Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
i want you to know
when you don't write back
i fill in the blank pages myself
and you say terrible things.
i write 'til white paper turns black and
every word drips with the vindictive
spit that rolls right off your tongue
like it's natural. like you're filled to the brim
with venom, and it spills from the tip
of your fountain pen.
and then i remember when
i receive a letter that isn't laced with
my insecurities, there's not a bad bone
in your body. i see you smiling
and all the venom drains from your teeth.
i remember why i'm so scared
of losing touch.
write back soon.
Malak S Aug 2017
Dear The One,
I haven't received a text from you in a while now.
How've you been?
I've been good.
Your memories don't knock on my door often.
They just breeze in from time to time.
My heart doesn't break at the call of your name.
I'm fine,
This time I mean it.
But,
It always seems like there are words lost in between us,
Waiting to be unleashed,
To be written into letters.
See, there's always that voice within me begging to ask how you're doing,
And it's not out of loneliness,
Even though loneliness knocks at my doors every night, demanding to keep me company.
Regardless of the void you've previously left,
I still care for you.
Love,
Isn't something easy to dispose of.
I still carry so much of it within the cracks of my chest,
I just stopped showcasing it to every passerby, asking if they know how to mend me.
I don't know what the aim of this letter is but,
I know it's to remind you that I am still present.
I'm still here, wandering through lonely streets, staring at bright stars and night skies, wondering when and where I'm going to gain some sense of stability and form of happiness.
I just hope you received that when you walked all over my broken pieces, unaware that it was going to take too long to put all you've wrecked together again.

Write back to me,
Even if it's just a few words about how life makes sense,
Without my presence.

Yours truly,
Angel
I always have words to say to him. I'm just always wondering when he'll write back to me
Ileana Payamps Aug 2017
I am from VapoRub,
From Goya
And morisoñando.
I am from the traffic
And loud horns,
From the Caribbean heat,
And the city lights,
From the buildings
And the towers.
I am from the palm trees
And the coconut trees,
Dancing bachata
And merengue
In the beach,
From yaniqueque
Y plátano,
From tostones
And fish.
I am from Sunday gatherings
And loud family members,
From Jose, Maria, and Primos,
And the hardworking
Payamps clan.
I am from the
Madera’s baseball team,
From Canó, Sosa, y Ortiz,
From the long summer rides
To ***** Cana
And Samana’s beach.
From “work hard
Cause life is not easy”
And “family before friends.”
From Christianity
And Saturday morning sermons,
From God is good
And He brings joy.
I am from Santo Domingo
And Monción,
From Santiago
And Spanish ancestors,
From mangú con salami,
From rice and beans.
From the grandpa
Who owns the village
Surrounded by
Chickens, cows, and bulls,
From the business owner
And the well known uncles
In my hometown.
I am from the only flag
With a bible.
From the red, blue
And white.
From the most beautiful
Island in the Caribbean,
From Quisqueya y
Libertad.
I am from the
Dominican Republic,
The country that holds
The people I love and
Miss the most.
I am from the
Little Paris box
I keep next to my bed,
Filled with precious
Gifts and letters
That make me feel
A little closer
To them.
a little background
open letters left to gather mould
but i'll still lick the glue on the
underside of the envelope when i
muster up enough guts to send my reply.
then i'll write to you
about the fungus that grows in my lungs
and the days that i've been coughing up blood
because if you're worried about my health
you're sure to write back soon.
i resort to dead flesh and scarlet chests
to get the slightest hint of affection,
sometimes it works and it's worrying
because you really shouldn't care about me.
Malak S Aug 2017
Dear Chaos,
Hi.
I don't know how to start this because I'm sure this is going downhill from here,
But how are you?
I'm...coping.
There's this whirlwind going inside of my mind and All my insides are compelled on coming up,
Any minute now.
I'd ask if you'd lend me a hand but I know that whatever you touch, you're pledged to burn.
Sometimes I feel like that;
Anything my fingers come across,
The contents become ash
A figment of my imagination,
No longer present.
How is it that you're so used to the damage you create?
No matter how many times I ruin something,
This ache within me grows.
There's a hole in the center of my chest.
I think the void will swell and someday,
I'll disappear.
Chaos,
Why does it always seem like loneliness hangs onto me?
This weight that presses into my lungs makes it hard to breathe.
I lie there in my half filled bath tub and think about how it would be to drift through space.
There's this immense silence that I wish my mind would contain but I'm guessing it's used to the endless talks and gibbering of nonesense.
Chaos,
There's so much hurt...
Why can't you leave me alone?
Why can't something else clutch onto me and love me
Why does it have to be you?
Am I supposed to appreciate that I get loved by you, even though I slowly lose myself in this maze you've created inside my head?
Chaos...write me back.
Help me understand.
Yours truly,
Angel.
Another letter, hoping I get answers
Lunar Aug 2017
to touch your hand
would take me years
to reach in reality;
not so
when i can try
to touch your heart
with all these letters
that i'm writing to you.
will you remember me by then?

from short notes
thought up on random moments,
to long essays
that take me months to compose
—funny how i'm nowhere
near to being composed
whenever i write for and about you.

but have you heard of the fact
that the unfamiliar faces in your dreams
are faces of people you've seen in reality?
at the very least, i know
i've entered your bloodstream
the moment your eyes
settled on my words, on me.

you might not be able
to remember my words
nor will you remember me
because of them;
however i now realize
i will be able to touch you
even if it's just in my writing
and in your subconscious dreaming.

yes, we'll remember each other this way.
For, to, and about Kira
and the way she loves
and writes for Brian/YoungK of Day6.
I love every bit of what she has written
and shown to public, and I hope she writes more!

It would take
parallel worlds
of writing and dreaming
if one were to remember you
for your words
instead of your face, voice, or hands.
Because, I believe, that's when you'll know
you are engraved in their existence.
And writers are remembered for their words, after all.

Keep writing, Kira.
You will touch him and he will remember you.

(j.m.)
J C Jul 2017
I cleaned up my cabinet today,
and I saw the first doodle
you had ever drawn.
I cleaned up my cabinet today,
and I'd thought I'd have the strength
but I found it was all gone.

I cleaned up my cabinet today,
and it was unearthing tin cans
I can't seem to break.
I cleaned up my cabinet today,
and the dust of what once was
I kept in an ashtray.

I cleaned up my cabinet today,
and all I have to remember you by
is how the n caressed your lips
when you said my name—or
at least think you never said good-bye.

I cleaned up my cabinet today,
and I'm trying to keep afloat
but there are too many holes in this boat
and I'm sinking,
thinking,
how to throw your memory all away.
Unfantastic Beasts and How (Not) to Move On
a tale by
An Empty Cavity
Star BG Jul 2017
Sitting at my desk I write a love letter.
I address it to memories
to the self that recalls life's finest moments.

And as I write I breathe deep.
Digging into hearts cavern,
there inside a precious song
my pen touches paper.
Dear memories,
I love you both good and bad experiences that linger.
I love you for showing me my inner power divine.
I love you for giving me the gift of compassion
and to I know who I am.
I love you for helping me grow to prosper.
And ME I know you love me too,
from the letter I found in my heart.
inspired by a poem by Zachary William
J C Jul 2017
I close my eyes to sleep
to see you smile through
your long, wavy hair.
Through uncoated curtains,
the warm gold of sunlight is
soft on your fair skin.
And pearls don’t shimmer
as your eyes, wide and (bright)
as heaven is on dark, cloudless nights.
And my eyes turn to yours
and we laugh like it’s new and
we fumble over hot breaths
and we sigh deep, (a deep,
contented sigh)
of unused I love yous.
And when mouths no
longer utter the right words,
the silence dwelt in is home.
In the blink of an eye,
the crank of a ****,
once more the cogs of life turn anew.
Since when do flies feast hastily
on rotten hopes
of unfulfilled promises and dreams?
To sadly realize (terrible fruition)
there is no home to go to
when there is no you—a fate worse than
death.
Next page