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You came to my life like a snowstorm so slight,
Then turned into spring in the heart of the cold.
You were my truth, my joy, and my light,
Now just a shadow in night skies untold.

You were like a dawn turned into a dream,
You banished the fog with your radiant face.
I breathed in your soul every morning it seemed,
In your eyes was an unearthly, infinite place.

You left without asking how my heart cried,
You left without seeing my world fall apart.
And where once love burned like a fire inside —
Now ashes and ruins, and a wind without heart.

I grieve. But I don’t wait. Don’t forgive. Don’t implore.
I drown in my thoughts — yes, they’re still all of you.
Like leaping from time into darkness once more,
Where my voice is a whisper in silence untrue.

Remember you whispered “forever, just we”?
Now all that we vowed has been buried in dust.
Even your photo seems foreign to me —
No warmth, only pain, where once there was trust.

Now night after night, and with each final line,
You live — strangely real — in the poems I weave.
But you are gone…
And all that is mine —
Is to write you…
With tears that won’t leave.
"Thou, I can't tell what I need,
Yet in thy heart, it's already known.
I will whisper, I will resist—
Be my sapphire, I, your metal.
Molded to hold, forged to protect,
For one to be yours,
I am black—
Ever beneath you, unseen but near."
This peice is very vague and deep! Need summary? Here it is
The Poem Explores Longing, Silent Sacrifice, and Emotional Detachment in Modern Relationships.

1. An Emotionless World & Unspoken Longing

The poem highlights the contrast between past depth and modern detachment. "Thou" evokes an era of deeper emotions, while "can't" confirms the present, where people hesitate to express feelings. The speaker longs for love, attention, or care, yet cannot voice it. The beloved already knows this but chooses to ignore it, showing how emotional connections today often lack sincerity.

2. The Ring Metaphor: Love as Silent Support

The speaker compares love to a ring—where sapphire and metal exist together. The beloved is the shining sapphire, rare and precious, while the speaker is the metal, molded to hold and protect it. The metal bends, shapes, and sacrifices its form only to uplift the gemstone, symbolizing selfless devotion and silent endurance.

3. "I Am Black": The Pain of Being Unseen

The phrase "I am black" carries deep meaning. In a ring, the metal beneath the gemstone remains hidden, unseen, and unappreciated, yet it is the foundation that holds everything together. The speaker embraces this role, willing to stay in the shadows, to let their beloved shine brighter. The final line, "Ever beneath you, unseen but near," reinforces this devotion—a love that remains constant, selfless, and unnoticed, existing in darkness so the beloved can glow in the light.
"If we part this time, who knows if we’ll ever meet again—
Maybe in stories that were soon meant to end,
On pages that fate refused to turn.
Like a rose that once blushed in the sun,
Now kissed by the midnight moon—just like my heart,
Still longing for the touch of yesterday."
Written with molten heart
Michelle Jan 31
Why do I keep coming back to you
Even though you always make me blue?
Why do I even care what your thoughts are
When u don’t bother to even spare me a glance from afar?
I always seem so eager to please you, like a moth drawn to flame
Im attached and youre to blame.
I don’t think ill ever be the same, not right not, not ever again.
I know your thoughts now, predictable as ever. Banging on tables, is that your measure?
You are the reason im not mentally stable. yet, to let go of you, of that im not able.
But im the reason too. Because even though its torture, I still let you let me be blue.
i always go back to him even though i know he will reject me and hurt me. thats my conscious torture.
star lost Dec 2024
I'm the poet, not the poem
Poets write the beauty on the page
Your face in mind, as if it's all i know.
I changed what i was for what you want me to be
I write silently that one day you'll notice me.
Not her, not him

Me.

I write and wait and pray to god,
That my decision isn't too late.

I'm the poet, not the poem
I express myself with words.
I can't sing you perfect chords
Or shoot you a casual smile.

I'm too shy to speak out loud.
I write my feeling to you through poetry.
I'm not pretty enough for you to just notice me.
You need to look and search for a reason to like me.

I'm not as pretty as the girl you like.
She's brown, I'm blue
She's fake, I'm true
She's not the poet.
She's the poem.

I force myself to like what you do.
You like rock, I like roll
God, your existence is taking a toll.

I'm sick of chasing, I'm sick waiting for your text.
I'm sick of making the first move.
I'm sick of waiting

If I was the poem, You'd read me like book,
get to know every cranny and nook
You'd read all my beauty and know me for that.
Another girl would be the poet.
She'd wish she was me

She'd wish she was blue, not brown
Wish she could make you smile, not frown
I'd write myself into this perfect poem

So she'd wish she was the poet
Friday 15 March 2024
13:36
I gave the boy with the pretty frame-worthy eyes a pen the other day in class,

I switched the top of the black one I gave him to the blue that I used, and vice verse-a giving him a blue-black pen and me a black-blue one.

To him, in that moment,
I was just goofing off in class instead of listening to the teacher yap,

But to me, the pens and the colors meant something,
The day I made that blue-black pen, I was trying to make me and him,
The blue me, the black him, and together, us.
It was my heart,
And me giving him the blue-black pen was in a way, me giving him my love.

Maybe he missed the message in between the lines, or maybe he chose to by pass it,
Or maybe,
What I thought we had going on, was a delusion,
Maybe it was only one sided, and the connection was all in my head,

Perhaps I should’ve left the pens alone,
leaving my feelings unknown, and the lack of reciprocation would’ve hurt a little less,
But now my heart aches,
Especially whenever I see that cursed blue-black pen.
Maybe it a curse,
That unrequited is the only one to know me for who I am,
Maybe it’s a curse, that love and I aren’t meant to be friends
All the
Pretty guys with nice eyes always seem to overlook mine,
And I,
I always seem to stand to the side as,

My ghost on campus leaves with a goodbye that contrasts the simple hi

And the one with frame worth eyes, just lies

And what could’ve been no longer crosses my mind,

But the one from that Saturday night lingers around sometimes, but

Maybe it’s a curse or it’s a blessing in disguise,
That unrequited is a shield that guards me from the, pains and heart aches that the guys of this era creates

It has to be some sort of sick spell cast upon me like Maleficent did Sleeping Beauty,

But reject it as I may,
Maybe this curse is my saving grace
For As much heartache unrequited creates,
It saves me from the strongest hex called heartbreak.
The third of December is tomorrow,
And all I can think about is you, her, and where my sweater could’ve possibly vanished to.

I think of you because I liked what we had going on,
I liked the jokes, our conversations, the glances, and the implications.
I liked your beautiful brown orbs that belonged behind frames you refused to showcase them in, and the curls that hid them like curtains.

I think of her because that should be me.
What was between us should’ve landed me in her place,
And I think of my sweater.
My heather sweater that I’ve worn every third of December since 2020, because it’s cold out, and it’s sweater weather.

Heather has your sweater when I should be its “owner,”
Heather holds your heart when it should be in my hands,
And Heather is the mesmerizing sight that soothes your sore eyes,
While I stand to the side, and watch her pull the smile from you that I like to see.

Why would you ever implicate the thought of you and me?
Lead me to believe that you would pick me when Heather was the choice from the very beginning?

Now she has you, and the sweater that would always and forever be given to Heather,
It may be polyester, but ****, I wish I was Heather.
In honor of Conan Gray and Heather Day
Joker Nov 2024
I want to forget but I can't
Not close but not out of sight
She also appears in the reflection of the mirror I can't talk to her though...
I hear her voice
I know she will never be mine
I don't want to love her but...
Love her forever,
Oh!! what a celestial love is mine.
Secret love always keep man intense about their woman. These are the few words of many.
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