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I kept telling myself everything is fine,
All I need to do is walk the line.
Keep my head up — for the past,
I need to let go, for once, at last.

Letting go is hard.
I have to keep myself on guard.
Between us, I don’t want to build a wall,
I’m just petrified for us to fall.

I'll keep drying my tears — but don’t fret,
It’s only because I wasn’t ready yet.
I'll miss the thought of you, it’s true,
But I could never forget my sweet baby boy blue.

I'll be here waiting with open arms and heart.
I could — and would — never pull us apart.
Stay strong, keep your life steady,
And just know... I wasn’t ready.
The real question is would I have ever been ready? Did you save me from dreading over it before it happened.?
eliana Jun 24
To have your last name
makes me ill.
You make me so angry
I want to ****!

I hate your voice
and the thought of you.
You were never there
when I needed you!

You're inconsiderate,
you're a lazy slob.
How could you do
what you did to mom?

It's like you don't
even accept me.
What kind of father
can you be?

You're stupid for thinking
that I'd forgive
what you did to me...to mom... to grandma.
How do you live?

Do you regret?
I hardly doubt.
I bet that I'm
the last thing you think about.

Don't lie to me.
I know I'm right.
I don't want you
in my sight!

Stay where you are;
don't bother.
You're lousy - I hate you
You're not my father!!

But that's okay,
you see,
because I don't need
your love!

You've forgotten
me before.
Go ahead...do it
some more!

LOSER! ****! - I hate you
you're not my father,
and guess what,
I'm no longer
your daughter!
while ive never thought to "****", at times when i was grieving my father being in jail, i hated him for quite some time and hated talking to him over the phone and hearing him tell me he misses me and loves me, thinking it was lies. i still have times when he calls it just disgusts me but im trying my hardest to not hold a grudge. i love him still but hes just not the same in my eyes.
Cadmus May 19
Sometimes,

you find yourself walking alone.

not because you’re lost,

but because you know

the road

so **** well.
This poem reframes solitude not as confusion, but as clarity born from experience. It honors the strength of those who choose to walk alone - not from loneliness, but from hard-earned wisdom.
Maria Etre Apr 8
And then
I said,
"All my poetry
is not
fictional"
putting all
these short
little bursts
of inspiration
in a different
perspective
I’m too much.
I’ve heard it in every sigh,
seen it in every glance that lingers just a second too long—
the weight of me suffocating the space between us.

I ask for too much,
but it never feels like it.
I don’t ask for the world,
just the bare minimum:
A little attention. A little care.
A little proof that I matter.

But somehow, even that’s too heavy.
Too big. Too loud.

I’ve learned to bite my tongue,
to shrink myself down to something easier to swallow.
Soft-spoken. Simple. Small.
An echo of who I was,
because maybe then,
I’ll be easier to love.

Spoiler alert: I’m not.

I’m always too needy,
too messy,
too complicated.
The kind of person you put up with,
but never choose.
The kind of person you forget as soon as the door closes.

I feel it every time I reach out,
fingers trembling in the dark,
hoping someone will hold on—
only to find the emptiness waiting for me again.

I want to scream,
“I don’t want much!”
Just to feel seen.
Just to not be forgotten.
Just to be the kind of person who matters to someone—
even for a little while.

But I’ve learned how this goes.
I ask,
and I become too much.
I stay quiet,
and I become invisible.

Caught somewhere between being too heavy to carry
and too easy to leave behind.

So, I sit with the weight of it.
The loneliness.
The ache that tells me I’ve always been replaceable.
A body that takes up space
but never quite fits anywhere.

And the worst part?
I still keep hoping.
Still keep waiting for someone to see me
and not run.

Even though I know they will.

They always do.
grimthepoet Dec 2024
What is it like?
What is it like to smell flowers in the Spring?
What is it like to feel safe and secure?
That feeling must feel like Heaven
Sweet, warm, Heaven.

What is it like to trust someone with your life;
To wakeup to someone you're loving life with?
To get one hundred percent of love from someone?
What is it like to be loved?
Properly.
I have been going through a rough "relation/situation - ship" with someone. I need some advice from you guys.
Sam S Dec 2024
I wear my kindness like armour,
But don’t be fooled by the glow,
For beneath it lies a fury,
That only few will ever know.

When I choose to show you love,
It’s not a weakness, don’t be deceived,
For a heart that’s been through hell
Knows when to stay, and when to leave.

Be grateful for the peace I give,
And remember, it’s earned, not free.
For I am both fire and stillness,
And you’ll see both,
Please don’t test me.
Nat Lipstadt Nov 2024
cracks me up
this erroneous error message,
looks at me and states authoritatively
nuh-uh, buddy, “it ain’t you you babe,
it ain’t you we looking for babe”

makes me crazy crying
copiously betw snorting fits of
eloquent derision

why oh why

is it daily savings time prematurely
(immaturely) aging me,
be it advancing decrepitude
or just the AI’s sullen attitude?

be it a secret messaging that my
mother’s slow descent into
senility, loss of speech is now me-
visible to the all seeing eyes on
a dollar bill, & or the iPhone genie?

this erroneous messaging appears
with an irregularity regular, just
enough to make me think that

this
       is
           not
                  accidental

come to nyC,
come me to see,
need an independent  
judgement  summary
please
before the winter pale overcomes my
poetic resistance and they park me
in the backyard, where I can sit yet,
studying for multiple hours
the river-fed bay on its way
to the vastness of the Atlantic
Ocean, where the water will combine.
all cells of each of our selected
those chosen body’s of water,
bodies now interring,
while populating
intermingling
taking stingling diatoms from
of each, they will kiss, greet, each other,
with the clarity of recognition that our
poetry has already bonded us in ways that are irrefutable, been coming long time
geological formations new and old,
still forces unstoppable foreseeing
every, every ever
10-31-24 a prolific
October comes to a glorious end,
with glorious sunshine warmth, bringing out the
costumery adults. pretending to be daytime adults…
arrivederci ottobre, benvenuto novembre!
Tracy Oct 2024
I must admit, my heart broke a little bit,
Hearing you call poetry boring.
Poetry can evoke, totes emotes,
Sending our hearts a-soaring!

With pretty prose, and colourful cadence,
Some poems are written to cheer us.
Others are dark, no walk in the park,
All about blood, Guts and corpses.

Where would we be, without poetry?
No songs to sing, nor limerick’s whit,
“Baby’s Shoes” to the “Iliad” gone,
And the world would be sadder for it.
If any of this, puts a curl on your lips,
Then you’ve probably liked poetry all along.
Written for my son's 18th birthday as a preface to a collection of poems and photos I put together with his his dad. His dad did an illustration of his favourite anime character "Guts", so that's why it has a capitol G here.
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