Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
I’ll sit front and center,
on a cold metal chair,
fog machine blowing in my face,
sound too loud,
lights too bright,
just to see you on stage.

I will choke back my tears,
and instead scream your name.
I won’t sink back in my chair,
I will stand and applaud,
even when I want to die,
because I know you’d do it for me.

I won’t complain about too-late rehearsals,
or copying my homework,
or staying with the cast and not me.
I’m not part of it all,
not even a techie,
so you can stop loving me for the season.

But I will never stop loving you.

I will bring you flowers every night,
stand by the cast door,
hug you tight,
and hold you as you cry
about it being the last show,
until you do it all over again.

I will support your dreams,
even when they are mine too,
even when I want to be on that stage,
so bad that it hurts to breathe
when I see it.
But it’s your spotlight,
so I will stand back,
and let you take it.

I will give you the rides
and the late night dinners.
I  will help you with lines,
and listen to you sing.
I will give you the flowers,
and bake you the cookies,
because I love you,
and when you are happy,
I will pretend to be.
josef Jun 12
i dream of
running my hands through
his black curls
but his heart is obsidian
and i am an iron pickaxe
The box said
‘1,000 pieces’
Yet the picture is complete.

I watch from the lid—
unfitted.

There was never room
for 1,001.
josef Jun 10
a slurry of fire and magma can’t escape
through the crust, being stopped by a
thin layer of earth, unable to express
itself, to wreak havoc upon the earth.

it’s passion is bottled up, its fear is contained,
his fury is sealed, saved for another day
when it can express its emotion.
but now, the crust encases it like a weighted blanket
Don Carlo May 27
Thoughts abound in the whirlmill that is my mind

Fear, regrets, despair, anguish dominate

Devoid of joy and happiness, love nothing but a nightmare

Lost to the past i find myself bound



Forsaking love, never loving, fearing love

Hiding from, wanting to feel, absent love lingers and hurts

Longing to mirror my soul's reflection in my lover's eye

Bereft my heart in never ending fear



Always yearning, finding love never enough

Returning , giving my soul back, paralyzed me

Fearing a simple kiss more than death itself

Love meant it all, drowning from it, only getting closer



Delusions and false remembrances canvased my pain

Rejecting love thought me free

Landscapes of lies paint dreams never dreamt

Quest for intimacy and eternal love befallen reality

Unrelenting denial brought me to love

My heart opened to my soulmate

But she was not there
Jonathan Moya May 27
Passing Through


The city recedes, and in the dim hush of the bookshop, she stands—  
a shadow among shelves, folded inward,  
something bent in her shoulders, a shape recognized but unacknowledged.  

Once, she had said nothing but told everything—  
the stagger in her step, the new weight in her limbs,  
the way she lingered at the edge of the studio light,  
no longer the form he had wanted to capture.  

He watches now, tracing absences—  
the ***** of her shoulders once held tension, a poise  
that suggested movement even in stillness.  
Now she carries herself differently,  
the lines of her frame settling rather than waiting,  
her presence less an idea, more a fact.  

Once, she was all gold-lit angles,  
the right lines, the hush of reflected glow—  
a frequent hire, the form desired,  
an artifact of someone else’s vision.  

She had belonged to the eye before she had belonged to herself—  
posed into being by hands that never touched her,  
rendered in strokes that softened what was sharp,  
every detail adjusted to fit a world not her own.  
She had been borrowed from that illusion,  
but had never been made to stay.  

But too often seen, too often known,  
a form rehearsed until it dulled,  
the lines that once shimmered with possibility  
grew fixed, predictable.  
No longer his vision, only a presence—  
no longer his invocation, only a fact.  

Now she moves with a tired grace,  
her skin softer, edges blurred,  
a body gone through motherhood, through ruin, life—  
the exact silhouette that he will never sketch again.  

She does not see him watching.  
She does not recognize the shadow he has become.  
She steps out through one door. He chooses another.  
Two figures, moving apart,  
the way a vision unspools,  
the way a muse disappears.  

He does not linger, does not reconsider—  
what was once luminous has dimmed,  
what was once rare is now merely seen.  
Yet what is art if not the wreckage and the salvage—  
the ruin and the radiance, the lifted and the fallen,  
the flawed, the irredeemable and the redeemed?  

He will not ask. He will not answer.  
And so, what he creates will never hold her.
Nick May 13
I am a sinner,
A sinner who dared dreamt of love,
A sinner whose only sin was to be hideous,
A sinner who did not know it was a sin,
A sin to not be perfect as the world wants.

A beast who never got the beauty,
A dwarf in love with the sleeping beauty,
A frog who did not turn into a prince when kissed,
A Bluebeard without the forbidden room,
A beast who was never a cursed prince, never blissed.

So I tear away pieces of myself to be perfect,
To be someone, not bound by their looks—
The polite boy, the helpful friend, the good guy,
The martyr, the forgotten, the soldier of a hopeless war.
Only to be reminded I’ll always be the loveless one.

Beauty and the Beast, sounds so lovely, doesn’t it?
But I never wanted to be the beast.
It never sounded hopeful or enchanting in my abyss.
All I could hear was pity and sympathy,
Mixed with my demeaning and desperate pleas.

Is love such a luxury,
That one needs to be perfect to reach it?
Or is it just the case for me?
I see everywhere people have it and are happy—
Why are they nowhere close to the ideals burdened upon me?

So I weep and weep without cries and shouts
I weep for one to love me and only me unconditionally
To drown in me as I would for them—
To love me as deeply as I love,
But no one ever does.
Lostling May 12
I love you
Perhaps one of the greatest tragedies
Cadmus Apr 30
Approach, dear dreamer, if you dare,
But know my skies are thin for air.
My steps are stitched in woven flame,
My name, too sharp for lips of shame.

You came with hands of dust and thread,
A crown of noise upon your head.
No sword, no gift, no golden key,
Yet thought to tame a storm like me.

Did Daedalus forget to warn his son?
Even Icarus soared closer than you’ve done.
You chase the sun but dread the cold,
A heart too timid, a hand too old.

I dance where only giants tread,
I feast where lesser men have fled.
I wear the stars, I breathe the skies,
I kiss the sun where eagles rise.

So take this truth I lay in rhyme:
A throne too high is not a crime.
It is a gift for those who soar
Not for the ones who beg at doors.
Lillian Apr 30
You made me feel
A world of hope
Life seemed brighter
When you gave me
Butterflies.

I gathered my courage
just to seem
like some "Sweet Girl"
To you
After all
Our conversations meant nothing
You blocked me. No Reason!
Just to avoid the awkwardness
Building up my hope
Just to disappear without a trace
Now all tears fall down the face
As I'm deeply confused of what I did
To make you block out my existence.

I understand rejection
It's so normal
yet so painful
I'm not mad you rejected me
But why did you blocked me?

I don't get it
I'm exactly your type too!
Abyssal black hair
A face as pale as paper
But I guess Something about me
Must've pushed you away
Weather it's because
I'm in Marching Band
Or that I religiously listen to Slipknot
Or both
I don't get what's wrong with me.
But why should I care
maybe because you left me confused
Yet I'm so sick that I refuse
To stop wondering
Why you blocked me out
When all I said was
"Sorry for making this awkward".

I've never got rejected
So this really
Hurts
But I will get over it
soon.
just a poem from an angsty teen girl, just pouring out my tears of confusion.
Next page