#lengthy - Hello Poetry

Where are you And why haven’t I seen you in weeks? Where are you And your toxic nature? I miss you sinking into my skin. Its a seemingly impossible proportion I’ve taken upon myself And the stars aren’t aligned for me So tell me why I do the things I do When you’re around. This is what happens When I think about you This is what happens When the waves are at high tide And full force Ready to submerge anything in their path. Because all I do is crumble Because the thoughts of you are so Intrusive. You’ve nestled between my skin You’ve dug yourself a path In what I thought Was the utmost private of All the passageways of my being. I’ve never told you that I was scared. I’ve never told you how I’m wrecked. I’ve never told you I’m in shambles Over someone who isn’t broken over me I’m terrified of what ill do Once you’re gone. But maybe I’ll be free Maybe I’ll thrive. I was young But this love has made me age Beyond my years. And I don’t know If I’ll ever get back to a place Where I learn to love myself. Everything you’ve said Will stay with me forever. Never forget what you’ve done And how conflicted you’ve left me With myself. My heart was never meant for this.  I don’t like this. But this is all I’ve ever known And I can’t make new memories With a life I don’t know how to live. So, tell me. Where are you? Where am I? When I’m lost inside my own mind.

0

Mar 11, 2019

Mar 11, 2019 at 9:39 PM UTC

caitie

Inner Demons

Where are you And why haven’t I seen you in weeks? Where are you And your toxic nature? I miss you sinking into my skin. Its a seemingly impossible proportion I’ve taken upon myself And the stars aren’t aligned for me So tell me why I do the things I do When you’re around. This is what happens When I think about you This is what happens When the waves are at high tide And full force Ready to submerge anything in their path. Because all I do is crumble Because the thoughts of you are so Intrusive. You’ve nestled between my skin You’ve dug yourself a path In what I thought Was the utmost private of All the passageways of my being. I’ve never told you that I was scared. I’ve never told you how I’m wrecked. I’ve never told you I’m in shambles Over someone who isn’t broken over me I’m terrified of what ill do Once you’re gone. But maybe I’ll be free Maybe I’ll thrive. I was young But this love has made me age Beyond my years. And I don’t know If I’ll ever get back to a place Where I learn to love myself. Everything you’ve said Will stay with me forever. Never forget what you’ve done And how conflicted you’ve left me With myself. My heart was never meant for this.  I don’t like this. But this is all I’ve ever known And I can’t make new memories With a life I don’t know how to live. So, tell me. Where are you? Where am I? When I’m lost inside my own mind.

51

I remember sometimes I'd try everything in my power to get you to laugh, and how sometimes it didn't work. Yet there were those special moments in between the lack of reciprocation and fights I'd get you to give me that look. I walk up to you "Hey my friends are having a party tonight and I know we just met but it'd be cool if you came." We were dating well past a year at this point, flash forward three hours and we're drunk sitting on couches with strangers around us. "Hey, Paul right? I'm glad you decided to come" the people around us get excited over what they think is a budding relationship, you look over to them smile and say "This is my girlfriend..."

0

Jan 25, 2018

Jan 25, 2018 at 12:53 AM UTC

broadsky

"This is my girlfriend..."

I remember sometimes I'd try everything in my power to get you to laugh, and how sometimes it didn't work. Yet there were those special moments in between the lack of reciprocation and fights I'd get you to give me that look. I walk up to you "Hey my friends are having a party tonight and I know we just met but it'd be cool if you came." We were dating well past a year at this point, flash forward three hours and we're drunk sitting on couches with strangers around us. "Hey, Paul right? I'm glad you decided to come" the people around us get excited over what they think is a budding relationship, you look over to them smile and say "This is my girlfriend..."

2

I think what we are missing out is that love is plain receiving, after all. People are clumsy enough to give it or lose it along the way. It can be sung or tediously written. I may be wrong, but, I think the problem we have with love is with who we want to carry it. We decide what is true and noble with the way it was packaged or presented, thus we hope. And so we pour out what we have, to the extent of our flaws, for the so called authenticity called preference. Then some would chase for love as though it's an adventure. Cookie crumbs are everywhere. There is no end to people who are lost, happily. And so we spend a little more time and energy, and money, tossing all to the ocean as ill-fated bottles for our forgetting, just to bitterly fail at it. Kind of makes me wonder how this *** I know found the love of his life. How did he do that? Is it really just about ordering the right kind of coffee at the cafe? Or lying under that one auspicious tree? Perhaps, we're just addicted, frustrating ourselves with the idea of love returning. I think people, subconciously, just wanted to build the value of what they already have. We are not contented that there is such a valuable thing on Earth as love we can effortlessly attain. We think of it as an irreproducable need, like it is buried someplace else, in the distance, that one should say it is precious, that one should say it is deserved. We tend to precede the struggle, not knowing this simple truth: The struggle is after love not when a man is after it. We refine what we have, and consequently, we define ourselves. We don't search for love, neither will it find us. It already did. And it has found us fools. Contentment is true key. Love differs from hope, and hope love, and even faith. What we love makes us stranger; love keeps us sane. We tend to conquer love; love is submissive. It remains true to itself, while we are just being...ourselves. © 2014 J.S.P.

0

Oct 18, 2014

Oct 18, 2014 at 8:18 PM UTC

jspua

Hopeless Romantics

I think what we are missing out is that love is plain receiving, after all. People are clumsy enough to give it or lose it along the way. It can be sung or tediously written. I may be wrong, but, I think the problem we have with love is with who we want to carry it. We decide what is true and noble with the way it was packaged or presented, thus we hope. And so we pour out what we have, to the extent of our flaws, for the so called authenticity called preference. Then some would chase for love as though it's an adventure. Cookie crumbs are everywhere. There is no end to people who are lost, happily. And so we spend a little more time and energy, and money, tossing all to the ocean as ill-fated bottles for our forgetting, just to bitterly fail at it. Kind of makes me wonder how this *** I know found the love of his life. How did he do that? Is it really just about ordering the right kind of coffee at the cafe? Or lying under that one auspicious tree? Perhaps, we're just addicted, frustrating ourselves with the idea of love returning. I think people, subconciously, just wanted to build the value of what they already have. We are not contented that there is such a valuable thing on Earth as love we can effortlessly attain. We think of it as an irreproducable need, like it is buried someplace else, in the distance, that one should say it is precious, that one should say it is deserved. We tend to precede the struggle, not knowing this simple truth: The struggle is after love not when a man is after it. We refine what we have, and consequently, we define ourselves. We don't search for love, neither will it find us. It already did. And it has found us fools. Contentment is true key. Love differs from hope, and hope love, and even faith. What we love makes us stranger; love keeps us sane. We tend to conquer love; love is submissive. It remains true to itself, while we are just being...ourselves. © 2014 J.S.P.

2

sometimes, late at night i lie awake, or sit, or even dance i do not "sleep" i might drowse, or snooze, but only temporary reprive- The Dark holds its monsters and pattering, clawed steps outside of my candlelit chambers and beyond the fragile makebelieve walls of my lurking consciousness- light a candle. burn the Night. Smolder your eyes upon the smoke banish my fears, faint light- but do not destroy my peace- morning Light, cast not your hands over this black scry-stone! Look but so gently into the Dark's swirling and staring stars down upon a ritual laid bare- agate eyes upon the crown upon the head of the young Oracle a story for another time, a prayer for a beating heart in another place, another darkened midnight womb or perhaps an obsidian tomb--. fill a chalice and not a mind tip the contents to then find a wandering flame spread to the wind devouring those violent souls that have sinned as such, topics change like Gaia dear, as such my mind roams when I cower in fear--. in the imaginary arms of a man I love, the one who can't be near. Night sings a quiet song of insane love and gentle terror, a soft-soft sound that rings eternal and lulls its listener not to sleep but into a spell that gathers deep within the core of the mind behind the third, before the eye, but loud and deafening guilt that keeps the shade-drawn witch awake, and the quivering fear racing in their youthful heart--. Ladle the light of the stars above into the cupped hands tonight and sing the damnation back to the groping clouds on the black horizon, the violet and blue and grey and white swirling in cohesion and roaring into a wave of conscious nightmares i cannot deal with these thoughts on my mind, resting upon my heart my eyes my mind my very soul.

0

May 12, 2014

May 12, 2014 at 2:34 PM UTC

esherymack

..(untitled)

sometimes, late at night i lie awake, or sit, or even dance i do not "sleep" i might drowse, or snooze, but only temporary reprive- The Dark holds its monsters and pattering, clawed steps outside of my candlelit chambers and beyond the fragile makebelieve walls of my lurking consciousness- light a candle. burn the Night. Smolder your eyes upon the smoke banish my fears, faint light- but do not destroy my peace- morning Light, cast not your hands over this black scry-stone! Look but so gently into the Dark's swirling and staring stars down upon a ritual laid bare- agate eyes upon the crown upon the head of the young Oracle a story for another time, a prayer for a beating heart in another place, another darkened midnight womb or perhaps an obsidian tomb--. fill a chalice and not a mind tip the contents to then find a wandering flame spread to the wind devouring those violent souls that have sinned as such, topics change like Gaia dear, as such my mind roams when I cower in fear--. in the imaginary arms of a man I love, the one who can't be near. Night sings a quiet song of insane love and gentle terror, a soft-soft sound that rings eternal and lulls its listener not to sleep but into a spell that gathers deep within the core of the mind behind the third, before the eye, but loud and deafening guilt that keeps the shade-drawn witch awake, and the quivering fear racing in their youthful heart--. Ladle the light of the stars above into the cupped hands tonight and sing the damnation back to the groping clouds on the black horizon, the violet and blue and grey and white swirling in cohesion and roaring into a wave of conscious nightmares i cannot deal with these thoughts on my mind, resting upon my heart my eyes my mind my very soul.

63