Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Bella Isaacs Mar 2023
I became Holmes, past knowing true:
In every sense, I'd seek for you.

Now, taking the cobbles consciously,
Sick, mad, of the essence of this construct,
Dismantling the ancien régime to see
That I am all your stains in concert -

I am made up of every last touch -
Originality's a lie, save in
The combination that you see - as such
It is unique, but I still cave in

At the dawn that nothing is my own,
And much like as if you were a coffee
I'd downed: I could not, for my life, disown
The five million senses cutting me

For the time, for every conscious cup
I'd take and take again: Why should I dull
And cut myself this way, a life made-up
Of such a tannin-full ideal?

My way as a writer is to fall
In love, in my eyes, in yours, in raptures,
In despair, in tough crowds, on God, to call
On my muse and survive the ruptures

Of worlds and heavens, both real and made,
And feel the rain upon my face, but Lord,
How often do I feel, and feel the raid,
Engaged by scent, blush, needle, salt, word?

All too much makes nothing, and I can't flee
To seek another cup: I must seek me.
A poem made up of a few ideas I had today: the pervasiveness of a love, the unoriginality of humans - as we are all made up of each others' influence -, who on earth can I say myself to be, and what on earth am I supposed to do as a writer. Also, I can't really take coffee.
Unrequited Love Mar 2023
I had pretty much given up on humainty, but then I met someone who leaves his lights on so his fish can see where its swimming, and decided it's small moments like this that remind me there is still some hope left in this world.
Years later I still think of you...
Bella Isaacs Mar 2023
Yeah, I know I have no claim
Upon you or on your time
And the seconds walk by, lame,
And I pen another rhyme
About how painful it remains
To be the what-the-hell-ever.
It wasn't that I didn't wake
With my good friend by my side
It wasn't that I didn't make
The pancakes, or I tried
To refocus on my gains
Or whatever the hell ever
To remember to fail
To recall you exist
To laugh, not to pale,
At the wish to be kissed
And how stupid are the pains
Of being the what-the-hell-ever.
This guy I like who comes and goes when he likes.
starry night Feb 2023
loving you is like loving the sky above.
because in any state;

clear blue sky without clouds; draw a smile on my face and made my day instantly

purple-orange ish sunset sky; feels like the feeling of coming back home after a long day, give warmth and hugs to my weary heart

cloudy gray sky; letting me being gloomy and telling me it's okay to cry

starry night sky; accompanied me in the darkest hours, i could stare at and admire for hours, my late-night-talk partner

and after all, loving you is like loving the sky above; something to be admired from afar, unreachable, particularly for me.
alex Jan 2023
we get high and kiss on your couch
i think i’ve seen this film before
mouth pressed to mouth

it’s the same story
every boy i’ve fallen for
just wanted me for ****
every one i thought i loved
just wanted me temporarily

i’m falling for you
i whisper as you fall asleep
the words come out thickly
the taste bittersweet

i call you when i’m lonely or think about him
i’m wrapped in your arms and it’s 3am
but i can’t do this anymore, i can’t do it again

i don’t think i like this game, the stakes have become too high
i’m in freefall and you’re just watching with uncaring eyes
so i’ll give it a month before you make me cry

i think about the girls who come to your show
they’ll get in your car, and you’ll take them home
because you don’t really need me, not at all
i’m just your pocket *****, your friend, your living willing doll  

friends with benefits doesn’t exist
it’s friends or lovers
or someone using another

so you don’t want a relationship
but thats all i want
but i guess i’m satisfied being your placebo girlfriend, your glorified ****
men have never been my forte.
not even my own father has done me right.
I’ve been hurt over,
and over,
and over again.
told constantly of my beauty,
but never of more.
and you know what?
I thought you were different.
I really did.
I thought you wanted me.
not just for my body, but for my mind as well.
god I wish I had known the truth.
did all those late nights spent talking mean nothing to you?
and how about the times that we kissed?
it seemed like we’d never stop.
I could have sworn you felt something
and that I did too.
now I’m not so sure.
am I just a game for you? is that all I am?
do I really mean that little?
I want the real you,
I want more than just your lips.
I want to see your true colors,
but I seem to be blind:
unable to identify what’s right in front of me.
I don’t know if I love you,
but I don’t want to anymore.
I’m tired of guessing,
and guessing,
and guessing.
I’m tired of this feeling,
but I will never be tired of you.
you, my guilty pleasure,
my forbidden fruit,
my biggest secret…
you are not the sun.
I am.
the last poem written by my heartbroken 15 year old self <3 I am happy to say I am now with someone who loves me the right way.
you looked of sanctity
but tasted of sin.
with your wide eyes of blue
& your porcelain skin.

your lips felt so perfect,
right up against mine.
almost as if we were
old stars aligned.

your words were like honey,
they slipped out so smooth.
& so often you spoke,
there was no interlude.

word after word,
I was spellbound.
&
kiss after kiss,
feelings unwound.

you removed all my layers;
left me stripped bare.
and all that was left were
strands of blonde hair.

were they yours?
were they mine?
were they merely a figment
of my lovedrunk mind?

till now i’m unsure,
but would I like to know?
we’ll leave this unanswered,
farewell my faux beau.
- another poem I wrote at 15 <3 oh the pain of teenage heartbreak…
one morning I woke,
unaware it would be my last.

not my last morning breathing,
but my last without you
on my mind.

I suppose I am to blame.

I am the one who lit the match,
the one who began the game.

now I’ve lost myself.
lost myself in you.

not just in you,
but in your lies
& your lips
& your arms.

you’re everywhere
& now I’m left to wonder…
where am I?
- a poem I wrote at 15
Prachi Oct 2022
Cyclamen, your beauty is overwhelming
But your meaning bewilders me
You come in different colors
But my memory you are engraved in pink
You bear the lasting feelings and sincere affection
In spite of this I would refrain myself from you

Camellia, I'm sure I would find you
In soldier's letters, in sailor's books
The yearning and tears that are seen in their eyes
Are reflected in your petals
You carry the longing of their beloved
A beloved who awaits their return on lonely nights

Daffodils, You know many stories
of unrequited love and tormented souls
I stand here amidst your field
Scared to pluck you , though I know I'll have to
You golden beauty doesn't rust
Just as these feelings that never fade
A poem on what I'm feeling today
Next page