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Nat Lipstadt Jul 21
1               thank you
—-   =     —————
X              I love you

Teach: Solve For X

X is 1, thank you =  I love you

if you are lucky, lucky to be adjudged trustworthy,
someone’s ******* inside insights freely given,
unexpected with no disclaimer, no red stop sign,
“danger ahead,” after all, you inquired sincerely

you caught out breathless, the big data absorption
rate is exceeded, but you understand this tidal wave,
formed thousands of miles away, you and your silly
notions of ‘learning from love,’ aye, were the trigger!

you understand this gale force long in the forming,
the unleashing a cleansing, a self-tallying evaluation,
a crooked trail of struggle, optimism, recovery, both
a reliving and a relieving, and an entree to relief living

and you, fancy shaman, you wordysmith, understand,
you’ve been appointed a trustee of someone’s heart,
can only best muster is an ineloquent encompassing
“thank you,”^
acknowledging a bond you’ve granted, a bond accepted

and overwhelmed by this Rubicon crossing invitation,
you can’t yet blather, pry, think small, just acknowledge
this gunshot across the bow landed squarely tween eyes,
sensing, hoping that this simple response was pitch perfect

minutes later, you receive a summary judgment, to wit
an entirely unexpected
“I love you,”
a declarative, simple equation, understanding that it’s
a spontaneous gush, with no judgment, no risk, pure
acceptance is purely sufficient, that it comes with an
overwhelmingly baked-in affection for,
you, fool,
for just being there, for asking, for learning,  eyes tearing, if
you, fool,
have love within you, then you should give it, give it,
give it

3:53 PM
Tue. Jul 21
Twenty Twenty
^ the actual response was:
gonna absorb it
gonna sleep on it
gonna write on it,
then we will talk about it...
and most importantly,
thank you
Valerie Dec 2019
There are many illusions.
The fear of not being reciprocal.
The doubt that it can work
. The fear that he will give up.
The confusion that it will leave in my heart.
And every night I'll sleep no more, from now on.
I wrote that before my first date. And yes, It was so terrible. I loved him, but he forgot me. Just the way I thought
Shakti Asana Jul 2019
I want to be the potter
and you the clay
I want to work you with my hands
My fingertips pressing
now....against the keys
the board stiff under the sensitive pads
as I feel you press back against me
your lips
into me.

The clay
soft and supple under my hands
forming you,
widening you again and again
my muscles working
against your stiffer aspects
as we spin together
wetting, re-wetting
and smoothing
my hands against
your silky slick
strong and yet pliable
seeking relief
from standing strong
and unyielding

You are a deeper container
than I anticipated
and I, a roaring flood
sweep you

but you hold...

What Joy!
What Relief!

we never expected
to contain one another
without harm!
without fear!

our lines
flow together
the potter
the clay
the hand
and the wheel
we come together.

I love how we feel.
Flinging this out there without knowing if it is good or even qualifies as poetry. Who cares for merely good? If I feel it, receive it into me, and form that experience into words that I share, well, fine. We shall call it poetry.
Who judges the one in the arena? No, not me.
Self-conscious awareness kills the poet gasping for life inside of me.
Click "Save". Post. Live. Breathe.
a (the) woman’s body (pretty pleasing)

is my reciprocal

her waist is my happy place

her neck is my doorway

the rest is
best when she is mirror accessorizing,
preening, **** upon first rising,
tallying the gains and the losses

unaware of my watching,
never satisfied she, tho she is 98% unadmitting contented,
as she shifts her weight,
from knee to knee extended alternating
with slow delicacy

for the pleasure is trebled
for her imagine image reverberates
throughout the house

for ever(y) mirror is pre-positioned,
accidentally angled just so, lol,
her image transported from living room to dining alcove
all the way to the kitchen’s bleacher seats

she doesn’t know and asks why I’m grinning,
answer is
no confessionary, no telling I’m swelling and

eyes scheming-dreaming of her reciprocity

she smiles and says  
“good morning bad boy”

maybe she does know
but you won’t tell her,
we, you and me,
are pretty pleasing

she is 1/me
she is won over me
Oskar Erikson Sep 2017
i'd advise you;
not to fall
unless you are able
to pick yourself up.
to not fall in love
unless you are able
to love yourself.
to not write poetry
unless you are able
write without a story.
to not tell others advice
unless you are able
to follow your own.

i cannot advise you.
Sienna Luna Jan 2017
You are still waters that run deep;

a challenge some may say.

But to me, your closed emotions

are like a test to see

if I can crack you open.

You're not one to spill your secrets

yet every time we talk

whether it be cellular device

or heart to heart in person

I notice

(for intrinsically I notice everything hidden and important not seen with the naked eye)

I notice you slip

some of your most shielded


and I catch them

with soft cold hands

(because for some reason or other my hands are always cold)

with soft cold hands warmed

by your toasty rough ones warmed

by your sensible muttering warmed

by your discreet aspirations warmed by your witty attitude.

I like that we can be waggish

together like two jesters

high strung.

My facetious view on life is somewhat wrought with doubt.

My senseless family drama scaling backwards for months on end.

Return is what I want; a sense of peacefulness whereas I'm pulled into the flighty nature of my parents' inconsistencies and my aunts' finicky nature when all I want is for everyone to get along.

You have your barriers drawn and  sometimes and I don't mind it.

We are emotional opposites, bouncing off each other like ping pong *****, but in this scenario it works because we've both got paddles and are willing to play.

That's what I see in you.

An ever-eager possibility;

passionate in your politics,

loyal to your friends,

leader in some circumstances

when I am at a loss for words.

And you spark a sort of electric chord within me, plugging right into my frontal lobe, sparking my interest, lighting up my receptors.

My neurons have never been this happy before; I have never in my life had a romantic reciprocal relationship like this before.

Nothing has prepared me for this.

This floundering of feelings, sloppy, spilling, leaking out of the cauldron every time we speak.

You are boiling broth, a frothy drink I've put up to my lips and sipped from, a drink I did not order but delightful all the same.

You are still waters that run deep;

a sensual spice of parsley or dill that can lighten up any dish;

and it doesn't take a genius to see how much I need a person like you in my life to challenge every predisposition of romance I've seen, read, fantasized or imagined.

Caught in the slipstream of figuring out my future after the new year has yet to arrive. There's still so much to work out; there's still so much hope I have brimming inside me even after my confessions, even after I've asked for forgiveness and complacency.

Where there's hope and forgiveness, there's also peace.

Maybe all it took was the repetition of swimming pools in dreams this past week to understand where I stand. I'm not drowning anymore.

I'm on the edge of the pool looking into clear waters, finding the wise guide of my blue water dragon

and his humongous whiskered face

staring straight at me, into me, telling me that I have all the strength I need to overcome the obstacles. I need not cling to fear any longer. I need not hide away, like I've done in the past, behind thick curtains to blot out the light.

My only constant now is the sun rising and the moon waning.

You are still waters that run deep;

a sure-bound belief

that everything will be okay.
Nena Twedell Oct 2014
We're two puzzle pieces trying to fit together perfectly
Secretly hoping that my curves and your angles fit together snugly
Except you can never put a square inside of the circle hole on the children's toys
And you can never put a circle in the square hole.
So you whisper sweet nothings in my ear hoping that your love will be reciprocated
Like a lost puppy looking for a home
Crying out for the love it needs to survive.
And I give what I can
but my love isn't quite what you were wanting
You try to drown your sorrows and pain
forgetting that your a puzzle piece
Leaving your edges torn and tattered
I hold you close trying to fix all the damage
But I'm no puzzle maker
You seemed to have forgotten
That we fit together perfectly
Because your head fits perfectly in the crook of my neck
And your arm fits perfectly around my shoulders
Even though the curve of your lips doesn't quite match up with mine
Don't think for a second that I won't hold you close while you try to mend a broken heart.

— The End —