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Quin Rosenheart Dec 2018
I'm hopelessly in love
with someone who'd rather
push and shove
I feel so distant yet
they make me feel close
but really they're farther
than they've ever been
and I try to save
but they turn me away like
the tears on an
abandoned child left
on a deserted door step
I feel so very lonely
in this world full of
mixed matched feelings
broken dreams
and shattered hearts
they continue every day
to give me false hope
just enough to fall in love again
and I feel like a wicked candle
lit on fire with burning passion
just to be extinguished
and forgotten about
until they embark on a dimly lit date
with someone other than me
Simra Sadaf Aug 2018
when you would finally find yourself standing on my doorstep,
my neighbours will let you know,
that the poet has long left,
the splendid grandeur of my being
confounds me not anymore,
alone I wander across the roads,
my only companion are these words,
writing about our union in the afterlife,
I roam around these streets with
my heart in hand,
my soul dwells, somewhere in the void,
in the end, it will find its way you,
to breathe my last,
to finally know what it feels like to breathe,
to die in your arms,
to embrace new beginnings,
for I am a poet,
we live for dramatic endings.
K Balachandran Aug 2018
Net fish from doorstep,
In deluged water world;
Beat rain’s curse this once!
Obscrea Dec 2017
And here I stand
On your doorstep,
With nervous eyes
And shaky hands
Looking for words
And a peace of mind

My luggage is set
But it feels like I'm
Not ready to say
Richard Grahn Jun 2017
Love at the doorstep
I am here on your doormat
Just ringing your bell
Diána Bósa Nov 2016
Last night when the first
snow fell I was hovering
on the doorstep of

yours anxiously and
wringing my hands without a
dare to knock, even

my voice was laced by
unspoken poetry and
only stuttering

came out of my mouth.
I wanted to act; to love
out loud and fill the

space in between, but
under the shadow of a
doubt this void was made to grow.
Cat Fiske Sep 2015
I walked the streets,
wishing to hear from you today,
but I see the sad memories as the Adonis open up to cry and pray,
and I remember that I'm just going to slowly fade away,

I was to see a man holding Aster's,
who looked a whole lot like you,
I remembered how you said you loved me,
and then I saw the man pull out flowers as blue as your eyes,

a blue like Anemone for a women,
just as her and my face could show the fading hope,
how she remembered getting Apple Blossom's as a promise from you,
like you had promised to much to keep to me too,

you feel the Bittersweet in the Truth and patients and love you gave,
and you feel Blackthorns stab at you as if it isn't difficult enough,
to forget the pain,
and let the memories fade,

your on your way home,
and you see the bellworths all closed up as if hopelessness is dead,
and the Bittersweet Truth,
is trying to tell you look for the Bellflowers as if he sent you them,

but your heart will learn,
as you race home,
your heart will drop,
when you don't see hee wants to talk to you,

but when you see Butterfly Weeds on your doorstep,
as if he was trying to tell you,
Let Me Go,
when you wanted him to fly back,
Sad flowers to tell a tale about losing someone your good friends with, or just someone you love who doesn't wish to love you anymore.
Claudia Feb 2015
I don't have elegant words
I'm not one to relate lips
To fresh picked strawberries

But I have feelings
They could deafen you
With their dial tone

And god I try to use them for good
But I end up finding the bad
In everything

I know you're a little rough
around the edges, I'm a bit
coarse on the inside

There are moments where
I question it all
I'm blind when you're not here

The simmer on my
hard-to-warm-up-to soul
slowly dissipates

I ought to learn to remind myself
It's okay to open up my thick skull
To let someone see what's underneath

But who's to say
I won't regret it
Like I have with every other
Gallivanting soul I've allowed
To muddy up my doorstep?
Stages and Ages Nov 2014
Sometimes on particularly rainy days
I’ll find myself face down on a paper.
I’ll finger paint it will tear soaked pads
And I’ll brush a mosaic on my pillowcase
I’ll mail the blank page to your doorstep
And sleep comfortably in a sea of hasty brush strokes

Maybe this won’t change your life
But our secret will be kept safe.

— The End —