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nance Apr 14
I was stripped bare
when you left.
Naked and afraid.
Slapping my palms
against this cage;
banging on it in rage;
shouting, till my voice
became a whisper,
in hurt.  
in yearning.
in betrayal.
I did not blame you at first,
I blamed myself because
it was my mothers' doing
that had ripped us apart.
I blame you at times for
not pushing,
constantly reassuring
through a message I may
never see...
I don't want to let you go.
This greed that resides
does not want to share you.
This desperation does not
want to exhale you from its
This heart is fit for us two,
not three or four or more.
I want to wait until we are grown,
like we promised, an unbreakable promise.
A swore vow;
as if we are royalty sworn to rule
and own our throne-
to wear our crown.
I want to wait to live our lives,
but I don't want to be clingy,
because a girl will come in
and be everything I wanted to
give you.
She will become your rise,
while she is my demise.
So I sit here naked.
Stripped from the love,
the confidence,
the flamboyance,
the care,
the purpose,
the risk,
the worth.
That you gave me.
Never will I have someone
who gave me everything.

When someone you love that you try to make happy constantly even though your unhappy comes to take someone you love, that doesn't even remotely respect your happiness because of lack of understanding hurts your soul far than you know.
nance Apr 14
You might have been
considered chaotic,
but in my eyes, you
were the order that
I yearned to have
reinstated in my life.

A little poem that came to mind while writing, "Stripped bare from our love."
nance Apr 16
The wind was tentatively nipping at my skin.
during the car ride in sunny California.
My hand hung outside the window,
which held the ring that I gazed upon;
along with the semi-colon that is inked
upon my wrist.
The scenery changed behind my hand,
but my eyes did not set on anything
besides my hand in the wind of the window.
Until we pulled in.
I looked up and saw the eyes that stared upon me.
Drinking water.
I looked away quickly, focusing my eyes on my hand.
I felt the stare.
I felt yeux.
I glanced and then saw the car drive away.
I tried to keep it in afterward.
The small bit of confrontation after a year.
The recognition.
I let out a sound-
it was between a scream and a choke-
with a word following after to cover up.
The car halted to stop,
the driver asking me
what the hell is wrong.
I stayed silent.
I acted so stupidly.
If I was right-
though it was only a glance-
those eyes were not yours.
They were chocolate,
warm enough to melt someone;
sturdy enough to break with pressure.
Although, yours were an ocean that
could be calm enough to let me
bathe in, to swim in, and to let me
become adjusted in security:
but chaotic enough to swallow me whole;
bang me up against the tide and leave me
Inviting, captivating, dangerous, *****.
But it looked like you...
did it not?
Was I seeing you for you and I imagined
those eyes the wrong color.
or was it an illusion made by my mind
after working in the sun for a while?
I won't know.
I don't know.
I can't know.
Was it you?
It's 10:00 pm.
I should go to bed.
I have class then work.
I should just forget.
In the moonlight that seeps
into my window for my
room to be illuminated,
I stare.
I stare at my hand upon the ring.
That shines along with the
the mystery of the boy
who made me scream.
Was it you?
Please tell me, I murmur,
for the man in the moon.
True story.
My worst story on here.
No wonder no one sees my poems.
nance Apr 24
I wake up.
It was all a dream.
With tears in my eyes,
threatening to spill.
I smile through it.
At least I got to
be with you for a bit;
even if it was just a dream.

I know you guys might be tired of hearing about
him, but I am trying to cope, you know? And I know,
in love at fifteen? Really? But you don't get it. No one
older than I am ever does because I know the difference
between fake, real, true, love.
Opal Wood Apr 15
You see you lied to me
Promised you loved me
You're a user
You abused my trust
Now I'm finally realising
I was used by the one cared for
I dated a boy this year who was more difficult to understand than any girl I’ve ever dated. He always wanted to be with me, which isn’t a bad thing, I guess, unless you’re in school, and you’re trying to focus, and he’s starting to become controlling and clingy.
It started slow, with hugs every time I would walk to my other classes, and that was sweet. Then it grew to ten hugs in half an hour of seeing each other. And maybe it’s because I’m gay and didn’t realize it yet but he just got on my nerves all of the time.
When we had only been dating for a few weeks, he said
“I love you”
And I told him I didn’t love him back. I said it was too early and we were young and I was still figuring things out. He said
“I guess I’ll just have to keep saying it until you get used to it and say it back”
I couldn’t seem to explain to him how angry that sentence made me, or how toxic it sounded, and he continued to tell me, at least five times a day
“I love you”
I had not told my first girlfriend that I loved her, ever. I hadn’t told my second girlfriend until we’d been together for three months. I guess I should have told him then that we had to break up, that it wasn’t working. Instead, I gave in, I said
“I love you”
back to him. And that made him happy, but it made my insides coil every time I thought about him. Still, I did not break up with him. I thought I needed him for some reason. Because as much as I hated it, he did tell me he loved me, and I hadn’t heard that in a long time.
So when he began to say things like
“My girl”
“She’s mine”
Or calling me
“Babe” unironically,
I let it go. I thought it’s just a show of love. When I did tell him not to call me babe, he called me that the next day. He never seemed to remember when I told him things like that.
But he did tell me he loved me, however cheap those words were. I didn’t think about the fact he’d probably said that to his other eight girlfriends before me too.
The day I broke up with him, I told him I was still trying to figure out my sexuality. He replied,
“Fine, it’s not that big of a change anyway, from pan to gay, we'll just rewrite that in the books”
And that was when I knew that I was doing a good thing in breaking up with him. Because that relationship was not healthy, and I wasn’t happy.
He and I are still friends I guess, but not really. We don’t talk anymore, and I think that was always a problem we’d had.
your letters, written to coax an empty heart.
an illusion written with dying lead,
begging to fade away.
it is still beautiful, marching in formation
on the loose leaf paper towards the end.
your signature,
which stands to be the only thing left true.
I keep it,
a reminder how lies are beautiful
in your handwriting.
Can you remember when you were here?
I haven’t experienced any worse
I maybe should feel relieved
But I have never believed
That being free from your
Would mean emptiness
Broadsky Aug 2019
Adding honey to my tea and grabbing a stirrer, I see you out of the corner of my eye, baseball cap on, nose buried deep in a book.

Walking on these downtown streets today I thought to myself “I’m happy, and I’m happy without him”

See, the pain of our love crashing and burning doesn’t matter until I see you.

My stomach drops, my veins seize up, I’m stopped dead in my tracks.

I wish I could’ve said hello, I wish I could’ve asked “reading something interesting?”

But this is our reality, pretending we’re strangers and forcing the nights we spent under the moon out, out, out of our heads.

I don’t think I could look you in the eyes, I think it would immediately tug my heart down to my feet

The idea of us being friends is bittersweet like lemon drops, but no one talks about the bitter aftertaste.

I wish you well, I wish you happiness, and I hope you enjoy your cup of coffee with your read.
Saw you sitting in a coffee shop.
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