#fearofloss - Hello Poetry

I don’t know when it happened. It wasn’t falling — not really. There was no crash, no warning. Just this quiet moment where I opened a door and realized I’d been locked out of my own heart for years. And somehow, you were standing on the other side. It wasn’t fireworks. It was peace. And it scares the hell out of me, because I’m not used to peace lasting. I’m used to people who say they care, then make me prove it until I’m too tired to keep trying. But here I am — in love and scared to death. Because everything I’ve ever loved has looked me dead in the eye and told me I was unlovable, then left me standing in the wreckage, trying to figure out what I did wrong. You keep showing me that you’re different, that this time I won’t have to beg for the bare minimum. That maybe I can just be. But that voice in my head — built from all the goodbyes — keeps whispering that nothing good ever stays. And still, I can’t help it. When you smile, something in me quiets. When you look at me, I feel seen. It’s like you reached inside my chest and found the one place that wasn’t completely ruined— and you hold the pieces that are, not to take them from me or change them, but to share the load. So here I am — loving you in the only way I know how: with trembling hands, and a heart that still flinches at kindness. Wondering if you feel this too, or if I’m just another almost, another story that ends in silence. And if you are — if you’re going to go too — just don’t lie to me first. Don’t tell me I’m safe, only to make me watch the door close again. I’m tired of being the only one who stays.

0

Oct 25, 2025

Oct 25, 2025 at 2:45 PM UTC

SunflowerCreek

The Only One That Stays

I don’t know when it happened. It wasn’t falling — not really. There was no crash, no warning. Just this quiet moment where I opened a door and realized I’d been locked out of my own heart for years. And somehow, you were standing on the other side. It wasn’t fireworks. It was peace. And it scares the hell out of me, because I’m not used to peace lasting. I’m used to people who say they care, then make me prove it until I’m too tired to keep trying. But here I am — in love and scared to death. Because everything I’ve ever loved has looked me dead in the eye and told me I was unlovable, then left me standing in the wreckage, trying to figure out what I did wrong. You keep showing me that you’re different, that this time I won’t have to beg for the bare minimum. That maybe I can just be. But that voice in my head — built from all the goodbyes — keeps whispering that nothing good ever stays. And still, I can’t help it. When you smile, something in me quiets. When you look at me, I feel seen. It’s like you reached inside my chest and found the one place that wasn’t completely ruined— and you hold the pieces that are, not to take them from me or change them, but to share the load. So here I am — loving you in the only way I know how: with trembling hands, and a heart that still flinches at kindness. Wondering if you feel this too, or if I’m just another almost, another story that ends in silence. And if you are — if you’re going to go too — just don’t lie to me first. Don’t tell me I’m safe, only to make me watch the door close again. I’m tired of being the only one who stays.

48

And with one single flicker a warmth was felt. As it lit and swayed around I swirled in thought. How can something so small define in mirror image, what I've tried to say so many times. I becoming like the wick surrounded by depth. Lost at sea without so much as a barge to rest my head against. With you becoming my single barge of refuge. All thoughts of despair and lack of faith disappeared when I bumped my head against your strength. The fragrance of the way you soothed without so much as a word. The city lights never shined as bright. Nor have I had reason to want to stay put until you showed me how much strength I had in myself. The barge of clear glass that surrounds us. Stained by the scars of who we use to be, we constantly sink. Discovering depth over by the far side of the fire that slowly descends. Devouring the wick. If ever this fire should burn out shall we truly find out what it is to grieve

0

Aug 7, 2017

Aug 7, 2017 at 11:00 AM UTC

kewayne-wadley

Grieve

And with one single flicker a warmth was felt. As it lit and swayed around I swirled in thought. How can something so small define in mirror image, what I've tried to say so many times. I becoming like the wick surrounded by depth. Lost at sea without so much as a barge to rest my head against. With you becoming my single barge of refuge. All thoughts of despair and lack of faith disappeared when I bumped my head against your strength. The fragrance of the way you soothed without so much as a word. The city lights never shined as bright. Nor have I had reason to want to stay put until you showed me how much strength I had in myself. The barge of clear glass that surrounds us. Stained by the scars of who we use to be, we constantly sink. Discovering depth over by the far side of the fire that slowly descends. Devouring the wick. If ever this fire should burn out shall we truly find out what it is to grieve

15

The Scream All my prayers have gone unanswered. All my pleas have gone unheard. The demons from you past have found you. They take bites from your flesh. You do not notice the damage. All I can do is watch. What separates us is too vast I scream to draw their attention I call on them to attack me They laugh at my helplessness, my sorrow I scream because I don't know what else to do I scream because I love you I scream because I'm scared Terrified of losing you Because we are good together And that frightens you I can't turn away, can't avert my gaze I reach out for you, thinking that somehow Maybe I can pull you to safety or least close enough to protect I scream for you I die for you You think the demons are your friends You turn away, you laugh as they consume you And still I cannot turn away I scream for you to remember I scream I scream I scream Through tears I scream I scream for you Because my prayers have gone unanswered My pleas have gone unheard. I have failed you I scream that I love you I scream Until all there is, is my scream 3/25/16 Jonathan Parker Bryant

0

Aug 15, 2016

Aug 15, 2016 at 1:46 AM UTC

jonathan-p-bryant

The Scream

The Scream All my prayers have gone unanswered. All my pleas have gone unheard. The demons from you past have found you. They take bites from your flesh. You do not notice the damage. All I can do is watch. What separates us is too vast I scream to draw their attention I call on them to attack me They laugh at my helplessness, my sorrow I scream because I don't know what else to do I scream because I love you I scream because I'm scared Terrified of losing you Because we are good together And that frightens you I can't turn away, can't avert my gaze I reach out for you, thinking that somehow Maybe I can pull you to safety or least close enough to protect I scream for you I die for you You think the demons are your friends You turn away, you laugh as they consume you And still I cannot turn away I scream for you to remember I scream I scream I scream Through tears I scream I scream for you Because my prayers have gone unanswered My pleas have gone unheard. I have failed you I scream that I love you I scream Until all there is, is my scream 3/25/16 Jonathan Parker Bryant

39

We see words lined up pretty, spelling out sorrow. Like beautiful crying ladies we want to help but also want to touch. I never know when or how to express that I am here for a poet. Love, is it ever just a poem to you? Or do you actually mean to slit your wrists? Is writing the only way you escape? Should I stop and whisper empathy or should we just continue to admire each other's talent?

0

Dec 3, 2014

Dec 3, 2014 at 12:29 AM UTC

tntcl

When I like painful poetry

We see words lined up pretty, spelling out sorrow. Like beautiful crying ladies we want to help but also want to touch. I never know when or how to express that I am here for a poet. Love, is it ever just a poem to you? Or do you actually mean to slit your wrists? Is writing the only way you escape? Should I stop and whisper empathy or should we just continue to admire each other's talent?

14