Itunu S 1d
Him
I don’t know what to do. He’s with someone else now.  And I despise myself for not being able to push back. For not being able to fight it and move on. I despise myself for getting too caught up in this man. For allowing myself to fall freely in love with him. To be vulnerable.

So now how do I move on and be happy. I see him smile, laugh, be happy and I wish just wish he could see the turmoil going on in my head and heart. Behind my smile lies a brokenness that only he could fix. Those same lips he smiles with once kissed me with all the desperation in the world. Asif I was his oxygen and lifeline. How do I allow myself to be comfortable knowing what we once shared so intimately is now being shared with another person that isn’t me.

What I feel isn’t jealously. I don’t know what I feel. A bundle of nameless emotions blacken my thoughts. Anger? Lust? Resentment? Hurt? Betrayal? I do not know what I feel. And it’s confusing. So this is what it feels like to have loved. A dangerous thing that has made me sworn to never again love until I am certain. How will I know? I thought I was certain. I feel betrayed more than anything. He told me I was his for ever and he sees a future with me. He told me “ you’ll probably be my wife someday” what does someday mean?

Stuck. I’m stuck on him and not moving forward. He was like a spell that was cast on me. And I’m stuck. Just stuck. So what now I ask myself? How do I function knowing the very person that made me get up in the morning is now out of my life...romantically. And I’ve prayed because trust me no one, NO ONE should feel this hooked on a person. And it’s a sin because I know that I’ve sent more time thinking about him than anything. And it’s a sin because I almost worshiped this man. Mere man made by God. Mere man had such a control over me. Mere man.

And I’m learning to help myself. Avoid eyes, carry on, imagine MY future. Work for me. It’s hard. Because I just want what was and not what is. And because of him I spend so much time living in the past dreaming, reminiscing, looking back at what ONCE was and no longer is. He’s somebody else’s man and I need to accept that and be my own woman. My own self without him.

And so I’m trying to comprehend what has happened and how quickly it happened. Can it just be over like this? And I often sit recollecting my thoughts and memories of what was. What could have been and I see the signs. And I think if only I had done something differently maybe we’d be in a different place or still be together.

Seeing him with someone else aches. I can’t help but think of what could have been. Yet again. Back pedaling. Like a tug in my heart. And I pretend. Blissfully act asif nothing is wrong. I cast my eyes away. Avoiding eye contact like a plague. Forcing my self not to look with all my strength. And it’s hard. So damn hard. But still I act. I can’t help but wonder if I’ll ever move on. I can’t help but think will someone ever be his infatuated with me?

Now. I feel a strange calmness. Acceptance. What’s happened has happened and I can’t dwell on what could have been. There is a peace. A small hope that our hearts reconnect. That we find out way back to each other and become one again. I’ve began to move on. I’m happy. He’s not the center of my world. Yes I still have a soft spot for him. He was my first love. The first person I ever feel so deeply For. My first obsession.
The first person I opened my whole self to him like a book and he drained me. He took every last bit of me i had to give. Maybe it’s my fault. I fell too hard too freely too fast. Recklessly speeding down the highway of love, throwing no caution to the wind.

And I still miss him. I am constantly plagued by what could have been. Regrets what I could have done differently. Desperately wishing I could go back in time. Please God just let me go back 7 months. Just to change one thing.
4 years wasted. 4 years of being emotionally invested in him. 4 years gone. Not a trace. Like strangers in the hallway. Feels weird not knowing what’s happening in his life. I want to know. I want to be his support. I want to be his pillar, his help, his constant, his anchor. The person he can run to any time and trusting I’ll have my arms wide open to reel him back into my heart. Where he belongs. Where he should be. Where he etched his mark. All over my body.

Him.
Obsessed with him.
Still in love with him.
I need to get over him.
My world isn’t him.
I’m voting to let go of him.
Him
So yh...I was I’m stuck on him. Help!
Victoria Mar 14
He was like rain
That washed away every bit of doubt in my mind
He was like sun
That warmed my lips every time we kissed
He was like snow
That you get every winter so you didn't have to go to school
He was like happiness
That spread through my blood stream like a virus
He was like sadness
That I couldn't get rid of because he wasn't with me
He was like lust
That captivated me every time he touched my body
He was like obsession
That whittled away at my thoughts
He was like jealousy
That made me hold his hand a little tighter if his eyes wandered
He was like smiling    
That you practiced everyday so people can't ask if you're okay
He was like hate
That you would choke down because you have company
He was like war
That you tried to win every battle but he had the upper hand
He was like fire
That you need to stay warm but if you got to close he would burn you
He was like love
That you wanted to fight for but at the end of the day
wasn't worth it
He texted me,
not to see how I was doing,
but to tell me
“I don’t like you writing about me.”

So,
this one is for you,
and you only.
The same boy who keeps texting me at three in the morning, high as a kite, is the same one who keeps reading my poetry and texted me telling me he figured out that my poems were about him, and he didn't like it too much... So I wrote another one about him.
Victoria Feb 25
We are the definition of TOXIC
We hate to be around each other
But are so madly in love
When we kiss
Its like fire is dancing happily around my mouth
When we hold each other
It's like the world stops moving and its only you and I
When I look into your eyes
I see love
True and honest
Without question or reason
But EVERY TIME  we open our mouths to speak
Nothing but insults
Hatred
Heart ache
Horrendous misuses of words that can't be taken back
And even knowing all that
I'd still take you back every time
Because when we're quiet
And we don't say a word
And the silence of you and I existing together
It's love
K Harris Feb 4
To bee or not to be
You’re none of my buzzness anymore
But i still am drawn like you’re the last field of wildflowers on earth.
But i stayed in the field and felt the buzz and thought i could do better but yet i see no pure fields anymore
But we parted both done smelling the roses
And i see you again
The flowers ignore the wishy-washy affections of the bee
But god i miss the wildflowers
I miss my quiet secretive garden
-- speak to my my dear flower
Speak to me
Love Nov 2017
There's always been rocks along the path,
who was I to deny the company of another on the same road,
fate would pull them away when their fork came,
but I always wondered alone, once and twice, I'd met,
but they left,
or I would.

So I walked along the path, feet with blisters,
often thirsty and drinking from my can,
I find you looking so sure of yourself,
you've traveled longer than I have,
you came prepared.

We walked along together,
I was wary to let another one in,
I felt exhausted and beaten down,
the last traveler that walked with me was a lost cause,
pretending to be sure but never really,
but you weren't and you knew it.

The walls of rock which no one would bother to climb,
you climbed, making sure I saw it,
so I'd remember when the days became hard,
that you would climb again and again.

You built a fort together with me,
I no longer was lone in protecting myself,
you joined my fort with weapons so I'd no longer be defenseless,
the roads I've walked along for so long,
you saved me from the thorns on my path,
showing me the softer grass to walk on.

When the fork came,
we looked at each other,
by then, I couldn't live without you,
wandering the path again was not the same,
the only path I wanted to walk,
was the one you were going.

So when you took that fork,
I followed.
Quinn Nov 2017
I see your smile and your laugh.

It hurts.

Every time I look your way,
it feels like a stab to the chest.

Is it an act? a play?
To make me feel the pain I put you through?

You moved on, rose above
but I'm still here, downing in the repercussions of our actions,

of my actions.

I'm now just a distant memory to you,

Forgotten
Jacob Jauregui Oct 2017
I was the first ripple in the lake
To caress you in your fall
But you did not wish to stay

You skipped along
Pursing love on higher depths
And last I saw, you were falling
More than I could've let

Your little stone heart
isn't skipping now
What has you sinking down?

The darkness clasps your heart
Tightly in his hands
What a terrible man

Does the pressure above
keep you below?

But In the dark,
don't you feel alone?
Carter Ginter Sep 2017
When I think about you and him
My stomach turns to lead
Coated in poison
Tearing apart my insides
As it falls downward
Fast.

I forgot how jealous I can get
After years of not feeling much of anything
And I hate how it feels because I know it’s not ok;
Your past is a part of you
And I think you’re perfect the way you are.

But when I think of how he hurt you
When you loved him unconditionally

How he hit you
When you were nothing but kind;

How he left you
Alone and broken

Twice

I am no longer jealous
I’m pissed.
Martin Narrod May 2017
Tangley Wangling

Fruit Jews in Tutus at youth group, maybe just a few with their screws loose. One self-rolling righteous group, their brothers grinning
Within the depths of their white-heads at the brim of a wet blanket suckling the needles catering new drug use. Two by two, elefants and woozels, hippopotamü's confusals, spongey-butts outfitting the rye n' wines refusals.

The luxury of a coccyx felt from the fingers turn to sunrise, where the water's weigh the bricks of suicides, concrete block tourniquets from the migraines of English turnabouts. So there's some surplus of surprise in them, in an integers shock-appraisal face-lift on Catholicism's lobotomy to cuckhold housewives seeking collagen, or the thick dark-skinned forearm-fisting insider's swinging in the houses of the denizens, or repurposing their malign from their unused vaginas, to suck the dust off such scab-covered stitches, which is like vacuuming between the loose inner-leg space of a succubus.

Bring out the gimp! Any fetishized leather-wearing hungry miner for the oral tongue-slapping mouth-dance might do, as long as the dom can subdue that sub tied to the stocks voted on for the public to use, there might be screaming, squirming, and scoffs, but there's nothing left for him that Marina Abramowicz hasn't already proven she's willing to lose. Plus, in this small town not far enough from Laramie, there's still too much fat to chew through, too much flab to tuck the dick into, where even the F.U.P.A. so deep that a phallic-day or deity might need the leverage of a boot to get even Ron Jeremy's cock unglued.

Lucky loos by the brothel befit these new arrivals, though some tyrannosaurs despise 'em, smoke as much as you can if you've got 'em.

But don't let your antiques get you down, an ornithologist lends herself to your bookends, and even that nighthawk roosting makes your car alarm sound second rate, it's seconds late as the aves rave to the ravens, and they pontificate. Owls hoo-hoo and hooting, branch off with the others and start colluding. They just wanna get you home, to get back those prosthetics you've loaned.

Canoodling barbarians on their way back from the aquarium, demand  their fires come from oblivion, which sends sparks of arguments from the sharks and the bathylkopian oblivions, where we found that this water's warm these citizens, demand recompense for such grandiose living expense, three pence to use the phone, twelve rupees towards the sofa, and even a deutsch mark for every sit or every look at sit, it's just a chair, a doubly set of wooden legs, idling under a table plank. Pirated by the buttocks, such bullocks it is, and that's just it!

An archaeologist on assignment discovered that the future of the rhinoceros exists upon the olfactory exaggerated proboscis, the result of flushing unused anti-biotics, and is currently working for dimes out of college to deluge this quite deprived yet interesting biopic.  

The films of the junky, grab at the balls thrown about by The Monkees, and the musicians wearing those stickers on their breasts, are victim to XXS cotton denim vests, unzipped and barely covering themselves, added to by the accessories and rings, jewelry if anything, a pearl necklace and nubile sacrifis.

And the trollops frolic, diurnally dispose of logic, doing the hoopty-hoop, the alley-oops, with mom's high school flute in nothing but cowboy boots!

These are, the new discoveries of our species, carved into the marble and wet frescos, in the street reliefs, spray-painted and air-brushed motif, this creates such gatherings for throngs of people who've unachieved their needs, who've displaced their parents and display their racist grieving beliefs to trash indigenous language pleas for francophonian linguistic greed that have splayed their hellacious treaty in what's considered to be modern circumscribed and ill-painted cuneiform visually conceived, vocal graffiti.

So that the neu-faux derogatory delegates stress to sudatorium, it has regressed to moratoriums, we've now cancelled this sport consortium of awful and flagrant art performances.
Next page