oh

when I asked you
if you missed me you said,
I mean it, when I tell you you're my friend.

and when I asked you
if you missed me you said,
I mean it, I never want to be with you again.

v

and no matter how much i tell myself that i will never be anything to you but a hole to fuck, as i twist my head back to look at you, your eyes closed with bliss, the space between your eyes wrinkled, and your lips stuttering with harsh grunts with every thrust of your body in me,
a whine escapes my mouth,
and almost carelessly, as if it cost you nothing at all,
you reach down down down;
mercy comes in the form of your tongue on my lips, and like a parched traveler, i drink from your mouth
as if it were an oasis in this damned wasteland

Grace 4d

I believed in a figment of my imagination.
I gave my imagination quirks I wanted to see.
I knew later that it was only a fiction
I wrote to allow my loneliness to flee.

Love flowed for the one I thought I knew.
My subconscious mind saw him all gleam.
He was an acquaintance I barely knew
Who haunted my every single dream.

It was the one time I, irrevocably, fell in love.
But I heard a bell in the background chime.
It was a siren to get my feelings to tow,
But I saw it as a prophecy saying he was mine.

Months later, the scene painfully unfolded.
Holding hands with her, he walked with a smile.
That moment, the heavy heart I shouldered
Pushed me off from the living world by a mile.

I understood that the entire story was mine.
A year later, I told him what he meant to me.
But he shoved me aside sparing me my time,
Not even telling me he had no feelings for me.

He said he was sorry for what I had to endure.
While I gave him a big gift of opening up,
It was on me to find for myself the right cure.
And poetry lifted me, from the dead, high up.

My thoughts and words became one
When I started to write on Hello & Poetry.
I, in no time, lost the unhappy tone,
Diving into the beautiful world of poetry.

In a distant memory,
I hear the words
"I love you"
echoed in an otherwise
peripheral silence.

you haven't spoken those words in years. not to me.

Just a cut,
Just a scratch.
It wouldn't hurt,
It wouldn't last;

It would fade,
Fade into blue;
The colour of sadness,
The colour of you.

Needed to get something off of my chest.

And then it was June
And I cried so hard,
For it came too soon
And I was still marred
And stuck at high noon,
Incapacitated and jarred,
Shattered pieces all strewn,
Left but as a shard,
Unable to give — a deflated balloon,
While emotions bombard
For Sir Drum and Bassoon;
The Little Prince, I renard,
Untamable, inopportune,
Fighting inward, "En Garde!"
Him as far as Cancun,
Although in my backyard:
A full moon,
So high, I can only regard,
When I wish to cocoon
In this sweet Lionheart.

I'm a full blown monsoon,
Hoping for a birthday card.

i'm coming Home
& i know it's wrong,
but all i can think,
"will i run into you?"

our Love is unrequited,
& always will be.
you can't accept my God,
& i can't accept your gender,
or lack of one? i don't know.

i'm coming Home
& i will drive
through the hollers & the hills
of E.Ky, if only for the hope
of seeing you, even briefly.

i still recall the many nights
sharing music notes & secret dreams,
yearning to feel each other, to share
the same breath & the same mattress.

i'm coming Home
& i know i won't contact you,
but my only wish is that you
would read this & come find me.

please find me.

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