Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jonathan Surname Oct 2018
What's the one thing you could talk about without rest?

Who's the one person that made talking effortless?

Where is the one that changed you for the better,

where is the one that made you your best?

When did it all occur, was it recently, or more in the past?

Is this one something or someone you wish you could have back?

People aren't things,
and also, they aren't chances.
They're the same solemnness
between the sonder and the glances.
We all have our thing and some of us may have more.
But I prefer the passions of the focused
for whom hearts with pulse on sleeve are wore.
not being rhetorical
Natosha Ramirez Apr 2018
Verse 1
I didn’t even drink that night, well not a lot.
I’d learned my lesson with that and well,
I trusted him.
Liked him, even. He’d asked me out and I said no,
But I was going to tell him that night that I’d changed my mind.

We’d been together all day,
Just hanging out,
Having a good time.

Always at my expense though
He couldn’t laugh without
Making fun of me.

Chorus
(I didn’t say no.)

Verse 2
He went out of his way to buy me things.
Gave me rides to places,
Went on long walks,
We were such good friends!

We gave each other the cold, hard ***** truth.
No questions asked.
I thought I knew quite a bit about how the world worked.
But he said my truth was ****.
That I had no redeeming qualities
That it was all my fault for being in the wrong place
At the wrong time
And I was wrong for wanting someone to love me despite this.

Chorus
(I didn’t say no.)

Verse 3
He came into the room while I was sleeping.
We’d gone into separate rooms on purpose.
Someone believed I cared enough about myself
To choose.

I didn’t have a ride home.
So I stayed.

(Bridge)
And,


I hated it. Every minute of his hands on my body.
I hated the way he smelled, stale beer and trail mix,
His crooked teeth and visible nose hair.
I hated his ability to lose everything that made him “him”
I hated the way HE STOPPED ME! from “adding another notch in my belt”
Because he didn’t want to “be another number”

I was so angry!
He knew my story, knew my life and still...
He was on top of me, and I couldn’t say no.
When he shoved his finger inside of me...I...froze.
All this time had passed with me underneath him with my heart pounding, and I was sure he HEARD me say no but I didn’t SAY no.

When my friend put his face near mine and told me I wanted this to happen, that I owed him for all the favors I thought were mutual,
I cried but not out loud because I had to “finish” to win.
And all I had to do was say no. That's what he said. Just tell me no and I'll stop.
The liar. THE LIAR!

He didn't stop.

And,

When I saw my face in the mirror, my soul broke.

Because I became his beginning and his ending.

I just...stopped existing.

(Chorus)
And,

I didn’t say no.
I didn’t say no.
I didn’t say no.
I didn’t say no.
I didn’t say no.
I didn’t say no.
I didn’t say no.
Repeat x...
A song from my memory.
George Krokos Apr 2018
We’re all subject to the unseen laws of nature
which loom about us like an imposing stature.
_____
From "Simple Observations" ongoing writings since the early '90's
...are a study on a subject matter
that someone else has undertaken
on your behalf.
Lunar Jan 2018
he doesn't talk much
but his eyes and hands do.
they do so well
that they speak even better
than i can.
i only wish i am the one
he looks at; he touches.
i only wish i am the one
he talks about.
in reality, you're always my subject, wjh

(j.m.)
Maria Etre Dec 2017
If you saw
yourself
in my lines
then
yes,
that poem
was about
the
fictional
you
in the eyes of a
Writer
Nick Moser Nov 2017
“Reach out to people.”
“Talk to them first.”

I do. Then they leave after like 3 texts.
Or they quickly change the subject.
I hate that.
People don’t wanna recognize or talk about the real stuff out here.

The hurt, the pain.

They just don’t wanna talk about it.

But unfortunately, that’s all I am.
Pain and even more
topacio Sep 2017
write a poem.
its been two long years
and i fear I don't even know what a poem is.
i fear i've never even written one.
i look back at my fleet and
i see forced words prematurely picked
from their fields.
****** into the arena as dogs
with their tails glued to their thighs.
i have succeeded at preparing a dish of
underdeveloped corpses.
Next page