my mom thinks
no boy will ever deserve me
but
my dad thinks
the man who deserves me
is the one who knows he doesn't

writing words of revolutions
with the real stories
scribbled out between the lines
encased in beautiful metaphors
hidden in plain sight
1/30/2019

Untitled

and then a blank space.
It's stressful,
but I write anyways
because I like the feeling
of falling
into a poem,
letting it wrap me up
and take me
to stars, or
to dreams, or
to love, or just
home.
I love sitting
in the dark
with just moonlight
and the bright, white
light of the screen
to keep me company
as I pour
my feelings out
to people
I don't even know,
because somehow,
it's easier showing
my demons to
strangers, as
I don't really care
what they think of me.
after they read
my heart;
they can just
drop it where they are
and leave,
not feeling particularly
obligated to stay.

funny the way we laugh
but we can't stay like that
some times we are rough
someone's always putting a dot

i hope you get it
but I think you don't, I bet
I want it to be fixed
I hate it, you broke us at six

tired, I'm losing my grip.
i dont wanna lose you.
but what can I do?
**** girl, you already tripped.

and now that we're over
i want you to remember
the night we kissed on november
wretched, I lost my lover.

--jeannery a.



♡

There is a sight of spring in her eyes,
there is a sight of spring in her smile.

Hidden by the veil of nature,
is a touch of her sorrow.
Time is slumbering,
and the world has become mellow.

Sadly, she stands her distance from me,
unsure what love really is.
My heart chose her,
but she has not chosen me.

It is lost and forgotten,
the old memories that
fill my heart.

It is hard to describe the misery that one feels.
I often ask myself the same old question.

"How does one tell the other, they are not in love?"

It is like the two shores of the sea that never meet.
I cannot endure such great loneliness.

We are near, yet we are so far.
This love in separation is unacceptable to me.
It is like there is a wall of glass
that is keeping us apart.

If I am sad and forlorn.
truth behold, she is sad as well.

We meet, yet we do not meet.
The roses bloom but does not bloom.
Strange how love is there is autumn in my heart.