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selina Feb 28
i sit and watch you and wait like a dog
always just two steps behind you and
always just begging you for scraps

as if two seconds of your attention
would be enough to fill my empty, empty stomach
as if two mere seconds would ever be enough

but you can't even give that-
my friends say i'm too nice and you just call out my name
and when i see that familiar self-satisfied smile on your face

i just become a bad liar and i just look the other way
and i go back to pretending like your bare minimum
is enough to fix my bellyache
live love dog poems
selina Feb 28
i wince because you wanted me
to love you tenderly and tirelessly,
but tragically for you, all you ever did

was waste my precious time. so, sure,
you can twist my words, do it for
your own self-assurance, but i will

note yours down accurately, for my
own sanity and art; i can handle being
publicly contempted, but we both know,

deep down, you are still attempting
to be something you are so clearly not
live love diss poems
selina Feb 28
in the morning, i will feign ignorance,
pretending to be fast asleep and unaware
as you pull on your shirt and socks

we should have been theater concentrators, like,
if we never talk about it, it just never happened
you're just so nonchalant, and i'm just melodramatic

and i'm never satisfied unless it's something tragically comic
so tonight, let's pretend to be enemies, let's become lovers,
let's drown in shared regrets, get too familiar with each other

after all, tomorrow, when we wake, it'll all be over
your missing friends and my crushing hangover
will, once again, inevitably, reduce us to strangers
people who major in certain fields are called "concentrators" at my college
Lorraine Colon Oct 2023
As night spreads its ribbons of darkness
Loneliness taps at my window pane,
But too lost in reverie am I
To pay heed to its doleful refrain

Wishful thinking helps me to escape
From the madness of Life's fickle ways;
Though make-believe is a tangled web,
I thrive in its ethereal haze

How sweet the proverbial nectar
That flows from his lips onto mine;
What bliss I derive from a romance
Only my wild impulse could design

I swoon at his expressions of love
Sung and spoken in poetic verse;
(Though at times my heart scoffs at pretense,
Seeing not a  blessing, but a curse)

Yet, when I gaze deep into his eyes
I thrill to see love's reflection there;
He need only take hold of my hand
And together we climb Heaven's stair

O, how painful  are the loveless hours
Of reality I must endure;
In my dreary solitude I find
Wishful thinking holds a strange allure

Ah! but then reality holds sway ---
Once again the snake devours the dove;
But wishful thinking soon restores my peace
With its exquisite mimicry of love!
Steve Page Jun 2022
I breath in to find my inner Geezer
ready to speak with a more common vernacular.
I channel my South Londoner
and ensure I have my chipped mugs
ready out on the counter.

I pull the Nescafe and PG Tips forward
from the dusty recesses of the top cupboard
and locate the white sugar, checking that I have
at least five heaped teaspoons’ worth
for the coming encounter.

Later, from behind the net curtains,
I see him sizing up my roof from his van
and I wait for him to walk up the drive to push the doorbell.

And, too late, what credibility I had pieced together cringes
at the anticipation of the Batman themed doorbell ring,
which until that morning had seemed an appropriate ice breaker.
Arvon writers retreat.  An exercise on describing an invited stranger in the house.
John McCafferty Sep 2021
Face set and hands met off the clock, innocence is often lost as seconds drop.
Our magic stirs but it's strength can fade, so in retrospect why ever expect better.

A middle ground of careless selfishness, when failure is an automated pretense. The real fault in our aims for success, not of ourselves but ignoring those with less.

Time is short, decisions often compromised, death will soon swing by to take your eyes. Without a single disregard for who you are, to choose yourself above all others on par.
(@PoeticTetra - instagram/twitter)
dilshé Aug 2021
Intensely in disguise
A sheep in wolf skin
fear present in the eyes
reflects an inflaming sting.
Striding in the night
despite being nyctophobic
says uncertainty is delight
while being atelophobic.
Hoping this sheath of confidence
would seep into the core
'fake it till you make it '
the nagging quote we all adore.
Part of me already knows that
The promises you make are empty
They bare no meaning
Yet I hold on to something
A sliver of hope
I turn away from the truth
The hope I feel is my own delusion
An illusion I create to save myself
Kept in the dark crevices of my mind
I throw myself deeper into the false pretense
and dig myself my own grave once more
Stuck in a reverie of my own, I let myself sink in own mind, pushing myself more into myself. I’m my own demise.
Take this with a grain of salt, if this makes you think of yourself by all means think of that. Just something I need to get out of my own system.
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