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Everything...
Is temporary.
And I alone carry this burden in which
No one—NO ONE
Can understand.

They don’t know!
That while they laugh
I cling to every note, keeping them like fireflies in a jar,
For looms the morn where darkness fills my ears
And their faces run like chalk in the rain

They don’t know
How actions feel brittle like seashells—
Their impacts; meaningless.
Their tomorrows, as far as the moon
For the future they create
I will not be there for it

They don’t know
What life beyond the train is like
But I do—raised in the fields blurring past
As I stare out the window knowing that
Soon I will no longer journey with them
Oh how even joy cuts sharp
when you know it won't last.

They don’t know
How I rehearse my farewell

They don’t know
They don’t know
They don’t know
And I can’t tell them
The guilt when someone who looks up to you says they’re looking forward to working with you in the same department when you know you won’t be there for it. The worst part? I can’t tell anyone.
I treat new friends
Like one night stands
Convince myself that they,
Like so many others,
Will leave.

Give them a glimpse
Of who I am--
Pre planned parts of my heart.
Never too much,
Never close enough
For them to take root and stay.

I take the thrill
Of someone new;
Their taste sparks on my tongue
Until I throw it all away
When the morning comes

I treat new friends
Like one night stands
And leave before they do
I'm a very social person and have met a lot of people whom I could have been close to had I not run.
this poem, honey, is all you’ll get –
not out of cruelty,
but fear.
every time I opened the door,
you’d flinch,
step back,
and leave me
with unsaid words,
and cruel bitterness.
September 6, 2017
For Johnny
sleep-heavy eyes, my hand reaches for you
then flinches – you’re nowhere in view.
the imagined shape only a breath ago
fled like a bandit
into dawn’s dissolving glow.
now my waking mind falters,
disappointment finds the door
through which you chose to leave –
once more.
this one is about how you weren't a one night stand, but you made me feel like one.
June 22, 2025
Mélissa Jun 18
Μέσα σε όνειρα και σε εφιάλτες
Τόσες ευκαιρίες και πρόσωπα σβησμένα
Βήματα που έγιναν με βάρος και με τόλμη
Και τελικά πήγαν χαμένα

Μέσα στη ζούγκλα ένα άγριο ζώο
Που δε ζητάει ποτέ αυτό που θέλει
Βρες το κάτω από το δέρμα
Σκάψε εντός, κοίτα στον καθρέφτη

Είναι ένα παζλ που του λείπουν κομμάτια
Είναι ένα αίνιγμα που του λείπουν στοιχεία
Μια πόλη στον θόρυβο πνιγμένη
Και ποιος ο λόγος μου να μείνω;

Όπου κι αν δείχνουν τα σημάδια
Όποια κατεύθυνση κι αν δίνουν
Εκείνη─      μισεί εμένα
Και εγώ─    νιώθω το ίδιο
This is an experiment.
I never write in my native language, so I decided to translate a song of mine from english to greek and turn it into a poem.
Bri Jun 18
I packed up my life
Uprooting all I had known
Loss like a knife
On a plane all alone

Only luggage I had
Harsh words in my mind
Not lovely, but sad
Unlike most words I find

They say time will heal
I’m not sure it will
I left, but I feel
I carry it still
Iha May 31
"Have you ever been depressed?"
(she questioned)
Lying on her lap, fingers snap and tap,
Thumbs beat like drums, lost in monochromatic numbs.

"Side effects of the pandemic"
(she laughed)
Teens with their trauma, entwined with karma,
Does depression have one S or two?
Like spelling it right makes it less true.

"Have you ever been depressed?"
(she sighed)
History which couldn't hide, traces left, of what time had dyed,
Echoes of memories, lost, drifting like leaves, forever tossed.

"Sometimes you forget,"
(she softened)
A slurring voice, back in the club's heavy noise,
Not every ache is the dreaded cry, yet what’s the point in asking why?
******* those heels and let the makeup get you by.

"Have you ever been depressed?"
(she cried)
Every laugh's taxed, the smile lines waxed,
Joy's inflation, making me starve, in a world of elation.

"It’s not that deep,"
(she hissed)
You think too much, your coffee's gone cold.
Do I (you) dream, or do I (you) dare?
People wish they had my (your) share.

I'm (You're) fine.
I'm (You're) here.
I'm (You’re) breathing air.

"Have you ever been depressed?"
(silence)
A flatline's ring, a ghostly sting,
No icebergs roam, just foam and loam.

"No one throws the raft you see,"
(she spit)
For a ship that’s sunk, down with a clunk,
Life's a cruel parody, why expect rescue for this tragedy?

Cutting off what's meant to be, such is the selfish strategy.
How i hate those (you's) but still love you is forever a mystery darlin
josef May 26
scared shitless of the idea that
in a month i’ll probably never see
him again

a constant in my life ever since year 7
someone who awoke something in me
allowing me to see who he is
what am i
without him anchoring me
like a drifting ship to shore
W
Lostling Jun 2
Dear Ela

    I wish I could put into words
    The way you made me feel—
    Loved and worthy, proud and strong.
    You helped my heart to heal

    So many times you held my hand,
    So many times I fell.
    So many days I’ll miss your voice
    When we’ve finished this farewell

    Thank you for all that you’ve done
    For choir (and for me)
    I wish you success, good health too
    And that you’ll be happy

With love, that one junior who always cries :P
This senior has been ridiculously kind and understanding to me, and I've been so blessed to have known her. Still, I can't find the courage to send her this, I dunno why.
jewel May 23
If I looked close enough, maybe I could still catch the faint traces of lint drifting in the air from his clothes and his hair. He never vacuumed. His clothes were wrapped in scented trash bags and thrown into the backseat of someone else’s car. I sat at his desk, digits flitting across the screen and keyboard. Numbers and words turned into many little games and suddenly the table was far too small for this charade. A new day with a side of a strange cough and a glimpse of tea-stained mugs waiting quietly on the countertop. Little tired footsteps on porcelain became the melody I had grown accustomed to. I handed him his neatly packed things, and in exchange he lent me his ear. Then it turned to little blue bubbles. The strings connect us. Ma vacuumed his bed over twenty times in the morning before calling it quits. The traces of him were always overwhelming. It was always never enough.
copyrighted, poemsbyjewel (2025).
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