Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
How dare I sulk
over dust which has
slipped between my fingers
when poppies are rattling
in damp air
when daises smile up
beaming at their sun
clover and grass gleam
green and iridescent;
the dust which I lost
panged me so to no
avail until today I saw
this was the food
for early June creation.
I wrote this on my Iphone 5 after a run last May. I ended up running through a field of poppies, daisies and other gorgeous little baby flowers whose names I don't know (but would love to get to know)..

I was feeling angsty and melancholic, still processing this situation I was in with this immature dude. I realized he wasn't really into me when I had invested so much emotion.  But who has time for moping around when the world is so vibrant and amazing ?  So, essentially this is about Gratitude and Getting Over It !
Wrenched from a walking nightmare
Is this my rude awakening

My reasoning mind convincing a hollow heart
The storm is over
Foggy memories of you mistily fading

Slowly erased from my lifes pages
The notes that you left all that reside
A memory I'll hide in the depth of my mind
Box it and cage it in cages.

Air smelling flowery
I'm no longer choking on all that you are
Your toxic love I'm no longer chasing

My feelings no longer hating
Happiness is smiling again
I bought more shares within myself
My confidence now hugely inflating.
When you finally get over a broken heart
And the sky so clear you can see
Remember you once lived without a ounce of their love
So it's something  you don't really need.
Yes, I'm 65, now elderly,
That's the term, officially,
One day, shopped locally,
Bought a lotto, luckily?
Someone wins tonight, says she,
Dear God, why can't it be me?
Yes, yes, this lotto is lucky,
Wait for the draw, breathlessly,
Anticipate now I am elderly,
Old folk can be winners too, says she,
This is going to be my lucky night,
If I win, I can sort the bill for the light,
Getting old is not for hissy fits,
Come on, lotto, let's have a bit!
Feedback welcome.
Funny how I can no longer separate reality from dreams and fantasies
maybe I just don't won't to for I'm happy this way for It's got me thus
Or perhaps this was the way it was ment to be for me my way
of survival getting
through grief If true then Its certainly worked for
char May 5
grating leg bark
blinding and smooth
my hair snow is **** but

my burning pierces your pupils
i comply and i deceive
make my mind up
every night
a different hue you must shine

"you look stunning"
yet i feel like a puzzle
i slot my imperfections into the middle
so he won't see me until he tastes me

get teased
until you pick up three-hundred degrees
as YOU tease until you like who you see

why can he be anything
but i have to recalibrate
before i can celebrate

i will never reach my final form
Valerie May 2
-hard feelings-
thunderous crash
of the rainstorm,
the cold floor
i land on
the way down,
scorch marks
from holding
your heart,
and then
washes over
like streams
over rocks,
a tulip
slowly unfurling,
steam rising out of
hot coffee
and suddenly,
all the feelings
are soft.
hi i'm back and sad so this poem is here. this is not really a love poem, it's actually about getting over something that's why it's "no hard feelings" because when things break up or ended badly you have all these harsh emotions of hurt, pain and regret but now there's just sort of a...softness with it. time heals everything.
Sav Apr 30
What do you do
when you become
one with your demons.

Once they've been there
for so long,
that you no longer fear them.

I'm sure at first it felt as if you were under attack,
imprisoned within the walls of this cell that we call our minds.

What happens when you start to get over it,
when you start to leave
that demon behind.

What happens
when you suddenly find yourself
associating your self
with it,

not knowing how to be yourself,
without it's prickling paws,
it's suction cupped claws.

Is this some kind of mental stockholm syndrome?

It must be.

Feeling like you can't face breakfast without your baggage.

I need to learn how to detach.
I turned 16 the other day.

There's nothing much different,

yet here I am,

a year older, a year closer to death...

a year closer to living the life that I  want.

A year closer to making the change for the better.

A year closer to getting better.
Perhaps I will, perhaps I won't.
Next page