We're all writing about the same things
Love and Pain and Loss
It´s like a record skipping
Over and over
Even I'm guilty
Pointless repetition
The same old sorrows
Yesterday and tomorrow
When will it ever end?
Every poet knows the pain
The release
Of fingers on keys
Typing instead of bleeding
Even though it's the same thing
But we just keep repeating
Again and again
When will it end?
*When will it end?

Ah! such a happy mess is this,
the credit goes to us all
but no one, contributed to it ,
so generously couldn't
recollect the precise recipe,
or what ingredients went in to it,
have no hope of a mess exactly like this,
or taking steps to avoid it altogether!
A happy mess is an aberration of course!
Behind every mess are muddled minds
that look for it consciously or not,
an enviable coincidence of
thoughts craving to create disorder.
Out of compulsion of some sort
they seek gratification in it,
but look at their humbleness
all they say is this,"**** happens"

so it has been one year now
of me adoring you from afar
you unaware, and me stealing quick glances
when you were not looking
(this isn't really going to sound poetic
i just had to get out of my chest)
i saw the other day, you were with her
officially, now, right?
because you had to put it on the internet
(which, by the way, is ruining lives)
and i saw,
she was the complete opposite of me
and so much better
so much prettier
so much more successful
and it seemed to me
i was shrinking
fading into the background, as always
as someone who adores you
but cannot speak
and only ever yearns, to know you
but you have her
and she is flawless, i see
i see why
you would choose her
and perhaps my silence is my downfall
but you are so
inexplicably
perfection
i cannot speak, i remain mute
i just can't help but wish
you were coming here to see me
not she
she
i am always ever remaining
nothing

because i am locked away
writing stupid poetry
which no eyes will read

We are all lost stars
Trying to light up the sky
Or maybe
Just our life's

The glasses in my room accumulate,
Unlike my self-worth.
Is this just a game to you?
I've loved you since the first
Second,
Minute,
Hour,
Day,
My misery was gone,
You made it go away.
But you rub this wound harsher
than anyone has rubbed one before.
And I know you know I'm hurt,
but you just treat me like a *****,

I'm hurting and I know you know!
You've made it abundantly clear.
You've talked about it.
It's practically written on the mirror,
My eyes,
My brain,
My skin,
My heart,
But you still rub it in and it's breaking me apart.

I love maths
it proves that we were
just another mish mash
of geometric nonsense
refusing to accept
that you were a square
and that I was a circle
and that organic movements
do not match
with corners
and straight lines

And that smile you give me in the halls-the same smile I've seen everyday since 3rd grade- it fills me with such joy.
because it gives me hope that maybe somedays you still think of me too, and not only do you think of me- but you miss me.
and I can promise you dear, that-holy ****- I miss you.

-o.b.

You stopped telling me you love me when you started telling her how beautiful she looks in that dress. I should have known better than to think our relationship would last longer than a year but I've always been naïve and I guess some things never change. I spent three months convincing myself that you still cared, two months gripping onto fading memories and one month thinking about every "someday" and every "always" but I guess always to you means something totally different than what it is to me. Three months have passed since you stopped telling me you love me and I hope she makes you happy in the ways that I never could. I hope she kisses your forehead and I hope she strokes the side of your hand with her thumb when you're not doing so well. I guess I'm not doing so well, I haven't been feeling okay since you left me three months ago but maybe I was just living on borrowed time and I guess it's finally time to give it back.