Thought I would need to be blind
to miss the signs that
you were meant to be mine;
smiles stretched miles wide
and serendipity starbound
in the nights together
awake til twilight.
But your gentle touch
is now engraved in my spine,
cleaved by the same knives
which divided
once you decided
that you reside
over the line.

Memories that bind
still seize,
bleed in my mind;
I'm undone
but not yet untied,
I took a dive
and the only reciprocity
were my returning sighs like the tide,
the quiet and silence
of goodbyes
bottles now washed up on the seaside
freezing messages
left inside,
the past now magnified,
broken glass gutting
and cutting me down to size
leaves me grieving a lie
crying why can't I find,
tried,
died,
now pining to be revived–
my god am I even still alive?
Well I guess its time
to just
survive.

Eyes never lie
Then was it hallucination, or just my delusional mind?
That I thought he was in love with me!

Was it just a matter of pretend?
Pretend to love me so as to get me,
I might say my body..

What was it that I saw his eyes full of love for me?
His actions that I mistook for,
To bring the world for me.

If only I knew that eyes sometimes lies,
Sometimes betray.

I won’t reach out again—not now, not soon,
Though my heart still whispers to the silent moon.
Your voice still lingers in the corners of my mind,
But I’ve learned that love can’t outrun the unkind.

You said goodbye—so softly, yet so clear,
A dagger wrapped in words I still half-fear.
And though I’d trade the stars for one more day,
I’ll not beg a soul who chose to walk away.

Twice, you will not tell me I’m not your choice;
I won’t silence my worth to quiet your voice.
I’ll assume you’re happy; she holds your hand,
While I hold my silence, as was your command.

I miss you so much; how I wish you could see,
But I’ll carry this ache with quiet dignity.
You’ll hear no message, no pleading refrain;
The echo of absence will call out your name.

If you wish to speak, you’ll know where to find
The woman who once gave her heart and her mind.
But until you seek me, this truth will remain:
I’ll never again walk toward love through the rain.

Though you chose her, you said it was ease—
A history shared, and distance that pleased.
You spoke of your love, how real it had been,
But love that’s weighed against ‘easy’ can’t win.

I’m not a fallback, a regret to erase,
A comfort you seek when you’ve lost your place.
I’m not the safe harbor you turn to in shame,
When the love you chose no longer feels the same.

I won’t be a shadow, a thought in the haze,
A memory you chase on your loneliest days.
I understand mistakes—we all lose our way,
And maybe you’ll see it more clearly one day.

But know this: I will never be second to none;
A choice made for comfort is a love that’s undone.
If you realize the weight of what you let go,
I’ll forgive the mistake, but still, you should know:

I may understand, but I’ll never comply;
I’m no one’s ‘what if,’ no matter the why.

When will the mornings feel different?
When your name doesn’t linger in my first thought,
When the light through the blinds doesn’t whisper your face,
And I rise without the weight of your absence?

When will the nights turn soft with forgetting?
When the pillow cradles only sleep—
Not the ghost of your laughter, your voice in my ear,
Not the echo of all that could never be?

When will the music play untainted,
A melody not stitched with your shadow?
When will I stop wondering if you’d love this song,
If its rhythm might stir something deep in you,
And silence the urge to send it your way?

When will the sight of your favorite team
Be just a score, a game, a fleeting moment—
Not a trigger pulling me back
To the sidelines of my unspoken longing?

When will the world stop speaking your name
In everything, in everyone, in places unknown?
When will my heart stop aching for answers
That it knows will never come?

Maybe the day will come.
Or maybe it never will.

It’s not that I want you gone from my head—
But I want you closer, real, mine.
I love you, I miss you,
And I know I always will.

I think I fall in love too easily,
Maybe that's why people keep leaving me.
I have a whole box of herbal tea,
That I bought after she left me by our favorite tree.

I had forgotten the language of fire,
How words could burn and rise, inspire.
For years, my heart lay cold and still,
A hushed and empty, barren hill.

But then he came, with a quiet spark,
A light in the void, a song in the dark.
His presence a key, unlocking the door,
To parts of myself I’d lost before.

He stirred the ashes, he fanned the flame,
Awakening passions I could not name.
Poems poured forth, creativity bloomed,
A garden of love where shadows loomed.

Not since sixteen had I loved this way,
So fiercely alive, so willing to stay.
He reminded me of what it could be,
To love without fear, to simply be free.

But now he is gone, his light withdrawn,
And the fire he lit flickers at dawn.
My pen grows heavy, my heart turns cold,
As the warmth he gave begins to fold.

He was my muse, my radiant sun,
The source of the art my soul had spun.
Now every verse feels brittle and thin,
A hollow echo of what might have been.

Still, I thank him for the time he gave,
For waking the parts I couldn’t save.
Though the flame may fade, the embers remain,
A whisper of love, a trace of pain.

Before I met him, I lived underwater,
A sea of chaos, a storm to slaughter.
Each breath was a battle, each stroke in vain,
A silent war with an endless pain.

Then he arrived, like light on the tide,
Clarity cutting through where shadows abide.
A life raft extended, his hand to my own,
For the first time, it felt I wasn’t alone.

He was the stillness my storms couldn’t shake,
A mirror of truths I feared to face.
His voice was the anchor I craved to stay,
Yet his gaze lingered elsewhere, a fragile sway.

For she was the current pulling him near,
And I, just the waters he learned to clear.
The day he chose her, the raft pulled away,
And I sank, unmoored, into endless gray.

Now my mind’s a swamp of tangled debris,
The echoes of clarity haunting me.
What once was a beacon now clouds my view,
A love that drowned me, though it felt true.

Yet somewhere beneath this murky despair,
The memory lingers, gasping for air.
One day, perhaps, I’ll rise and float free,
No longer his waters—just wholly me.

He chose her, not me—
the story ends where I am erased.
A triangle now a straight line,
and I’m left wandering the empty angles
of what we once were.

He deleted it all,
every thread, every laugh, every word.
The silence isn’t just loud;
it’s a void.
Now there’s no proof he actually existed,
Without proof, it’s as if I’ve been mourning a mirage,
a shadow of love that never cast light.

I saw this coming all along,
like storm clouds gathering on the horizon.
But hope is a stubborn liar;
It breathed life into dreams I should’ve buried.
And now the sting cuts twice as deep—
first for his choice,
and second for believing he might choose me.

It was foolish of me to think,
when he said, “I’ve been writing something for you,”
that it could be anything but a goodbye.
Still, my heart dared to hope—
that maybe it was love,
a promise, a beginning.
But no, it was an ending
wrapped in words that shattered me.

But what aches deeper
than his absence
is this war within.
My brain, ever the protector,
whispers: forget him, let go.
But I won’t let it win,
no matter how much it begs to shield me.
I know it’s trying to save me
from a pain too sharp to bear,
but I need to survive this
without losing the pieces of him.

Because I don’t want to forget,
not the love I have for him,
not the way he smiled,
not the way his voice felt like home.
Every detail, every fragment—
I’ll carry them all,
even if it breaks me.
The pain keeps him real,
and to lose him completely
would be worse than the ache of loving him alone.

Rereading the scraps,
the echoes of us,
I cling to them like artifacts
of a fleeting world.
They tether me to a past
that my mind tries to bury,
but my heart refuses to lose.

It’s a cruel mechanism,
this erasure of survival,
and I can’t let it win.
I want this pain to stay,
to pulse, to burn,
to be the proof that he existed
and I wasn’t just dreaming
the loss of him.

Abruptly
deep in my gut,
no longer
fluttering butterflies,
the flustered blushing,
rush of blood,
but utter disgust
bubbling up.

Knees buckling,
stuck in its clutches
when it cuts,
ruptures,
unobstructed
it erupts;
gushing upset
to puddles
and like destructions not enough,
still struggling to adjust,
im left
just a husk.

Nerves in flux,
shuddering
from as much as a touch,
thoughts no longer
lustrous luck
but nothing–
dusk.
So what of us?
We rust,
structure
reduced to rubble,
crushed
to dust.

He stands at the crossroads, torn in two,
Between me and time, what is he to do?
I, the spark, the chaos, the flame,
Time, the steady—unwavering, tame.

They were friends first, their bond was light,
Born of comfort, not love’s true might.
She gives him safety, a familiar embrace,
But love isn’t comfort; it’s a deeper space.

I dance in colors, bold and wild,
Time whispers softly, serene and mild.
She moves in circles, unbroken, clear,
I leap through shadows, chasing the near.

Yet I stand faithful, steady, and true,
My love is constant, my promises few.
While she plays games, fleeting and free,
Chasing thrills without loyalty.

She’ll claim she feels, she’ll whisper “it’s real,”
But her actions betray what her words conceal.
For love isn’t fleeting, it’s steady and whole,
Yet she’d share him freely, with no care for his soul.

I see her using his heart as a tool,
Playing him softly, making him a fool.
For her, it’s a game, a fleeting affair,
But for him, there’s more, though she doesn’t care.

She loves the chase, the lust, the dare,
Invites a third without a care.
Her heart’s a wanderer, unanchored, loose,
While mine is tethered with no excuse.

When I hear they’re together, my heart starts to break,
A pain so deep, it’s more than I can take.
Yet she stands there, willing to share,
As if his love is a game, not something rare.

If we’re opposites, stark as night and day,
How can his heart beat in both our sway?
Does he love her stillness, her endless grace,
Or the thrill of my ever-changing pace?

I hold his secrets, his dreams, his fears,
I would stand beside him through trial and tears.
Yet her fickle heart, unbound by shame,
Would most likely cheat and tarnish his name.

Perhaps he is both—the wild and the calm,
Drawn to our worlds like a hymn and a psalm.
Yet, in this triangle, I can’t help but see,
What he loves most may not be her or me.