#pastloves - Hello Poetry

I screamed my name to the wrong kinds until you rolled my echo in your palm. Vocal chords bled but in you they dare to open, hum a tune. Now they sing each morning.

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Jul 15, 2019

Jul 15, 2019 at 9:09 AM UTC

ashKayeH

songbird

I screamed my name to the wrong kinds until you rolled my echo in your palm. Vocal chords bled but in you they dare to open, hum a tune. Now they sing each morning.

7

Dear previous flame, For whatever you may feel, know we are mirrors. For whatever insecurity you may look to cure, through searching hard and unsubtle in the profile I choose to share, Know that I’m a shadow, searching hard through a shared room that was yours before it was mine— Looking for any sign of superiority, a crack in the impenetrable armor I built for you. I know you’re my reflection on the outside looking in. You’re his past but my potential future and the empathy I feel runs deeper than the credit you’d dare give me. The truth is I see you in every girl who could remotely fit your description, despite knowing your exact image. You are not a threat, but a curiosity nonetheless. Because after all, any record broken is only as good as above second place.

0

Feb 14, 2019

Feb 14, 2019 at 1:02 AM UTC

kelley-flint

Embers

Dear previous flame, For whatever you may feel, know we are mirrors. For whatever insecurity you may look to cure, through searching hard and unsubtle in the profile I choose to share, Know that I’m a shadow, searching hard through a shared room that was yours before it was mine— Looking for any sign of superiority, a crack in the impenetrable armor I built for you. I know you’re my reflection on the outside looking in. You’re his past but my potential future and the empathy I feel runs deeper than the credit you’d dare give me. The truth is I see you in every girl who could remotely fit your description, despite knowing your exact image. You are not a threat, but a curiosity nonetheless. Because after all, any record broken is only as good as above second place.

10

#1 You were my first kiss, my first boyfriend, my first grown up moment older, seemily sophisticated you had this idea that the world was lucky to have you in it a god complex like no other and let me tell you, you had 15 year old me, convinced I felt lucky I felt old and sophisticated and although you were just a bump in my road I'm thankful I knew someone like you I think of you from time to time I remember you with giggles and innocence as well as with ice cream and tears oh how sweet and naive a 15 year old can be #2 You've always been my favorite. stood tall, sweet you thought I was the best thing that ever happened to you I swear you would've tried to move those mountains just to see me dance with a smile you loved me with pure intentions and a sparkle in your eye I'm sorry I ruined that love story for you you deserve a great love story more than any of us to the first boy I ever loved, it felt like magic. didn't it? heart flutters and forehead kisses faded all too quickly I think of you from time to time I hope you find the girl who holds your great love story in the palm of her hands oh how sweet a first love can be #3 I call you the lion in poems you took whatever innocence I had left in my fragile frame I never had seem evil with my own two eyes until I met yours you gave me a pit in my stomach and a fear in my heart you showed me some actions can never earn forgiveness and some people are so ugly they don't deserve love I think of you from time to time especially in the nightmares I hope you shutter at the thought of my name thanks for teaching me how to bring a power hungry man to his god **** knees I won't forget that lesson oh how sweet a corrupt man can be #4 my muse you have been the subject of my words since the day I laid eyes on you brilliant, brave and bold you are the root of any and all of my inspiration how could anyone not fall for you no one ever warned me about the sad brown eyes and the sulky smile no one ever told me the greatest loves make for the most epic heartbreaks you are a wicked man my love but if there's anything this heart of mine beats for it's a troubled boy begging for a home I let you in, no trouble at all it's getting you out, thats been a little more difficult I think of you all the time days on end, minutes on high my mind is polluted with the images you left for me to find I hope you know, my baby is you. till the end of time oh how troubling a life saving love can be

0

Sep 28, 2018

Sep 28, 2018 at 10:50 PM UTC

abby-reynolds

Poems for the Past Boys

#1 You were my first kiss, my first boyfriend, my first grown up moment older, seemily sophisticated you had this idea that the world was lucky to have you in it a god complex like no other and let me tell you, you had 15 year old me, convinced I felt lucky I felt old and sophisticated and although you were just a bump in my road I'm thankful I knew someone like you I think of you from time to time I remember you with giggles and innocence as well as with ice cream and tears oh how sweet and naive a 15 year old can be #2 You've always been my favorite. stood tall, sweet you thought I was the best thing that ever happened to you I swear you would've tried to move those mountains just to see me dance with a smile you loved me with pure intentions and a sparkle in your eye I'm sorry I ruined that love story for you you deserve a great love story more than any of us to the first boy I ever loved, it felt like magic. didn't it? heart flutters and forehead kisses faded all too quickly I think of you from time to time I hope you find the girl who holds your great love story in the palm of her hands oh how sweet a first love can be #3 I call you the lion in poems you took whatever innocence I had left in my fragile frame I never had seem evil with my own two eyes until I met yours you gave me a pit in my stomach and a fear in my heart you showed me some actions can never earn forgiveness and some people are so ugly they don't deserve love I think of you from time to time especially in the nightmares I hope you shutter at the thought of my name thanks for teaching me how to bring a power hungry man to his god **** knees I won't forget that lesson oh how sweet a corrupt man can be #4 my muse you have been the subject of my words since the day I laid eyes on you brilliant, brave and bold you are the root of any and all of my inspiration how could anyone not fall for you no one ever warned me about the sad brown eyes and the sulky smile no one ever told me the greatest loves make for the most epic heartbreaks you are a wicked man my love but if there's anything this heart of mine beats for it's a troubled boy begging for a home I let you in, no trouble at all it's getting you out, thats been a little more difficult I think of you all the time days on end, minutes on high my mind is polluted with the images you left for me to find I hope you know, my baby is you. till the end of time oh how troubling a life saving love can be

71

Love feels like coming home But I've found homes in many people Every home I make is different, fit to hold the looks and laughs between us Love is like taking a hot shower when the cold has seeped in from all of the cracks in your broken armor After feeling like a dog licking at empty water dishes it's like realizing you have thumbs to turn on the faucet It cannot be fit in a poem People are not lists or metaphors but shelves of novels, walls full of paintings, flaws and idiosyncrasies. Love is warm blood, messy mad hearts, and wild wolf loyalty. It's faltering footsteps and tears after the moon has risen. It's campfire pops and crackles, twisted bed sheets, and moments intertwined like fingers Love isn't finding your way through a hurricane or boots stomping through a garden. Love is like coming home.

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Nov 18, 2017

Nov 18, 2017 at 10:27 PM UTC

AndLifeWasLike

What Love Feels Like

Love feels like coming home But I've found homes in many people Every home I make is different, fit to hold the looks and laughs between us Love is like taking a hot shower when the cold has seeped in from all of the cracks in your broken armor After feeling like a dog licking at empty water dishes it's like realizing you have thumbs to turn on the faucet It cannot be fit in a poem People are not lists or metaphors but shelves of novels, walls full of paintings, flaws and idiosyncrasies. Love is warm blood, messy mad hearts, and wild wolf loyalty. It's faltering footsteps and tears after the moon has risen. It's campfire pops and crackles, twisted bed sheets, and moments intertwined like fingers Love isn't finding your way through a hurricane or boots stomping through a garden. Love is like coming home.

12

A paper box filled with crumpled newspapers Carrying death notes, attempted ****** stories And the failed political agendas (Failed I say for I personally see no difference). Neatly stacked they would take Only the bottom half of the box, But since the papers were to be rid off, And the papers carried blood, Shoved were they like ***** secrets In that plain paper box. That action somehow now Turned the box into a closet Filled with dusty winter coats From a life past, The clothes might fit your body But they won't fit your soul. O' my friend added today How she hasn't seen me in black Since the last time I returned, She said it as a fact, But somehow that hurt and It felt like fear- my mumbled ignorance. The box lay in the middle of the room, The room itself empty, Sold were each artifact Over the past few months, To get back What they had stolen in the first place. I no longer fought when My favourite tin can was taken, It too had rattled the pockets, It bled for our tummy. The box lay out of place Like all of us, Trying relentlessly to fit in, The balled up papers Sticking out the ***** A triangle there and a lonely strip here. I could read few words of different stories And create a new lie, But the lies seemed silly even for me, I needed something else. You might ask why not burn them, Why not shred them, But even fire creates smoke And secrets never really die, We always, always hide them, Paint over them with lies. So the box, Now being there long enough, Wasn't kicked over Like the many times before, It lay there, carefully maneuvered By the liars and the sinners Of the house. But their breath stopped Every time they walked into the room. Like they didn't wish to inhale the dust And the stories of the box, Like their lungs would be infected The same way their hearts were. But the shameful box had secrets Staining red over time, dripping blood And spilling black soot of lies, Flies buzzed around now and yet Why did we not discard it, I thought. What was so special about our lies, Our sins That we keep the box around And not hide it but be ashamed of it? Why do we keep it in our homes still If all it does is poison us? Why do we keep our old loves Alive in our memories?

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May 19, 2017

May 19, 2017 at 11:00 AM UTC

shanath

That Box of Ours

A paper box filled with crumpled newspapers Carrying death notes, attempted ****** stories And the failed political agendas (Failed I say for I personally see no difference). Neatly stacked they would take Only the bottom half of the box, But since the papers were to be rid off, And the papers carried blood, Shoved were they like ***** secrets In that plain paper box. That action somehow now Turned the box into a closet Filled with dusty winter coats From a life past, The clothes might fit your body But they won't fit your soul. O' my friend added today How she hasn't seen me in black Since the last time I returned, She said it as a fact, But somehow that hurt and It felt like fear- my mumbled ignorance. The box lay in the middle of the room, The room itself empty, Sold were each artifact Over the past few months, To get back What they had stolen in the first place. I no longer fought when My favourite tin can was taken, It too had rattled the pockets, It bled for our tummy. The box lay out of place Like all of us, Trying relentlessly to fit in, The balled up papers Sticking out the ***** A triangle there and a lonely strip here. I could read few words of different stories And create a new lie, But the lies seemed silly even for me, I needed something else. You might ask why not burn them, Why not shred them, But even fire creates smoke And secrets never really die, We always, always hide them, Paint over them with lies. So the box, Now being there long enough, Wasn't kicked over Like the many times before, It lay there, carefully maneuvered By the liars and the sinners Of the house. But their breath stopped Every time they walked into the room. Like they didn't wish to inhale the dust And the stories of the box, Like their lungs would be infected The same way their hearts were. But the shameful box had secrets Staining red over time, dripping blood And spilling black soot of lies, Flies buzzed around now and yet Why did we not discard it, I thought. What was so special about our lies, Our sins That we keep the box around And not hide it but be ashamed of it? Why do we keep it in our homes still If all it does is poison us? Why do we keep our old loves Alive in our memories?

75

What happened.... I remember a girl who made the word her own, Discovering the unknown, All beautiful qualities consistently shown. Seriously? This girl, she smiled at every wonder, We'd tackle anything, going up and under, Our love, booming like thunder. Where have YOU gone? Now you are different, things have changed. Our feelings became deranged, Minds still arranged, But hearts so estranged. I see you often, so you must be there. We both breathe the same air... It's amazing how someone can go from so much to so little, And how so solid love can become so brittle.

0

Apr 22, 2014

Apr 22, 2014 at 10:42 PM UTC

andrew-fieler

So Much of So Little

What happened.... I remember a girl who made the word her own, Discovering the unknown, All beautiful qualities consistently shown. Seriously? This girl, she smiled at every wonder, We'd tackle anything, going up and under, Our love, booming like thunder. Where have YOU gone? Now you are different, things have changed. Our feelings became deranged, Minds still arranged, But hearts so estranged. I see you often, so you must be there. We both breathe the same air... It's amazing how someone can go from so much to so little, And how so solid love can become so brittle.

17