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I don’t know how you did it.  
That day, out in the field,  
surrounded by so many faces.  
My eyes found you  
just you.  
And I never looked away.  

You weren’t extraordinary.  
Not the kind of handsome that stops the world.  
But there was something about you.  
Something I can’t explain.  
Like fate took my hand and pointed,  
Him. It’s him.

But nothing happened.  
Nothing ever happened.  
And maybe it never will.  

Yet here I am,  
carrying this feeling like a wound.  
I like you.  
No  
I love you.  
Too much.  
So much it crushes me,  
so much it feels like a sickness.  

It makes me sick to know you don’t feel it.  
That you probably never even saw me.  
That I’m invisible to you,  
just another face in the crowd.  

And maybe I’m not beautiful.  
Maybe the people who say I am  
are just being polite.  
But for you, I would have given everything.  

I’ll probably never see you again.  
But you’ll stay with me.  
You’ll haunt me every day.  
Because I can’t stop thinking about you.  
I’ve tried to leave you behind.  
I told myself,  
This year, I’ll forget.  
But I couldn’t leave you in 2021.  
Or 2022.  
Or 2023.  
And now, here I am,  
dragging you into another year with me.  

I guess we were never meant to be.  
But I’ll keep loving you anyway.  
Even if it tears me apart.
am I insane to love someone I barely know? like the love I feel for him consumes me and I feel like this love I feel for him will never stop
I’m tired of swiping, tired of staring  
at faces I’ll never touch.  
The world feels like a crowded room,  
but nobody’s looking my way.  

They say love’s a battlefield,  
but I’m unarmed, bare hands,  
a heart too soft to fight.  
And yet I keep stepping in,  
waiting for a glance, a spark,  
someone to call my name like it’s theirs.  

I don’t want roses,  
don’t need sweet words dripping with lies.  
Give me the mess,  
the bruises, the fire that burns  
when two souls collide too fast.  
I’ll take it raw,  
no filters, no edits,  
just truth.  

Is it too much to ask  
for someone to stay,  
to look at me like I’m the only star  
in their dark sky?  
Or am I just searching  
for something that was never  
meant to be found?
what should I do to improve my writting?
Tequilla Dec 2024
Today was heavy  
sick, tired, sad,  
while the world spun around me.  
Everything moved,  
but I stood still,  
waiting for a push,  
a nudge,  
anything to set me in motion.  

But nothing came,  
just this hollow tide  
washing over me,  
leaving me emptier than before.  

And I wanted to tell you.  
I wanted to say,  
"My day felt like a storm,"  
to hear about yours,  
to feel you near  
through words we’d share.  

But my messages sit silent,  
unread, untouched,  
like a bridge reaching nowhere.  
Maybe you don’t want to talk anymore,  
maybe I’ve become too easy to ignore.  

Still, if you’re leaving  
if this is the end  
don’t fade away like a ghost.  
Tell me goodbye.  
Because your silence cuts deeper  
than any goodbye ever could.
After five days on delivered,  
I texted again,  
hoping you hadn’t seen it  
even though you asked  
if I’d had a bad day.  

But here I am, still waiting,  
and I think I will be  
for a while.
Tequilla Dec 2024
This might be my last poem,  
or the last of me,  
I haven’t told anyone yet,  
but I’ve lost hope, in you,  
in us,  
in what we could’ve been.  

I want to cry.  
I am crying,  
tears soaking the screen  
where I text you again,  
knowing you won’t reply.  

If only I had known  
from the start,  
I would’ve run,  
far and fast,  
but even that’s a lie.  

Because even when the universe screamed,  
"Stop! They don’t love you,"  
I silenced it.  
I rewrote its whispers,  
forcing the stars to spell,  
"They do."  

And now I’m sick,  
sick of this love  
that churns my stomach,  
a sickness that clings,  
making me want to throw it all up.  

This love is a poison,  
an ache that blooms in my chest.  
It’s killing me softly,  
with every beat of a heart  
that still beats for you.
  Dec 2024 Tequilla
Liana
I want to cry
But instead I write poems
And sob through them
I still cry a bunch though

(This note was written by the kangaroo in your closet who aspires to be an ice cream cone)
  Dec 2024 Tequilla
Liana
Its a rough night tonight
My head feels like it's exploding
My asthma won't let me breathe
Along with my anxiety

My thumbs hurt like hell
I feel much less when well
Nausea cause by none other than my thoughts
Just wanting to go to sleep
(This note was written by my friend Impending Doom while he was contemplating death)
Tequilla Dec 2024
I’m starting to hate writing poems.  
Not because he likes writing them,  
Or because I end up writing about him  
No.  

I hate writing poems  
Because when I write, I open up.  
And opening up means admitting  
That I’m vulnerable.  

It disgusts me to know  
That people can see me like this  
Weak, exposed, and fragile.  
So yes, I hate writing poems.  

But still, I write them.  
Because writing these poems  
Feels like the closest I’ll ever get  
To talking to him for real.  

And somehow,  
In those imagined conversations,  
I don’t feel weak. I don’t feel vulnerable.  
I just feel understood.
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