#postbreakup - Hello Poetry

Let me make my own mistakes, and let me learn from them. As ice freezes over lakes, I will harden like a gem. . I don't regret leaving my heart out to get scorched, crack in the cold; a lesson needed to sow doubt, to make caution take a hold. . I've learned, I've grown through the pains; I am now more my own, experience in my veins. . And now I don't even feel the break: like a computer gone offline; a reboot needed just to make this new update truly mine. . I will survive, I always do - my shipwrecks an eternal theme - and I'll re-surface, start anew, with new stitching along the seam. .

0

Nov 10, 2024

Nov 10, 2024 at 3:03 AM UTC

Haley67

The End of an Era

Let me make my own mistakes, and let me learn from them. As ice freezes over lakes, I will harden like a gem. . I don't regret leaving my heart out to get scorched, crack in the cold; a lesson needed to sow doubt, to make caution take a hold. . I've learned, I've grown through the pains; I am now more my own, experience in my veins. . And now I don't even feel the break: like a computer gone offline; a reboot needed just to make this new update truly mine. . I will survive, I always do - my shipwrecks an eternal theme - and I'll re-surface, start anew, with new stitching along the seam. .

25

Only when she slid her hands down his seams To perfectly understand What holds him together She became The most dangerous Woman In the World

0

Sep 27, 2018

Sep 27, 2018 at 3:07 AM UTC

Deamo

Twisted love, recreated

Only when she slid her hands down his seams To perfectly understand What holds him together She became The most dangerous Woman In the World

8

When my father asked me what the basis of our relationship was, I couldn’t give him an answer. Now, as the aftertaste of it - that bitter tang of overripe mandarins - Sits heavy under my tongue and on my teeth, I can say, it’s because I love fruit. I saw you, faded and frail, in early winter. Had seen the promise of sweet giving, of tired roots aching for warmth, waiting. You had tried to cut yourself down, so I became your giving tree. I tended to you, gave you many of my firsts. In a way, so did you. At least that’s what you told me. You had promised me growth. That you would tend to me As I did you. That we would create our own harvest. Apple orchards, cherry blossoms, bountiful vineyards. I had taken your word to heart. It was sweet, cloying nectar. I let it smother me, sink into my skin. Let it seep into my veins. Let it ferment. I was drunk on your touch, worshipped the saccharine velvet of your skin, Like supple nectarines. You didn’t mind the gentle scrape of teeth or nails, of wandering lips, my curious hands teasing, testing. Tracing the ink outlines of sacred swirls and ancient patterns Adorning an ignorant and undeserving left arm. Nor did you mind the growing rift, the root rot festering, the mandarins that were left out on the counter on those hot nights, the fruit fly that fed on them. You could not be bothered to bat the fly away. Worst of all, you forgot to mention Orange never quite suited you.

0

May 24, 2018

May 24, 2018 at 8:01 PM UTC

jovialpup

Passionfruit

When my father asked me what the basis of our relationship was, I couldn’t give him an answer. Now, as the aftertaste of it - that bitter tang of overripe mandarins - Sits heavy under my tongue and on my teeth, I can say, it’s because I love fruit. I saw you, faded and frail, in early winter. Had seen the promise of sweet giving, of tired roots aching for warmth, waiting. You had tried to cut yourself down, so I became your giving tree. I tended to you, gave you many of my firsts. In a way, so did you. At least that’s what you told me. You had promised me growth. That you would tend to me As I did you. That we would create our own harvest. Apple orchards, cherry blossoms, bountiful vineyards. I had taken your word to heart. It was sweet, cloying nectar. I let it smother me, sink into my skin. Let it seep into my veins. Let it ferment. I was drunk on your touch, worshipped the saccharine velvet of your skin, Like supple nectarines. You didn’t mind the gentle scrape of teeth or nails, of wandering lips, my curious hands teasing, testing. Tracing the ink outlines of sacred swirls and ancient patterns Adorning an ignorant and undeserving left arm. Nor did you mind the growing rift, the root rot festering, the mandarins that were left out on the counter on those hot nights, the fruit fly that fed on them. You could not be bothered to bat the fly away. Worst of all, you forgot to mention Orange never quite suited you.

35