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Ella Alvarez Jun 2017
You.
You were my shelter in the middle of my storm,
my shoulder to cry on when all felt forlorn.
I drew my strength from your love's warmth
But all that's past and alive no more.

You.
You’re a math expression with no solution,
an ingredient in the recipe of my confusion.
To my desperate pleas, you answered vaguely;
I just wanted to know how you’ve been doing lately,
after our love, after our loss.
after experiences we never thought would become fleeting memories
of a bond we hoped would last for centuries,
after long, late nights up spent envisioning a future with you and me,
of writing a book's last chapter that would end happily.
after broken promises that broke both our hearts.
Although words may break my heart
and sticks and stones may break my bones,
betrayal by someone who felt like home
makes me question myself and crushes my soul.
I thought I was your best friend, your dream girl, your ride-or-die,
but after you met her, that no longer mattered and you bade me goodbye,
while gravity gained on the tears that began to stream from my eyes,
nearly a year and a half of love cut short by the devil in disguise.

They say grief is a linear five-stage process,
which involves denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance,
but grief over him for me was a convoluted, confusing hodgepodge that muddled up all those feelings together.

Grief was denial over him loving me and leaving me all at once.

Grief was rage triggered by this sudden betrayal and loss of trust, by making out his love to be a lie,
by all my effort put into loving him unconditionally going down the drain in the blink of an eye.

Grief was wrestling between giving him liberty to fool around
and bargaining to salvage and kindle the embers of the fire
that once burned between us that could be redeemed.

Grief was depression over being taking for granted, depression over promises never kept,
depression over words that I fell for that broke my heart in the end.

Grief was struggling to accept the aftermath of it all, no matter how huge a hole it left in my heart.

Grief was accepting his departure one second, then reminiscing about the love we used to share and bargaining for it back.

Grief was struggling to be happy again, then remembering how he broke my heart and feeling either vexed or sad or both emotions at once.

Grief was loving him in the wake of my loss.

But grief wasn’t going to sting as much as it would if I had attached my self-worth onto the relationship. I already knew what love was before I met him.

I've found love in being saved by the blood of my Savior,

I've found love in friends and family who’ve seen me at my worst and chose to stay,

I've found love in education and learning more about the world around me outside of the classroom,

I've found love in my craft,

I've found love in other people's craft,

I've found love in many places where he isn't.

I will be fine.

I’ve found that love is not selfish; love is giving.
Love meant putting the needs of others before its own.
If one can’t understand that,
then they weren’t ready to commit themselves to a serious relationship with anyone,
nor can they maintain healthy, cordial relationships with other people in their life.

I already knew what love was before I met him; I just don’t
understand why people have such a hard time reciprocating it.

I thought he was my red string of fate.

I guess my eyes simply weren’t adjusted correctly to the light.

-a.l.
(lit. I don't want to leave.)

inspired by my red string of fate, my first love.
it's hard when you're young
Angie Marcano Feb 2018
A thin silver string.
Keeping our lives,
tied to one another.
Is slowly beginning to break.

It has become worn out.
Untangling around us.
We realize it is not long enough to keep us together
While we are so apart.

Predictable.
The moment we parted ways.
It was all over.
We knew
there would be a time
When we would reach the breaking point.

Each and everyone of us.
Pulling it in so many directions.
It is thin
It is weak.
It will...

SNAP

What is broken stays broken
There is
No duct tape that can fix it.
No new string to replace it.
No nothing to keep us tied anymore.

If only our relationship wasn’t as fragile as a thin string.
We could have avoided this poem.
We should have used a rope.
Freijah Sel Yna Feb 2018
Too far yet too close.
I see you standing here next to me,
but my heart wasn't able to reach you.

The gap that keeps us apart,
the invisible walls in between us
Feeds the agony of longing.

But it'll never be enough
for my heart to give up,
though the pain is intolerable.

I will keep reaching,
'coz I know it is worth risking.
Than to surrender my love.

My love that gives more than enough
To survive this fate of love
Dresden Jan 2018
So unwilling
to make a decision
on and on
it's neverending
I'm always waiting
so many others
one after another
always comparing

Clearly I'm not enough
or you'd be certain
I know it's not me
just make your decision
Bryce Jan 2018
Tonight I am in the open field
Wheatgrass freely tickles the calf
I will stretch the canvas for a hundred yards
And fade away into winter sky

Glide along the freezing clouds
In between here and outer space
A thousand miles away with the migrating geese
To go without chains

The wind screams quiet in my ears
Following the invisible breeze of fate
Alone I go, alone I rip the strings


Tonight, the moon hangs a pockmarked perfect orb
Exhilarates with the liquor of light
A dead land, timeless beyond man
A slain foe of refurbished bone
I am me
Who said this?
So is my body
An invaded custody
Occupied by her
Thoughts and memories
Two sided glossaries
Not a reflection is mine
That would determine
My own identity
Out of my sanctity

I may be a string
Of any cacophonous Sitar
Where she creates
On my wounds
Riot of sounds
Without bounds
Zero Nine Nov 2017
Broke, sitting with half plate
Pasta, butter, spice
Shuffle through my old clothes
I used to look nice

What is nice, but smaller?
Smaller, smaller, still
String bean and potatoes
Go fine together

The grocer tries to tell me,
"Divide, conquer, divide."
"What is nice, but smaller?"

I guess the grocer's right
Larry Dixon Nov 2017
I’m a puppeteer, I pull the strings.
Once I catch you, you are forever my doll.
You can hide it, you can even fight it, but I’ll always be able to make you do things.
You will always follow my protocol.

You may think you have a choice.
You may think you have free will.
But you will follow every word of my passive voice.
And I’ll use you to get my thrill.

If you ever leave, I’ll leave a string hanging so I can tug on it when you’re gone.
You may think that you’re safe.
But in the end you’re just my little pawn.
The path Is set for you and you cannot strafe.

For I am a puppeteer and I must confess.
I am the best at this game I call chess.
Laurel Leaves Nov 2017
There's this wire I keep tripping on
the string that lays parallel to current divisions of reality
a plane of moments
strategizing time fragments that correlate with the general population
but keeps me cloaked behind a veil of
they call it
dissociated
the illusion that I cannot fully connect
my atoms don't seem to just align properly with the whirling visions around me
and I slip into the seconds of grandiose prophecies
consumed with the mentality that I will never be enough
that my moments will never really
quite line up.
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