grins at the bursts of sweetness.
Inches from him, the man by one month pretends not to glance his way
Instead shifting through the bristling leaves to claim breakfast’s zucchini.

He would complain at the theft if the tomatoes weren’t everywhere
Making bland meals of packaged rice and canned beans a savory impossibility.
It isn’t like little indulgence will take away all of the red little briberies,
The secret keys to a reluctant community spreading its arms wide months after the pair stumbled in.

The man scowls, and the boy glances up
Not hiding his interest like his companion.
The solution to anger is always tomatoes,
So the next slip of fingers is against the man’s lips
As he bites down, the sweetness pops away mild irritation in the flavor of surprise.
Neither gives in to smiles, but their shoulders brush more than once as the tension seeps out with the heat into the snow.
I like tomatoes quite a bit, so of course there would eventually be a little cute moment with cherry tomatoes.
-This poem a part of the "Life Will Bloom in Our Shadows" poetry collection on Wattpad
Tyler Smiley May 2019
Hot breeze, 90 degrees. My shirt was soaking wet, but I couldn’t tell if it was from the sweat between my ******* or condensed beer bottle dripage falling from above. My days consisted of no work, all play. Vomiting out every ounce of fluid my body could hold once the clock struck 2AM, only to refuse the water and replenish myself with champagne in the morning. Filling myself with bubbles, hoping it’d make me more bubbly. For it was the season of the sun, of life, of vibrance- but I only seemed to be able to drag myself out from under my drunken mistake ridden sheets once night time arrived. I thrived in the darkness. It made it easier to put my tongue in places it shouldn’t have been, whether that be on a random salty neck or a burning bottle of tequila. It was the same cycle everyday, my goal to forget more than the day before. Until I didn’t remember anything anymore. I desperately wanted to find my way back to my old self, but it was left on the side of a road less traveled. A route with winding trails littered with shards of broken whisky bottles, and with every step I took more blood was drawn. But I was finally letting myself feel the pain instead of forcing its head down to drown in the overflowing liquid in my throat. Hotter than hell, late August brought a new fire to my eyes. I still don’t know how I survived the sweet, sweet summertime.
Summertime, boyfriends, and other things that nearly killed me is a short prose collection by me. Check back next week for part 2!
Gary Brocks Aug 2018
Picture a late afternoon
iridescent honey-yellow:

The glance she knows is seen
her cool hand placed in yours
your stripped shirt she rips,
her mouthing, “You’re it!”, hiding,
revealing herself stripped,
her finger tipped shh,
the brush of *******,
surrender and assent.

She'll rise with a rustle
of desiccated pines,
needles will fall from her back,
she'll crumple a cigarette pack,
humming a vacant lament,
fingers caressing a fossil flea,
embalmed in a dangling pendant.

Copyright © 2003 Gary Brocks

A girl I knew. She said on several occasions, “All my boyfriends remember me”. This was very important to her. Seemingly more important than actually maintaining a relationship with any one of them. Her memories of them were like fossils, like insects preserved in amber in a pendant, that she would rub over after a final *** act with her most recent specimen. Naming her Amber for the way she kept and used her memories (was I to become the flea?), and portraying her actions as a farewell soliloquy in mime seemed like emotionally truthful fun.
Coral Red Aug 2018
I was a flower. A beautiful blossoming flower, you made me blossom more. My petals were at their peak. You left and my petals withered away just like my innocence and self love did.

I will make the same mistake to let someone plant my seeds again, let me blossom, let me love, and let me fall apart so you can have a flower crown.
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