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Jay M Nov 2019
The hardest thing of all
Is being enough
For yourself

Living
When all you wish to do
Is perish

Yet

There are things to live for
Love
Friends
Some family

But in the moment
The only thing is love
But that is even hazed over
In that moment of weakness
Taking too many
Seated on the cold wooden floor
Clutching a stuffed animal
In a closet
Tears streaming down
Nothing seems real

Next dawn
Dizzy, lightheaded, weak
Finally kicking in
Overwhelming regret and guilt

Trembling as I lay
Wrapped in the blankets
Soft like a kittens fur
Invisible tears streamed down
Cascading to the pool of emotions
I was drowning in

After time
Finally
Gaining the courage to talk
To a friend
Trusted
Explaining
Understood
Swearing never to repeat that cursed day

But
Still
I must tell my love
What to say?
What to do?
Oh the ache
The sorrow
Never do I wish to hurt him
Yet
This shall...
Still
I must be honest

Coping is a challenge
One I have yet to master
But one day
I shall tame the demons within
Look up to the sky
Breathe and say;
"I'm alive."

- Jay M
November 6th, 2019
I'm alright. Recovering.
Àŧùl Nov 2019
Wait for the night to come,
It may not be an actual night,
You know that already, right?
Express your love for the paramour,
Afterwards, take a shower together,
Now sleep well and tight,
Tired from the night.

Wake up next day to find yourself lazy,
Hungover from the last night,
Hold your pen and paper steady,
Or maybe just switch on the internet,
Remember the last night from the gown,
Or maybe from the disheveled hair,
Or from the crumpled bed sheet.

Remember both of yours silent screams,
As you loudly whispered, "I love you baby!"
Then you finally collapsed into each other,
Into the puddle of love potions emanated,
Sticky yet soft, messy yet romantic,
Full of love and potent enough for new life,
Remember that you are husband & wife.
My HP Poem #1798
©Atul Kaushal
Mark Toney Nov 2019
Now here
Nowhere
6/5/2019 - Since my footle poem phase has turned a little dark, this ends my footle poem phase for now :) - Copyright © Mark Toney | Year Posted 2018
Bei Aguilar Nov 2019
I will never not be amazed
Of how magical it is
To love you.

Without a doubt
You are the one
Who keeps me coming
And coming
Until I reached it.

You keep me alive
You help me stand
You ******* guide me
Even without your knowledge

That is how
Powerful
You are
To me

I made this poem
(Or just a flowery letter)
To say
How madly in love I am
With you
I am having a hard time expressimg myself with words. Please, bear with me.
Peter Tanner Nov 2019
What do you do when the world is upon you?
When you are assaulted on all fronts.
How do you react?
Why does this happen to me?, you ask.
Who, if anyone, will help me?
Then, there's nobody.
It seems to happen just because.
Tears and Loneliness just come with the territory
It happens time and time again.
I sit and I wish I could cry.
Poetoftheway Aug 2018
,how do you know when
(a human is too broken?)




<•>

human too broken?

like the light bulb, removal from its fixture, a simple shaking revelation of the tinkling filament spent, something that cannot be repaired, the only option is replacement and that makes
you cry

the empty box of oatmeal raisin cookies, you find secret’d,
hid by you, not to be found by you
at the bottom of the kitchen garbage,
but box betrayal, by the chartreuse tipped box lid sided
peeking upwards, asking, silencing screaming,
what did I do to deserve
this degrading

like the blouse now too tight that it brings stares as the buttons strain, unwelcome attention unintended,
you know it but still pretend not to see,
for you both once loved that silky guise that so
heightened the high tender, the match of your pink rose skin letting, no! making
your eyes glisten, like broken filament glass, on the sidewalk,
recalling the pleasured admiration,
rain remembered from the
prior priority of a life consisting of only
perfect gifts

so mean revert to the poseur question; this is how...

remove the human from a fixed place, whimpering-threatened,
you may hear clear the crackle cackling  of the innard shards against the misperception of a body intact,
even if you do,
no repair service you want,  can be found, see it nowhere,
is it even
anywhere advertised?

the body presumed intact is secret’d under a tactile coverlet,
holey scupperrd holy cuttered
so that the cells and bicuspids, the threads
no longer function in a tandem,
you keep it in the closet closed,
in the back, deep hid, where,
when it screams why,
it can be safe ignored,
because  ‘betrayed’ is no longer a word,
in your globe's dictionary,
the parental controls activated by you to
save your own inner child’s unconstrained confusion,
it has been removed


so the broken glass, the clothes you dressed each other,
if not weep-well,
well enough hid,
the fit is off,
the fit is off,
the coverlet ripped so bad and neither cares
an unexpected poem, unplanned, needing work
aug 4-5
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