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Aaamour 4d
I want her, I want her so bad
without her, my life’s like
sugar without the sweet, a flower with no colours

I want to be the nectar inside the flower-her

but I’m just morning dew-worthless
Why, why 
didn’t I love her enough?
in my poems- her; in my thoughts-her
she wrote and even thought but just not about me

even when she wore those diamonds 

only her face shined

asked her what she applied to her face

she replied: nothing 

when she chose that ******* over me 

I was furious

but
why did I love her?
was it not to see her smile?

was it not to see her enjoy?
She is happier than ever-without me
in her happiness my world finds peace
that is enough.
Aaamour Apr 18
She stands there laughing with her friends,
While I fantasise about her, as I read my books

I tracked the way to the station she gets off at,
I couldn't track a way to her heart

I thought love was like the colourful trees, the tall buildings.
That the metro passes through,
I forgot the slums and the tunnels.

Fate made us stand together once, time paused, the worry about my meetings lost,
I just stood there, in awe, looking at her, lost in her eyes.

Eventually, I learned that the girl in the metro had a guy,
And now comes my station forcing me to step out of the metro.
Ren Apr 19
You touch me like a whisper meant for no one,
Soft, fleeting, fading when the world looks away.
I reach, not to hold, but to be held,
In the quiet ache where your silences stay.

Would you notice if I disappeared in parts?
If I cracked my ribs just to make you look back?
Would you still see me in bruised silhouettes,
Or am I just the echo you never unpacked?

My mother taught me how to be still for others,
How to swallow storms and call it peace.
But I am not a pond, love. I am the sea,
And you sail me blindfolded, begging for ease.

You cried at the lake, and I broke with you.
Every bone in me folded like paper in rain.
I said the wrong thing. God, I always do,
But I’d drown a thousand times to lift your pain.

At night, there's a voice, not mine, not yours,
Singing about dancers and distance and fate.
It tells me I’m a line without a hook,
A verse unfinished, a heart too late.

You say I’m sweet, you say I’m kind.
But only when no one hears.
And I let you, every time,
Because rejection is better than disappearing.

So if you ever return, soaked and shaking,
Know that I am still standing where the tide breaks,
Not waiting, not hoping, just aching
In the place where your love never wakes.
wrote it based on one of my fav songs, line without a hook
Ren Apr 17
I loved you in the hush between two sighs,
Where glances flickered, stars that lost their flame.
Your voice, though gentle, bore no soft replies,
No echo shaped itself around my name.

I offered verses, filaments of grace,
Fine bridges spun from breath and tethered fire,
But you, like frost that veils a summer's face,
Withheld the warmth my trembling hopes required.

You did not break me. No, you were too kind.
Yet kindness, cold, can cut like polished steel.
A smile, misplaced, can hollow out the mind;
And silence teaches wounds too deep to heal.

So I retreat. Not bitter, but erased—
A violin, unheld, in silence cased.
Still strung with song that none will understand,
Still turned toward you, an unanswered command.
another day, another poem about someone I deeply cherish
Ren Apr 16
I store the tourmaline in the shade
of my heart, unbeknownst to it.
"What a sordid gemstone I am," it sighs—
if only it knew how I yearn for its light.

"I'm only prized for the lucre I bring,"
if only it knew I cherish its quiet gleam.
"There are finer stones than me," it mutters,
but to me, they are mere rocks in your shadow.

"People just lock me away in their boxes,"
but I’d carry you with me through every voyage.
"I’m scratched, worn — mishandled," it says.
But I would thread gold through every groove,
and call them the paths that led me to you.
The tourmaline is a metaphor for someone I cherish deeply .
Selena Apr 2
When the night whispers your name
In the darkest room,
I’m back to that trip on train
Watching your smile bloom.

Your hair swaying in the warm breeze
As your eyes sparkled;
At that moment, everything ceased,
But my heart in battle.

Struggling to keep it silent,
Just so you will never know
How my heart wants you this instant,
But I failed to make it go.

I burn for you then and now the same
Like the flaring sun.
When the night whispers your name,
I am left undone.
I think,
unrequited is addicted to me.
I don’t know but it just happens to find me no matter where I hide,
It’s almost like it’s waiting for my smile to be a little to wide,
and my cheeks to turn a little too red to creep back into my life and turn things on its head,

I think its favorite pass time is to make my heart ache because just when I swear that I’m done, someone comes and so does unrequited right behind it,
I hate it,

It’s almost like it needs me to stay with it because it chases everything else away, it’s addicted,

But somewhere deep down, I think I need unrequited just as much as it needs me
I kind of hope it doesn’t leave me,
Not yet at least,
I’ve grown well acquainted with unrequited, and it’s strange because, even though I don’t want it, reject it, and run from it,
it’s always there waiting for me after my heart is done being too happy,

It’s almost like it’s home for me, no matter where I go it waits patiently for me.
I don’t think I’ll know what to do when it really leaves,
So now I wonder,
Am I just as addicted to unrequited as unrequited is addicted to me?
For those that feel haunted by unrequited too
I gave the boy with the pretty frame-worthy eyes a pen the other day in class,

I switched the top of the black one I gave him to the blue that I used, and vice verse-a giving him a blue-black pen and me a black-blue one.

To him, in that moment,
I was just goofing off in class instead of listening to the teacher yap,

But to me, the pens and the colors meant something,
The day I made that blue-black pen, I was trying to make me and him,
The blue me, the black him, and together, us.
It was my heart,
And me giving him the blue-black pen was in a way, me giving him my love.

Maybe he missed the message in between the lines, or maybe he chose to by pass it,
Or maybe,
What I thought we had going on, was a delusion,
Maybe it was only one sided, and the connection was all in my head,

Perhaps I should’ve left the pens alone,
leaving my feelings unknown, and the lack of reciprocation would’ve hurt a little less,
But now my heart aches,
Especially whenever I see that cursed blue-black pen.
Maybe it a curse,
That unrequited is the only one to know me for who I am,
Maybe it’s a curse, that love and I aren’t meant to be friends
All the
Pretty guys with nice eyes always seem to overlook mine,
And I,
I always seem to stand to the side as,

My ghost on campus leaves with a goodbye that contrasts the simple hi

And the one with frame worth eyes, just lies

And what could’ve been no longer crosses my mind,

But the one from that Saturday night lingers around sometimes, but

Maybe it’s a curse or it’s a blessing in disguise,
That unrequited is a shield that guards me from the, pains and heart aches that the guys of this era creates

It has to be some sort of sick spell cast upon me like Maleficent did Sleeping Beauty,

But reject it as I may,
Maybe this curse is my saving grace
For As much heartache unrequited creates,
It saves me from the strongest hex called heartbreak.
The third of December is tomorrow,
And all I can think about is you, her, and where my sweater could’ve possibly vanished to.

I think of you because I liked what we had going on,
I liked the jokes, our conversations, the glances, and the implications.
I liked your beautiful brown orbs that belonged behind frames you refused to showcase them in, and the curls that hid them like curtains.

I think of her because that should be me.
What was between us should’ve landed me in her place,
And I think of my sweater.
My heather sweater that I’ve worn every third of December since 2020, because it’s cold out, and it’s sweater weather.

Heather has your sweater when I should be its “owner,”
Heather holds your heart when it should be in my hands,
And Heather is the mesmerizing sight that soothes your sore eyes,
While I stand to the side, and watch her pull the smile from you that I like to see.

Why would you ever implicate the thought of you and me?
Lead me to believe that you would pick me when Heather was the choice from the very beginning?

Now she has you, and the sweater that would always and forever be given to Heather,
It may be polyester, but ****, I wish I was Heather.
In honor of Conan Gray and Heather Day
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