#paragraph
If I could tell you how I missed you in one paragraph
The first line should not be the same as what I feel right now
The words that I used to be love actually gone
I will write it as far as I have done
I could not explain all of the memories in my head
Everything I can hold was staying in my bed
If I could tell you how I missed you in one paragraph
I am not sure I could write to you
The sounds that I hear
It is all I will bear
And it’s now standing to fear
If I could tell you how I missed you in one paragraph
My lips were tightened
My eyes were blinded
My ear was deaf
My hand was holding all of the lines that now hope my heart could fine
Sep 15, 2021
Sep 15, 2021 at 8:31 AM UTC
"I
don't have time
to be reading
paragraph after paragraph,"
she typed.
"but
I have time
to trick you
into thinking
you can open up to me
about anything,"
said her actions
Dec 14, 2020
Dec 14, 2020 at 5:24 PM UTC
i want to tell you that you smell like sandalwood soap. and that i can't keep my eyes off your hands. and i want to ask you what was the last thing that made you cry? and then i'd think about what tears would look like in your beautiful eyes, and then i might cry myself. and i want to tell you that you look like heaven on earth, and you wouldn't believe me so i'd tell you again. and again. i want to look at you like you're the last thing i'll ever see and memorize everything about you. i want to give you all of my favorite things and take you to all of my favorite places and then find out what yours are. i want to know what you're thinking about and why. i want to read your words and tattoo them on my tongue. i want to touch you for longer than a second. i want to show you what it feels like to be wanted. i want to show you everything i see in you, if you'd let me.
Nov 11, 2019
Nov 11, 2019 at 6:52 PM UTC
if you had never fallen from heaven, i would not have loved those broken wings. if your blood did not trail into my house, you would not lay on my couch as i wrapped you up. i've heard heaven is lovely, free of pain and brokenness — but when you are whole, you do not need someone to complete you. no one looks after you, or asks you how you are. but there is only so long i can tend to your wounds. so why, after all these years, do you not spread your wings to fly? did you really fall from heaven, or did you jump?
Sep 1, 2019
Sep 1, 2019 at 8:43 PM UTC
I've been sad for as long as i can remember. The day my father died is when i started to wonder whether that is the natural state of a 10 year old, to lose a person who is supposed to see you through life until you can hold your own hand.
As cruel as it sounds, I've been wondering when my mother's time will be up ever since he passed on. I keep preparing my mind, every time her birthday comes I tell myself "you've had her for an additional year, maybe this is it maybe this is when your luck runs out".
I never cried about his passing from the day after. I was numbed and I've been numb about it throughout all these years. The only time I came close to crying was a few weeks after he was gone, I was watching the tv and something came up that I really wanted to tell him about. I turned my head to the back and I called out "Papa-". I stopped when I came to the realization that he was not there and he will never be able to hear and respond to the things I say anymore.
Everyone thinks that because I was just ten years old, I wasn't affected much. Due to the fact that out of all my siblings I was the one who knew him the shortest, they thought that I couldn't be the saddest. But that was my father too, I loved him too, I was his daughter too. Everyone thought they were the saddest person. They were so busy with their own sadness, they never checked on mine. They never asked how I was doing, they never explained death nor did they provided solace to my lost and broken soul.
To a ten year old who had to figure out her own emotions, the easiest way was to **** it up and keep it inside.
& when you go through something like that, you'll understand why I say I'll always be sad.
May 14, 2019
May 14, 2019 at 12:45 PM UTC
I wrote a book
that's entirely
about you
even though
I was
only a paragraph
in yours
Oct 16, 2018
Oct 16, 2018 at 8:41 AM UTC
the passion for creating
poetry and prose
began in his formative
years
as he progressed
into adulthood
the fervency did increase
every time
he sat at his desk
the greatness of language
poured forth
on the vellum
his ink wouldst
come to life
verse and paragraph
illustrating the painted scene
so too
the inner most thoughts
which dwelt inside
his innovative dreams
he imagines
being among the stars
writing of a wondrous place
and his desire for this
shall always be
utmost of embrace
Jun 5, 2018
Jun 5, 2018 at 6:14 AM UTC
A good story
May very well be
A plot that concludes
However
I've always thought
The most intriguing
Are the ones
Left unanswered
There is a story
That lies in a notebook
On my shelf
Collecting dust
It's only one paragraph long
An undeveloped idea
But an idea nonetheless
It was co-written
By an undiscovered writer
And my ill-equipped self
We wrote an intriguing paragraph
Until
I was hit with writers block
I moved on
Carelessly
To other works
Long novels
Short stories
But still
Nothing more intriguing
Than our one
Brief
Idea
Most days I regret giving up
When I left behind this unfinished thought
And I still wonder
What the story could have been
If it ever continued
From paragraph one
Who knows
Maybe
It’d be a new story all together
All I know
Is that I will most likely never have an answer
But if that paragraph has taught me one thing
It is to develop ideas
Craft paragraphs
And finish stories
Before you put them on the shelf
Oct 2, 2017
Oct 2, 2017 at 4:30 PM UTC
Humor comes in a million different shades.
As mine reaches various greys and yellows,
I admit, more often an inkling than a joke,
I say, "I could die happy, right now."
This life assures me nothing good nor bad.
Blah.
Maybe the next? If any.
I won't take anything away from myself because that would mean,
I have an enemy.
And you don't run from your enemies,
You face them.
So it's safe to say,
I am here until I am not.
«c.h.b.»
Sep 12, 2017
Sep 12, 2017 at 5:29 PM UTC
and the pain unfurls on the ink page like a shuddering scream, a flower so small you can see it only on the tip of a finger held to the sky as if to view a drop of dew. and in the end it grows to such proportions that it begins to stab into the side and just a bit under, and pulls from the very depths of one's chest what once may have been living. and it begins to ache there, see; for this pain here now can only be that which suffocates and feeds on need, on greed, on every smallest insecurity. it binds at the slightest touch of the wind, on the faintest of breaths, and feels love for the first time in the beating of another heart. and it is at this point that the pain which had bloomed so sluggishly, so tenderly, can stand on its own and plunge into its own depths.
and so it is like this that one may wish, perhaps, to end a life of such suffering.
Jul 19, 2016
Jul 19, 2016 at 1:02 AM UTC
The thing with being
a writer is that when
you get to know people,
you can write an entire
chapter about them and
all you get is a paragraph.
- *But oh god, did you even
try to finish the sentence?*
Mar 18, 2016
Mar 18, 2016 at 2:49 PM UTC
I'd love a paragraph wakeup message every now and then...
Feb 7, 2016
Feb 7, 2016 at 8:25 PM UTC
I love him. I love his heart. He, like so many people in this world, has been beaten down and forced to harden his shell. He strangles his emotions and locks them under key, and how am I, me, supposed to fix that? I'm the same way. I drift so emptily through my life because of uncontrollable strife and I... I just don't know how to regain a sense of purpose, feel some motivation, muster the ability to have some sort of elation. My pen used to bleed for me but now my skin is what's bleeding and I'm just so hurt and unhappy with the life that I'm hardly leading. I'm not a painter and I can't turn this ruby red blood into a painting, but I can write about it, record it, instead of under the pressure fainting. I'll do my best to stand strongly for him, for if we don't have each other, we have nothing. Maybe we can help each other blossom again, and be as healthy and pure and whole and perfect as we once were. I imagine it's possible, just difficult, to survive this; but a future with him is one I don't wish to miss.
Nov 17, 2015
Nov 17, 2015 at 11:18 AM UTC
maybe it was worth it and maybe when I first saw it coming I saw something less like an ending and more like a beginning because you know, for the astronomical chances to completely align, once when they called for the end of the world, and a second time when he crossed my path like the broken revolution of Pluto, is to call for a complete set of anomalies to ensue and maybe that wasn’t it at all maybe it was just a crazy twist of fate that was meant to teach the universe that you can have what you want but it comes at a price because even when the world wasn’t ending there was no such thing as forever and shortening people’s forevers makes for a whole lot of desperation maybe that was it maybe it was desperation but no matter what it really was, I’m still here in this mess of ands and maybes that spin me around while the end of the world is hurtling towards us at so many light years an hour an hour an hour of time I don’t have time anymore but I’ve got to tell him I love him I’ve got to tell him I love him I’ve got to tell him I lo
Jun 29, 2015
Jun 29, 2015 at 10:29 PM UTC
It's sad because I'm lying to you everyday, pretending that i care. I am becoming the person that i never wanted me to be. I know one day you will find out about all the lies i told you. How i was whispering in his ear and having his strong arms hold me behind your back. I'm sorry that you loved him and drove yourself insane and he tossed you away like those rotting white roses. But i'll never be sorry that he chose me. That he accepts me and tells me all his secrets. I love being the one. I know i'm selfish. I know i should feel guilty. But i don't and i probably never will. I can still hear his high pitched singing voice, reminding me of an old Maroon 5 song filtered by the strong rain tapping on my roof. Tip tip tapping, while we're singing lost stars. We're both aware that you cry, wishing you could be me. But you're not. And i sometimes want to give this all away. But i won't.
- m.r. | and i even promised you
Feb 8, 2015
Feb 8, 2015 at 12:58 AM UTC
5 o’clock in the morning and I’m intoxicated by the thought of what could’ve been. I paint galaxies on my bedroom ceiling, desperately searching for the right words to let you know that my heart still sparked beautiful colors whenever I filled my mind with thoughts of you. Suddenly, it hits me like a strong gust of winter wind- that no matter how hard I wished for a sense of normality between us, things would never cease to change for the better. Too many sleepless nights, too many lonely sunsets have passed since that remorseful day. Too much time lost to recover the flame that had since been put out. I was numb to the core, trying to fix and mend something nearly irreparable that refused to die from my thoughts. I designed constellations on my walls, connecting them little-by-little each night, tricking myself into believing that there was still hope left, that someday our stars would align again. There was nothing, no one to confide into, and slowly the tiny sliver of sanity I still had left within me began to fade into an unfortunate nothing. Was it really gone? Our stories, our abundance of exchanged smiles, my collection of picture-perfect moments? Indeed, they were long gone, withering like the blossomed trees in the start of June. To me, those times were still so real, so picturesque, still engraved in my memory like a long lost yesterday. It was like a Tug of War, an innocent competition between two eager kids with their hearts set out to win. But after you were declared triumphant, you brushed yourself off, leaving me with nothing but the weight of a loss on my shoulders. 6 o’clock in the morning and I’m drowning in my own misery, trying to bury my sadness and my agonizing pain. But I couldn’t take my eyes off that bedroom ceiling, with a sudden realization that I couldn’t shake from my mind. Maybe, just maybe, I thought, as I wiped away tears, Maybe there’s still a little molecule of hope left somewhere in the world. The feeling soon escaped me and the night grew somber once more as I remembered that I was just a hopeless romantic swimming in a sea of her unattainable dreams. She was just in love with the idea of being in love, too tied down to reality to find the courage to let go. I had known it from the very beginning. He was gone, we were gone, and I was treading at rock bottom. .
Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 12:15 PM UTC
I like being around women
who stand up for something they truly believe in so much you can hear it in their voice
not because they are trying to be right
but it's because that is what they FEEL is right
How do most of the women in the world forget how we were born amazing, graceful, goddesses with super powers?
So many women let men walk over them and then blame it on a man for being an *** or a **** but you were the stupid ****** who keeps allowing these guys to treat you that way.
because ****** when something bothers you or offends you, say it. Don't run to your girlfriends and ***** about what you "would have said", just let it out because how are men supposed to know that what they say or do is hurting us without constantly reminding them. If you say anything enough it's bound to set in, and grab your **** and leave that ******* because yes that is exactly what he is and go find yourself a guy who is more than muscle tone and good looks, someone who looks at you like you are the sun and he is your earth rotating around you sharing in your light. It's not as difficult as the world these days makes it look, show some respect and yes as a woman, you need to show a little more and then the respect will come back to you. We have to work harder to be respected because that's life, but it's the way you handle the situations you're put into that really shine into your character. These challenges are what makes being a woman so empowering because we've fought and we've won. Search for your soul ladies and not the closest Starbucks. Talk about life, your dreams, your hopes, your talents more than you talk about other peoples lives or t.v or what you hate, or what you **** at doing, be proud of being you. It's not something you have to work for, it's there inside of you. Look for it and it will look back. Women make the world go around, men need us just as much as we feel like we need them. Be kind, think of your man once in awhile before you get so offended or start to be selfish. We go through nine months of pregnancy and it's gross, and painful, and you get fat and you swell but it's beautiful! We got blessed with something only women get the chance of doing. Isn't that special? Our bodies are so amazing we can form a life inside of us and then go through hell giving birth and come out okay. Be proud of being a woman but don't be cocky and believe me, there's a difference. Do something good for you, not for social media. Quit worrying about being fat or style or if you're wearing make up or not because who are you trying so hard for? Is it really them or is it you? Embrace your inner spirit, strength, peace, understanding and harmony and your life will flourish. We only get one body, love yours.
Sep 28, 2014
Sep 28, 2014 at 3:50 PM UTC
“I need to talk to you.” I hate these words. Because in a nanosecond I felt nervous; uneasiness filled my heart, afraid of what you are going to say & afraid of what will happen next. These words are just like the introduction of all the stories I have read. The stories that will always end up breaking my heart.
“I don’t love you anymore.” There. I know that was the second line you are going to say. I expected that. But I guess even though how much you are prepared for the situation and how much you expect that that may cause your heartbreak, you cannot help not to be hurt so much. I did not know what to feel that time. It was a myriad emotion and inexplicable feelings, tears are falling down my face and at the same time my body suddenly feels weak. And I did not know what to do.
It seems like yesterday since you told me that you will always be here when I needed you and that we are going to see together those places we are never going through. Your lips that tell me you really love me and your eyes that can tell it is true; that you are sincere. It has been just like a storm that came in and you are that storm that suddenly destroys my whole life when you left me.
Now I finally understand why storms are named after people.
Sep 21, 2014
Sep 21, 2014 at 10:33 PM UTC
i never did listen to the first words you ever said to me, i was just fixated on your lips and i wish i could remember. i keep wracking my brain because maybe if i remember them we can start all over again and it wouldn’t be the way it is now. maybe if i remember our story retells and i can relive the last 2 years 3 months of my life with an embrace tighter than the moon’s gravitational pull of the tide.
i swear things were never meant to be this way, see, i went to a fortune teller and she said that i’d meet someone who dances with two left feet and you dance with two left feet and a walking stick; you’re not good, at all, but you tried for me and the fortune teller said that it was supposed to last so i’m not sure why i’m sat here in a pool of your love letters trying to find hints of what went wrong. i’m looking for grazes, cuts, scratches, molehills.
i always got told you weren’t good for me anyway and it’s probably better that it happened like this and we’re only young and there’s so many more people in the world i’ve yet to meet but i don’t want to meet people if every trait they possess isn’t yours and i don’t want to meet people if their hair doesn’t fall the same way and i don’t want to meet people whose front tooth doesn’t cower in slightly and i don’t want to meet people if their favourite food is noodles when you hated noodles.
you were good for me because you made me think and i thought about construction and how things are built and how a fire can burn it to the ground because nothing is more powerful than nature itself. i think maybe we were a house but i keep hoping we’re fire and i’ll set fire to the thorns stabbing my heart and it’ll all be on fire everything will be on fire and it’ll be dangerous and exciting, like you and it most likely won’t be good for me but at least it’ll be ******* pretty. i want to hold your hand as my heart bolts out of my chest and melts into a drain outside your house.
Aug 28, 2014
Aug 28, 2014 at 10:21 AM UTC
there’s something incredibly annoying about it all, this urge to be better than good enough, the columns of highlighted plans, battle strategies for a eclipse that’s unlikely to happen, picturesque visions of murky scenery; as if we’ll be here in a century or as if it will matter what lips skin eyes we had or the number we got on a test in junior year. it’s all sinking by so fast and you and i both spend the better of it worrying our insides raw and closing our eyes, preparing for the final blow – as if that hasn’t already whistled by with the christmases. they tell us to get our numbers up, they yell to have fragile figures and stand out be different, as if that’s even tangible now in this phoenix cycle where 98 percent is the new 2 percent and different is the norm so to be different would be to be the norm and all we can do is shrug our hearts up to meet their pleas. but it’s so so hard in a world where everything wrong and wicked is romanticized by screens and statistics are emphasized by angry mustachioed men from behind beautiful architecture and our skeletons groan under the weight of it all, as if as if. you and i are stuck in this fork between dusted roads and they know it, they say they were there, but how is anything the same three decades later when it’s added to this spider web of standards? so we are lost until the new sands come and when they do we will already be in the next desert over, spinning in the next yellow kaleidoscope until the day we mix with the sand ourselves; and do you see what i mean: numbers and pictures and this is our life.
Aug 20, 2014
Aug 20, 2014 at 10:12 PM UTC
There are birds, and then there are those who dedicate their whole lives to watch them. I'll never be a bird, and you'll only be a bird. I watch you, I love you, and I marvel at you. But never would I confine you to the corruption and sorrow of a cage. So I’ll sit, and I’ll wait, and I’ll hope that one day you come to your senses and realize that you can fly away without having to sit and sing to deaf and dumb ears.
May 16, 2014
May 16, 2014 at 9:00 PM UTC
A lot of time spent
having miscellaneous conversations with the air.
Even stupid questions like "how's your day" acting as if it'd give an answer, or, even more,
a whisper of inspiration
It's an obligation, or, maybe a delegation, or, a confirmation?
that we will create a masterpiece before insane peace
With a piece of our minds becoming a little less peaceful by the day.
Soon our minds will turn into violent catapults hurling out sentence after sentence making our paper bleed
Black, Blue, Red, Gray
Joining a cult created by the letters we created ourselves
falling into the abyss these stanzas and paragraphs invite us into
And don't get me wrong, it sounds terrible, but it's home.
There's no place like it.
Where these words are so much more than words,
they're family.
But frequently, we get into arguments that erupt into something sinister
and our desks become littered with papers that wilt and wither into nothing more than liters upon liters
of a type of alcoholic beverage that'll tempt us into becoming outspoken drunkards
But that's the goal:
to be outspoken.
Mar 31, 2014
Mar 31, 2014 at 4:14 PM UTC