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S H Violet Sep 23
You told me how you've
never believed in love before me,
like you could've taken
a line from a film.

And if it came from
anyone else, I probably
would've thought you did.

You and me, we aren't
made out of illusion.
We don't wander upon
luck with happenstance.

I just knew it was true
when I saw your eyes
change color.
I like you
Wait it’s only been a day
But I’ve spent hours messaging
Talking all day

Yes I rhymed day with day
What are you gonna do?
I’ve wasted all my conversational skills on you

I like you
But at the same time I know
You’re out of my league
And I’ve been too slow

You’re talking to other people
More interesting
Who send better things
Than the things that I think

But I like you
But talking, I’ve figured it out
You’re too far away
And you’re emotionally down

A breakup too recent
You need to find you
Like everyone on these sites
You don’t know what to do

You don’t know what you want
You’re just milling around
But I know what I want
And I’ll stand my ground

And we might talk for weeks
We might talk for months
You might call me up
Invite me out for lunch

But you’ll never meet
Our schedules don’t align
Even though it seems
For your friends you have time

And so you string me along
Because I’m here and you’re bored
And you waste my time
Get my hopes up, good lord

And then you tell me I’m needy
You’re not over your ex
And you say your goodbyes
And then move on to the next.
I told you I would find you a spring poem
filling your mind with the smell of daffodils
the worded anticipation of warmer, saturated

But poems about spring feel tacky tonight
like a valentines day chocolate that melted
in my back pocket where your hand fits

They reverb a sublimity, so far sickly
softness that my tired eyes can’t grapple to focus. I’m trying but spring means that

My year has been swallowed before me
and the only use I see for budding sakura
are for peppering that grief with scorn.

There’s no optimism in the mother’s womb.
Yesterday’s shellacked optimism is matte.
Fertility doesn’t subdue reality. Sigh.

Perhaps I will sleep it off. But then,
perhaps cynicism in the face of ******
beauty, is my becoming a poet.
Natalia Aug 4
Everything may end,
The unknown knows.
All you dread.

You are held aloft.
Seeing the events.
Quiet and tense.

The storm builds,
Thunder softly stirs.
Shy away.

Come down,
Touch the earth.
Unbearing suspense.

Your breath is taken,
You are made blind.
Speech is numbed.

Hide from all,
Seek none.
Hear no-one.
I can only count on myself.
the spinning of a room filled with people
the yelling
the door slamming quickly
as he enters my perception
my pupils contract
my blood curdles
the discord he fills the room with
how eloquently he masks
his ultimately bitter character
I fall on the ground
quaking, struggling to breathe
his eyes fall upon me
he manages out a laugh
and as I close my eyes
for the last time
they tell me
I am a cynic
Sylph Feb 21
Lifes like hills
They rise and fall
You will be at your highest
Then life will bring you back down to hell
And I used to wonder while people were skeptical of happiness ha
blackbiird Oct 2019
Love’s dead.
Love’s dead.
I’ll say it again.
I’ll sing it from the rooftop
'Till these old bones stop breathing.

I’ll take a knife to
My pulmonary arteries and watch
My undeserving heart lose its ruby-colored dressings.
Before I let love
Fool me again
With its deceptive tactics.  

Am I a product of my environment?
Or do I just
Lack the basic capacity
To understand love’s cruel semantics?

Only time will tell what becomes
Of this defective love
That plagues my soul.
blackbiird Oct 2019
Cut the cord
And rip out my
Like you do
Everytime you walk away.

At least my
Cynicism will be
There to greet me.
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