#modernheartbreak - Hello Poetry

my room is too small to drink myself numb in, my heart too sober to fall drunk in love my cup stays filled with depression, my dreams poured as a chaser my love stick isn't what I lean on my way through love's wild forest — my lips are blue from my last good kiss my tongue doesn't slice the subtle lie of “i love you,” my skin hasn't felt weird letting someone in; my inner freak is quiet and reserved now my veins won’t skip a heartbeat, _untouched_ my phone doesn’t kiss my eyes liking her pics my reason to fall in love has fallen away from me, but I still kept the receipts

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Dec 21, 2025

Dec 21, 2025 at 11:03 AM UTC

OddOdysseyPoet

Love Receipts

my room is too small to drink myself numb in, my heart too sober to fall drunk in love my cup stays filled with depression, my dreams poured as a chaser my love stick isn't what I lean on my way through love's wild forest — my lips are blue from my last good kiss my tongue doesn't slice the subtle lie of “i love you,” my skin hasn't felt weird letting someone in; my inner freak is quiet and reserved now my veins won’t skip a heartbeat, _untouched_ my phone doesn’t kiss my eyes liking her pics my reason to fall in love has fallen away from me, but I still kept the receipts

15

I see your smile in buildings, you still live in my heart — a part of me; apartment walls built up and down, all of their tenants moving in and out. A crowded room, one bathroom, toothpaste crust on the sink — my living room feels so uncomfortable not living with you. The kitchen light hums, drawing cockroaches out at night, not even shy when we stare eye to eye — I guess even pests get used to company. Cupboards empty, with only food for thought to feed my hope. Still I pray the rent isn’t overdue — the landlord of depression bangs on my door at the end of the month, the middle of the month, the beginning — _anytime he wants_. We shared this house, but never lived in our hearts. We shared this mattress, but never rested our worries. We shared this address, yet got lost chasing after each other. Now, the buildings are all vacant — windows hollow, paint of your smile peeling off the walls, flaking down like tired laughter. And every echo, sounds like your name.

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Nov 4, 2025

Nov 4, 2025 at 3:25 PM UTC

OddOdysseyPoet

Vacant Buildings of You

I see your smile in buildings, you still live in my heart — a part of me; apartment walls built up and down, all of their tenants moving in and out. A crowded room, one bathroom, toothpaste crust on the sink — my living room feels so uncomfortable not living with you. The kitchen light hums, drawing cockroaches out at night, not even shy when we stare eye to eye — I guess even pests get used to company. Cupboards empty, with only food for thought to feed my hope. Still I pray the rent isn’t overdue — the landlord of depression bangs on my door at the end of the month, the middle of the month, the beginning — _anytime he wants_. We shared this house, but never lived in our hearts. We shared this mattress, but never rested our worries. We shared this address, yet got lost chasing after each other. Now, the buildings are all vacant — windows hollow, paint of your smile peeling off the walls, flaking down like tired laughter. And every echo, sounds like your name.

18

__Untie me from your thoughts__ — acting loose from your love; not what I should’ve known. Knot-tongued, unable to say what I’m really feeling inside the chambers of my heart. Dumpling cheekbones feeding off your smile — _it's a soft scene_. But all of our best actions still aren’t worth a movie screen. And aren’t we looking a little too scripted in front of our peers? __You__ — my original promissory note. Please take note of every step you take in my mind, scribbling down your movements like wandering footnotes. ________________________________________ There’s also the shaking __trial of courtship__ — in the jaws of both judges. You say what you want — and it turns out to be exactly what I don’t. You try to live in my thoughts, but I’m still __renting that house__. No roots, no keys — just memories on a month-to-month lease. ________________________________________ To say every man is just, "a dog" — their barking mingles on, chasing their own tails, returning to the ones who wronged them as if _they_ were wrong. But the dog’s got a bone to pick, and it contests every bone. ________________________________________ __Truth is__ — this, like our love, was never meant to be a love poem.

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Jul 2, 2025

Jul 2, 2025 at 4:40 AM UTC

OddOdysseyPoet

This Was Never Meant to Be a Love Poem

__Untie me from your thoughts__ — acting loose from your love; not what I should’ve known. Knot-tongued, unable to say what I’m really feeling inside the chambers of my heart. Dumpling cheekbones feeding off your smile — _it's a soft scene_. But all of our best actions still aren’t worth a movie screen. And aren’t we looking a little too scripted in front of our peers? __You__ — my original promissory note. Please take note of every step you take in my mind, scribbling down your movements like wandering footnotes. ________________________________________ There’s also the shaking __trial of courtship__ — in the jaws of both judges. You say what you want — and it turns out to be exactly what I don’t. You try to live in my thoughts, but I’m still __renting that house__. No roots, no keys — just memories on a month-to-month lease. ________________________________________ To say every man is just, "a dog" — their barking mingles on, chasing their own tails, returning to the ones who wronged them as if _they_ were wrong. But the dog’s got a bone to pick, and it contests every bone. ________________________________________ __Truth is__ — this, like our love, was never meant to be a love poem.

43

there's hope in goodbyes as they say, a chapter ends — a new one begins. but i've come today with a different tale — take it as a story, a broken poem, or an unsent mail. got a couple good phrases, jumbled up — only i know the feeling. can't seem to sense entirely their origin, and so i'll try to pen them down, hopefully bring them a meaning. no, i ain't broken-hearted, and no, i ain't going through the same period — but this comes from the perspective of all those. let me specify — a character from the movie i recently watched, a person on the roadside i walked upon, a stray cat who waited — since forever, it seemed — for her babies to talk, and millions of those who waited for something that wasn't there at all. a closure. an answer. a little bit of understanding. but here i am, left to question it all — especially your disappearance. those unanswered texts, the quiet ache, the agony of play pretend. ghosting, the new age calls it — was that even an ending? there's a bittersweet melancholy, hoping for something that's barely there, yearning with the i'm doomed realizations, and the gentleness with which grief seems to give me a hug — it is rare. i'd wished it could be like waiting for letters in a war — knowing they would meet the soldiers even in their fall, knowing there was someone writing, waiting upon them. i've never been waited for, held, promised — been just a lost cause. the world resonates with such: echoes of conversations, words left unspoken, unseen messages pretending to be left unread. people fading from each other's lives like mist in the mornings, fungi growing on breads. i've talked to silence, left by my own. quite a few said goodbye, most left me forlorn. i stayed — same places, old memories, holding onto things that didn't plan on returning. the destinations became ghosts of the past — yet i kept writing to the same addresses. a few didn't even leave — just faded into sweet little nothings. hope, hope, oh this dear solitude — hope remained despite the static. i'm stitching this up with the remnants of what i once was. this ain't no monologue, written in the melancholy of not chosen — left for yet another job. an irony, a metaphor, no reasons — just because. i intended to keep it as a piece that reminded me of being haunted — with the memories, and the facts, and the presence of a human that held me to the edge. and yet, i find no anger, no resentment, no ill will — no praying of curses to befall and end them. there's only love, perhaps longing — belief that if it existed, it had the right to be termed as ended. only if there was a full stop — just like at the end of phrases, sentences, and even chapters — a single dot. it could have helped me move on. but no — i'm left, standing in the middle after being promised to be met halfway. never intended to be here — i'd said so in the first place. one-sided letter, bonding, or heartache. there's acceptance in solitude. i'll wear the letters of goodbye, despite knowing you never said it. please don't return only to tell me — despite no closure — it was the silence that aged.

0

May 24, 2025

May 24, 2025 at 4:43 PM UTC

poeticaofisshues

you've recieved an attachment

there's hope in goodbyes as they say, a chapter ends — a new one begins. but i've come today with a different tale — take it as a story, a broken poem, or an unsent mail. got a couple good phrases, jumbled up — only i know the feeling. can't seem to sense entirely their origin, and so i'll try to pen them down, hopefully bring them a meaning. no, i ain't broken-hearted, and no, i ain't going through the same period — but this comes from the perspective of all those. let me specify — a character from the movie i recently watched, a person on the roadside i walked upon, a stray cat who waited — since forever, it seemed — for her babies to talk, and millions of those who waited for something that wasn't there at all. a closure. an answer. a little bit of understanding. but here i am, left to question it all — especially your disappearance. those unanswered texts, the quiet ache, the agony of play pretend. ghosting, the new age calls it — was that even an ending? there's a bittersweet melancholy, hoping for something that's barely there, yearning with the i'm doomed realizations, and the gentleness with which grief seems to give me a hug — it is rare. i'd wished it could be like waiting for letters in a war — knowing they would meet the soldiers even in their fall, knowing there was someone writing, waiting upon them. i've never been waited for, held, promised — been just a lost cause. the world resonates with such: echoes of conversations, words left unspoken, unseen messages pretending to be left unread. people fading from each other's lives like mist in the mornings, fungi growing on breads. i've talked to silence, left by my own. quite a few said goodbye, most left me forlorn. i stayed — same places, old memories, holding onto things that didn't plan on returning. the destinations became ghosts of the past — yet i kept writing to the same addresses. a few didn't even leave — just faded into sweet little nothings. hope, hope, oh this dear solitude — hope remained despite the static. i'm stitching this up with the remnants of what i once was. this ain't no monologue, written in the melancholy of not chosen — left for yet another job. an irony, a metaphor, no reasons — just because. i intended to keep it as a piece that reminded me of being haunted — with the memories, and the facts, and the presence of a human that held me to the edge. and yet, i find no anger, no resentment, no ill will — no praying of curses to befall and end them. there's only love, perhaps longing — belief that if it existed, it had the right to be termed as ended. only if there was a full stop — just like at the end of phrases, sentences, and even chapters — a single dot. it could have helped me move on. but no — i'm left, standing in the middle after being promised to be met halfway. never intended to be here — i'd said so in the first place. one-sided letter, bonding, or heartache. there's acceptance in solitude. i'll wear the letters of goodbye, despite knowing you never said it. please don't return only to tell me — despite no closure — it was the silence that aged.

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