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Sneha Thakur May 19
I think there is a special beauty in being able to romanticize love.
Its all up in here, in my mind.
There is a spectrum of thoughts in my imagination.
Sometimes my love can be one sided and it's safe to say that i like that more.
The part where you get to wonder and the excitement that follows.
I wonder a lot of things about you.
About how do you look like when you laugh.
Do you have an ugly laugh or are you a shy laugher.
Sometimes i make up moments in my mind,
More than often in those moments, time freezes and we make our own little infinity.
Sometimes i want to say things to you, and i wonder what you will say back.
I wonder if you will say what i wanna hear.
I like the wondering part.
I like to think.
I wonder how it would feel to hold your hands.
Twenty years single
I had a problem loving too many people
I know it can be a waste of time
But I can't help but to romanticize
I'm drawn to the rebels because they wear it on their sleeves
A kind of fearless that I wish that I could be
But too many people are depending on me
Sometimes I wish that I wasn't cautious
It's not the first time that I've thought this
If I'm being honest
11.19
Sabila Siddiqui Jul 2019
Once she chased happiness
and now she chases broken pieces.
She fell in love with pain,
it drove her insane.
For who would want to hurt themselves?

Who would choose to
love to be heartbroken,
run back to the ones who would hurt,
reminisces painful memories to be hurt,
indulge in negativity, to drown in its depths
be comforted by demons than people.

But no one saw,
for there were no scars,
for it was mental self harm.

Pain it craved,
fear, rejection and sadness it ate.

She cried, because it was self harm
she screamed, and shouted
asking herself did she not love herself
to be hurt by her own self?
sarah Feb 2019
looking back now at the screenshots of my conversations
i realize that the sunshine might have just been rain
maybe that's how i cope; replacing pain with contentment
to wish to go back to a time i once wished to escape
Em Jan 2019
I bask in the glory
Radiated from the sun
The heat works to encompass me
In its loving embrace

Shining over the earth
Dropping and raising petals
Never stopping
Never ceasing to exist

There were gods named after her, after all.
i dont know what im doing?????? im tired but i haven't posted here in a while
the sun is good, the sun is gREAAAAAAAT,,,,
Skeleton Prince Apr 2018
While,
Perceiving the taste of yesterday's forgotten sandwich.
I, soon feel the caress of my fingers subsiding the itch for a ***.

With tears of penitence.
I, recall the woman I've romanticized other than you.
Yet,
Content with passion they had shed onto me.
Kartikeya Jain Feb 2018
Do not romanticize
loneliness
to a point
that you become
a part of it.
John Benjamin Apr 2017
It is not some dusty frame,
            hanging rusty nails;
                        chaotic mess.

            No es amor solo amar, to you,
                      just some language you,
                                can't comprehend.

Distraught, despaired, disheveled,
                a dystopian novel notion,
                                     romanticized.
        
                     There's no need;
you don't need to patronize.

Cold hand upon cold hand;
       lifeless smiles colluding.

                                 And as if you were a Monet sunrise,
my impression of you is that of drunken brush strokes,
                                                        ­                   dull blues,
                                               and angry orange hues,
Left on display within a rotting, wooden frame.
Anonymous4070 Aug 2016
A man in the moon?
What a foolish thought.
It's not a man up there,
really it's not.

It's a boy with craters for freckles,
a mischievous face.
Stuck in an endless,
eternal race.

He chases the girl,
with stardust for hair.
He rarely catches her,
but the boy doesn't care!

For every now and them,
when they finally meet,
he feels a feeling so pure,
and so utterly sweet.

Sun and moon meet,
planets collide.
It looks like nothing more,
when you're on the outside.

But every few times a year,
that little boy swoons.
That hopeless romantic,
the boy in the moon.
one of my favorites I wrote while on poetfreak
jennee Aug 2016
her eyes would go
to all sorts of faraways
body, mind and soul disconnected
yet merged into the perfect embodiment
breathing in a world filled with plastic and insincerity
behold are her hands that work wonders and as her words of pure,
she is the clearest vast of ocean and slate you will ever come across to witness

a flower amongst a field of defiled individuals
she is, if not, the closest to perfect

(n.j.)
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