#romanticize
I find my generation incredibly blind.
Eyes fixed on small glowing glass,
forgetting about the endless beauty
of the world before us.
It is a generation of poison.
So I ask to be left with my flowers,
to stroll through botanical gardens.
Leave me with the song of a bird
and the conversations I hold
with the moon.
Leave me to sit beneath a willow tree
for hours, observing the world go by.
Let me write love letters for people
that I will never send,
and for places that touched my heart.
Let me long for a time that existed
before I did. For a time where
everything was real and alive.
A time when the world was
not ignored,
but witnessed.
Sep 20, 2025
Sep 20, 2025 at 11:49 AM UTC
such a wild thing to think.
how these thoughts,
romanticize your voice.
it’s all that i can hear,
all that i want to hear—
as if everything ever derived
from these id-driven impulses,
is to ask for only your voice.
only your voice.
Sep 28, 2023
Sep 28, 2023 at 2:29 AM UTC
im addicted to you
to your laugh and your smiles
your "i havent seen you around in a while" 's
and i've made most of it up in my mind anyway
i romanticize the little things
like your bedroom and the way your t shirt clings
i can see our future so clearly its scary
its not happily ever after by any means
but its enough for now
its enough for us in our teens
Feb 20, 2022
Feb 20, 2022 at 12:47 AM UTC
I picture your arms around me
Caressing my hair behind my ear
Oh what I would for you to really be here
I’d cross the seven seas just to see you smile
Just to feel your warm embrace I’d walk a hundred miles
Just to see you for a while those are the things I’d do
Because nothing, truly nothing, compares to seeing you
Jul 14, 2021
Jul 14, 2021 at 4:32 PM UTC
I truly over-romanticize
I think about them day and night
And it isn’t wise
Because I know I’m not crossing their mind
So why can’t they leave mine?
The idea of them dances around in my head
From the moment I wake up
To the moment I go to bed
Oh to have my dreams come true
I don’t know what I’d do
If I were to finally be with you
Jul 14, 2021
Jul 14, 2021 at 4:29 PM UTC
as you held me,
your hands moved across me,
your fingertips tracing
every curve of my body.
your hands wandered
until they found my scars.
every muscle in my body tensed up,
waiting for you to comment on them.
they weren’t new.
by this time, I had dealt
with all types of reactions.
there were the people
who were disgusted
and didn’t try to hide it,
the people who were made so
uncomfortable that
they didn’t know what to say,
the people who
insisted they understood
when it was obvious that they didn’t.
you were hard to read.
I wasn’t sure what to expect from you.
you pulled me closer to you
and held me tighter,
and I felt myself relax.
you didn’t tell me you were fine with them, you didn’t tell me you were sorry,
and you didn’t tell me they were beautiful.
you were honest,
and I loved that.
you weren’t fine with them,
but neither was I,
and that didn’t stop you
from caring about me.
you weren’t sorry,
you didn’t pity me,
and you didn’t change
the way you acted around me
like most people do.
but most importantly,
you did not call them beautiful.
they aren’t.
there is nothing beautiful
about self-hatred,
and these scars
are nothing more
than its byproducts.
self-harm is not pretty.
my past is not pretty.
my scars are not pretty.
I told you all of this.
you didn’t disagree with me,
you didn’t try to argue.
you simply held me.
you didn’t look at my scars,
you looked at me.
you didn’t say much.
you didn’t have to.
when you did finally speak,
you told me,
“you’re right.
your past isn’t pretty.
but that doesn’t mean
your future can’t be.”
Oct 17, 2020
Oct 17, 2020 at 12:08 PM UTC
I think there is a special beauty in being able to romanticize love.
Its all up in here, in my mind.
There is a spectrum of thoughts in my imagination.
Sometimes my love can be one sided and it's safe to say that i like that more.
The part where you get to wonder and the excitement that follows.
I wonder a lot of things about you.
About how do you look like when you laugh.
Do you have an ugly laugh or are you a shy laugher.
Sometimes i make up moments in my mind,
More than often in those moments, time freezes and we make our own little infinity.
Sometimes i want to say things to you, and i wonder what you will say back.
I wonder if you will say what i wanna hear.
I like the wondering part.
I like to think.
I wonder how it would feel to hold your hands.
May 19, 2020
May 19, 2020 at 12:40 PM UTC
Twenty years single
I had a problem loving too many people
I know it can be a waste of time
But I can't help but to romanticize
I'm drawn to the rebels because they wear it on their sleeves
A kind of fearless that I wish that I could be
But too many people are depending on me
Sometimes I wish that I wasn't cautious
It's not the first time that I've thought this
If I'm being honest
Jan 11, 2020
Jan 11, 2020 at 8:35 AM UTC
Once she chased happiness
and now she chases broken pieces.
She fell in love with pain,
it drove her insane.
For who would want to hurt themselves?
Who would choose to
love to be heartbroken,
run back to the ones who would hurt,
reminisces painful memories to be hurt,
indulge in negativity, to drown in its depths
be comforted by demons than people.
But no one saw,
for there were no scars,
for it was mental self harm.
Pain it craved,
fear, rejection and sadness it ate.
She cried, because it was self harm
she screamed, and shouted
asking herself did she not love herself
to be hurt by her own self?
Jul 24, 2019
Jul 24, 2019 at 5:21 PM UTC
looking back now at the screenshots of my conversations
i realize that the sunshine might have just been rain
maybe that's how i cope; replacing pain with contentment
to wish to go back to a time i once wished to escape
Feb 25, 2019
Feb 25, 2019 at 10:33 AM UTC
I bask in the glory
Radiated from the sun
The heat works to encompass me
In its loving embrace
Shining over the earth
Dropping and raising petals
Never stopping
Never ceasing to exist
There were gods named after her, after all.
Jan 16, 2019
Jan 16, 2019 at 8:27 PM UTC
While,
Perceiving the taste of yesterday's forgotten sandwich.
I, soon feel the caress of my fingers subsiding the itch for a ***
With tears of penitence.
I, recall the woman I've romanticized other than you.
Yet,
Content with passion they had shed onto me.
Apr 2, 2018
Apr 2, 2018 at 6:08 AM UTC
Do not romanticize
loneliness
to a point
that you become
a part of it.
Feb 12, 2018
Feb 12, 2018 at 4:40 AM UTC
It is not some dusty frame,
hanging rusty nails;
chaotic mess.
No es amor solo amar, to you,
just some language you,
can't comprehend.
Distraught, despaired, disheveled,
a dystopian novel notion,
romanticized.
There's no need;
you don't need to patronize.
Cold hand upon cold hand;
lifeless smiles colluding.
And as if you were a Monet sunrise,
my impression of you is that of drunken brush strokes,
dull blues,
and angry orange hues,
Left on display within a rotting, wooden frame.
Apr 9, 2017
Apr 9, 2017 at 6:36 PM UTC
her eyes would go
to all sorts of faraways
body, mind and soul disconnected
yet merged into the perfect embodiment
breathing in a world filled with plastic and insincerity
behold are her hands that work wonders and as her words of pure,
she is the clearest vast of ocean and slate you will ever come across to witness
a flower amongst a field of defiled individuals
she is, if not, the closest to perfect
(n.j.)
Aug 6, 2016
Aug 6, 2016 at 2:35 PM UTC
Cotton clouds,
Chariots of the moon.
Carry with them my love.
From me
|
to you.
Jul 27, 2016
Jul 27, 2016 at 8:30 AM UTC
I've learned to sort my pain
into stanzas
containing all of the beauty I don't feel.
so I write the poetry I can't live
and live the poetry I can't write.
with each word i attempt
to romanticize
skinny thighs
a mothers lies
or a daughters cries
in hopes that one day I'll watch my memories
the way you read them.
Jun 23, 2016
Jun 23, 2016 at 2:55 AM UTC
it's the little things that we appreciate, like how the body forms into a shell ready to take you in,
welcoming you into their mind of oceans and currents as they willingly embrace you
we attempt to picture every moment we have with them, wondering if we'll ever fit the frame
conversations are merely recordings that fade into background, the true connections made through sincerity, subtle glances and intense regard
the flesh and skin that they wear appear as exhibits that we alone can touch
their presence a reward, their words a treasure for the heart
we notice the fine lines, their dainty wrists, and veiny hands
we notice their crooked smiles and how the corners hang like a wanderer stapled to the moon
we romanticize too much of everything that is easily dismissed by everyday eyes
although almost invisible, they mean every beat of the heart
to every fiber of the soul, to ever breath we breathe in
so when the smiles disappear like forgotten dust, we cannot help but fall apart
we disintegrate into tossed cigarette butts that once resided on lips we love
we cannot forget the way they laced their fingers together, or how they made their coffee
how their ears are shaped, how they gazed into space when we watched them wondering what they were thinking
how they carried their feet when we dragged them, conversing in drunken breaths
because nothing is as simple as that, a disappearance like a thief in the night who took our lives with them
nothing will resemble or replace even a strand of hair
because it's the little things that tear us apart as well
n.j.
Jun 9, 2016
Jun 9, 2016 at 4:14 AM UTC
the walls leaned in closer every time she spoke
as fleeting as her voice, time shook before her
her hands were the minutes and the hours
her smile was a reminder, her eyes were a lover's
yet she belonged to no one but herself
each breath took was a second lost
each word drifted and passed around
each picture taken was a memory
she was slowly slipping towards death
and although she knew,
there was always something beautiful about it
n.j.
May 27, 2016
May 27, 2016 at 12:25 AM UTC
My idea of a party is having sand in my hair while I smell of burnt wood and midnight barbecue
Music will be the waves that crash and return and messy chords on an acoustic guitar
And I will remember when we both wished that we could go on road trips on hours like this,
And how eventually time ran short for us, so we're finally here
I want to get drunk on the moonlight while I sip on yesterday's memories
I want to talk about the good times
I will fall asleep enveloped in nature's arms and dance while the stars twinkle high above
My idea of a party are late night drives and stops at gasoline stations at unearthly hours,
Conversations that result to slurred words and cackling with the windows rolled down,
Romanticizing over the architecture of rotting wood and crumbling concrete
Books and printed words under a flashlight
My idea of a party are rolled sleeves and roadtrips away from every soul and every touch of skin,
Away from the world, except yours I will never grow tired of
n.j.
Aug 3, 2015
Aug 3, 2015 at 7:55 PM UTC
Sad isn’t pretty.
Sorrow is beauty
And depression has its allure.
Grief is engaging.
I am not in love with the idea of sad
But I believe there is a morbid
Beauty that some moths
Emerge from their cocoons
With no mouth.
Like the girl you see,
“improving herself”
Digging herself a deeper hole.
Sad is boring,
Misery is enchanting.
(r.e.)
Dec 12, 2014
Dec 12, 2014 at 3:47 PM UTC
We romanticize our sadness
To share it with the world
Let others know we understand
Or maybe get a little pity
Because what’s wrong with
A little fake love every now
And then?
(r.e.)
Dec 12, 2014
Dec 12, 2014 at 11:21 AM UTC
Oakes-photo, hypocrisy and flagrant mirky plateau. Brimming celestial warrants overcrowding public housing systems. North-South lights, sell costly iPhone Apps; and then there are Social Societies of non-verbal delight. Password protected non-profitable and over-costly educations of no reward or biblical synonyms. Catastrophizing hash-tag dot.com. Weary party going poster children with glowing anemone guts, fruity looped cantlings, ravenous scattered supper clubbed coughing up ******* on their strange and central affairs unit. Overcome the candisation and sugary affairs of any of the ***** and pops that erstwhile matter less and less. We are speaking of nomenclatures that don't arise. Promises and by which confession aloof romanticizes every Tom dicking Mary that carries the theory of sustainable energy, prussian blue, and irregular browsing.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 4:46 AM UTC