"chapped" poems
When you love someone who doesn't love you back your world ends.
When you love someone who doesn't love you back you keep pumping love. You are so oblivious and eager that you give them so much love. No matter what they won’t give it back.
When you love someone who doesn't love you back. You feel nothing but absolute pain and sorrow. You feel like there nothing left except the love that won't be taken. Your love is so strong and there’s so much that it floods you.
When you love someone who doesn't love you back. You feel hopeless because of all the love you gave this person and how much you'd do for love in return. You'd give them all the time in the world, all the love in the world. You still do this relentlessly even though they wont give you five minutes when you need that five minutes.
Being in love with someone who doesn't love you back is a burning red pain. It's a pain like nothing else because no matter what you do, no matter what medicine or treatment you give to that pain it's still there. It's there when you see his face, hear his voice, remember his touch. It's always there.
When you're in love with someone who doesn't love you back, you don't have to worry too much about them intentionally hurting you. That's because everything small memory you've over analyzed hits you across the face over and over. You're constantly hating yourself because this one person was so important to you and now he's gone. “I should've done..” “Why was I so..” “No wonder he doesn't..” Those thoughts are toxic and seizes up your body.
When you're in love with someone who doesn't love you back, you get so ******* close to hating them. You hate that they've ripped you open, eaten you up and have left you to decay. You hate that they have let you hate yourself more than you could ever hate them. You hate them because of the things they gave you which weren't all good. And the things they stole. Like crying on their shoulders which they gave, but your pride they took.
When you're in love with someone for the first time and they don't love you back, you never want to fall in love again. You never want attachments with anyone because of this substantial pain that is constantly there. You never want to kiss with love, talk with love, witness love. You never want love unless, it's that one person you love. That's the only thing that matters. Love had a horrible reputation, it's either make it or ******* break it. Not take it.
When you're hurt by someone who can't feel pain, you wish you never fell in love. Never in lust, never started talking, never meeting. You wish you could erase their smell so you wouldn't ever have to think about why you remember it so well. You wish you can't vividly remember how their arms felt and how they were once so welcoming.
When you love someone who doesn't love you back, you are pathetic. You cry in bed while replaying your first kiss, first date, the time you fell asleep together. You can remember every feeling from the first time you felt love to the first time your heart skipped a beat because, well, it was ending. You remember the goosebumps running down your back when you last touched his hand as you left his car. That was the last time you'd be in his car. And that was the last time you touched his leathery skin that was wet from your tears. And that was the last time he would know how much you loved him.
You replay every memory over and over until they're worn out. And after they're worn out you can't ever get new ones. You love this person and you will for a long, long time. But they won't ever love you. They won’t get those stomach tickles when you hear their name. They wont miss having their chapped lips against your neck tickling you elegantly. Because to them that doesn't matter, they didn’t feel love.
When you're in love with someone who doesn't love you back, it's almost impossible to stop loving them. No matter what you do. No matter what they did. No matter how it hurts. No matter what, you will love them.
When you love someone who doesn’t love you back, you are incapable of stopping because you are paralyzed.
Mar 24, 2017
Mar 24, 2017 at 9:59 PM UTC
Such luscious lips, with pinkish glow!
She's beautiful.
Her chapped lips, faucet like,
cascade only words of kindness..
She's beautiful.
Such pretty,alluring eyes!
She's beautiful.
Her heavy-lidded eyes : a pair of lenses
capturing only great sharp shots,
they see clearly only the good in people..
They never despise.
She's beautiful.
Such a lovely, curvaceous figure!
She's beautiful.
Within the slim figure, is a soul
who'll share her food with the hungry,
even if it means she'll be left with nothing
for dinner.
She's beautiful.
Beauty is only skin deep..
Feb 6, 2015
Feb 6, 2015 at 3:06 PM UTC
Moments
Like ordering two mochas
Just to watch you make them
Forgetting your name five times
Before getting your phone number
Wiping chocolate off your shirt
Trying unsuccessfully to flirt my way
Out of spilling on you
Little moments
Like finally having the guts to ask you out
Running to the coffee shop full speed
Just to find out it was your day off
Sulking my way through my third cup of tea
Cursing the fates for their insolence
Right until you walked in to cover someone else's shift
And running out too scared again
Little moments like those
Remind me why I fight through
Big times like these
Little moments
Like driving over the mountains
To get to the first big storm
Just to be the first ones to kiss in the rain
After the summer sun chapped our lips so long
We forgot the taste of our kiss
Little moments
Like the first time I took you out in heels
And you spent the whole night
Whispering to yourself about not falling
Right up until I fell twice
Down a flight of stairs
And for you
Little moments
Like you running over to pick my head up
Off the concrete
Staring at me with this look
That made me want to ask you if you were okay
Little moments
Like that remind me
That the big times like these
Are worth fighting for
That the big fights like these
Are worth ending
If only for the shot to have one more
Little moment
Like
A movie perfect scene in the snow
With snow ball fights, snow angels
And a snow man with coal for buttons
Eyes, mouth, sticks for arms and a scarf
But we didn't have a carrot
So you ran upstairs, broke off one of your heels
And called him Stalleto-face for a week
Little moments
Like
Burning three attempts at chicken cord en bleu
And begging the old woman on the phone
To put in one more order before they closed
And tipping $100 just to have the chance
To eat midnight fried rice on the living room floor
Because the table was full of
Foiled attempts at cooking
Little moments
Like those
So dear to me
Remind me there is no fight too big
To give up little moments with you
Nov 18, 2009
Nov 18, 2009 at 4:58 PM UTC
Light rain washes the red from my soul,
I close my eyes to see the darkness -
My own personal escape from the world...
The crisp air trickling its way to my chapped lips,
Invading my mouth and crawling into my lungs,
A brief discovery -
I exhale,
S L O W L Y
Thoughts are relinquished almost instantaneously,
Quietly in my solitude; nothingness -
Extraneous Relief.
Oct 31, 2012
Oct 31, 2012 at 9:04 PM UTC
Late night texts
Sleepy eyes
Small smiles
Butterflies
Stolen moments
Held inside
Beating heart
Stupefied
~
Left alone
Tear filled eyes
Chapped lips
Scarred thighs
Empty promises
Cast aside
Broken heart
Terrified
~j.l.
Jan 9, 2019
Jan 9, 2019 at 11:59 PM UTC
I see you, monster...
In your sockets bore dead, dark eyes
They hold the blackest of stares
Nebulous swirling pits of demise
Thin lips would spout the most sibilant of hisses
Every so often would curl into a snarl
Dry and chapped, almost unworthy of kisses
Large, rough snout, jutting out like a crag
You sniff around tirelessly for easy targets
Preying on the unsuspecting minds of those under your flag
Tapering chin, sprouting strands of coarse hair
Unkempt and gritty from your last meal
Decaying teeth, crooked due to little to no care
Your face is cratered; tales of trying adolescent years
Wearing a face only a mother could love
Expressionless but it screams out your fears
Ugly jointed limbs that grew out of sync
Disproportionate, misshapen, grotesque
Little noggin with sparse hair, packed within, a brain that thinks
I hear you, monster...
As you stalk your sleepless nights
Nocturnal ambience be your playground
Lurking in the dark; places with no light
Bulky, heavy feet but deft and silent
Can barely notice when you're up and about
As if cloaked yourself stealthy, with steps ever transient
Respire you do, exhaling breaths so gnarly
Ingesting good air, converting into fervid, loathsome notions
With which you paint a portrait so ghastly
I feel you monster...
Deep within the recesses of my heart
Destroying and distorting all that was pure
Testing my will till I should fall apart
You're but the twisted manifestation of conscience
Feeding on my trials and nurturing them into vile abominations
I despise that of you but I seem to have developed dependence
I see you, monster...
You're horrid and beastly, an embodiment of absolute horror
I await the day that you would finally dissolve
For I am weary of seeing you staring back in the mirror
Sep 18, 2014
Sep 18, 2014 at 9:23 PM UTC
I sit on the step
And draw
The cold around me
Like a blanket,
Savouring the numbness
And the heat
That begins within.
Swallowed by the night
Drunk on wine
And stars.
Hot tears on cold cheeks.
Seasoning for
Chapped lips
Stinging
Bringing fresh tears.
I take refuge
In the silence,
Under the gaze of
Sympathetic eyes.
My friends.
My constant companions.
Drunk on wine
And stars.
Nov 19, 2015
Nov 19, 2015 at 3:19 PM UTC
now, what exactly are you, blonde, blue-eyed boy?
with your kiss like nicotine and your touch like silk
your eyes like a glass pool
your lips oh-so-chapped and bitten
you're tragic and damaged
you're a habit, a routine
nothing you would expect from just a blonde, blue-eyed boy.
Feb 15, 2015
Feb 15, 2015 at 3:09 AM UTC
*Life is my current lover.
I swig her ephemeral taste from my cupped hands
worried as the golden, shimmering liquid rushes through
creases and cracks in my jaded hands.
Her mood varies through my stages;
at times she is of doting temper and roseate kisses
but when love evades her, most often than not,
her calloused hands damage the pearly flesh in tender
places,
and discontent paints a surly mood as she digs her crimson
brush against the canvas of my self.
Life is my inconsistent lover,
sometimes doting but most often than not abusive.
So I vowed my eternal devotion to Death.
We escape under the dark canopy of starless wings;
a tryst.
I eat of the forbidden feasts in the Kingdom of Hades,
grains of scarlet pomegranates staining my chapped lips.
Death has promised me perpetuity.
But until Life decides to release me from her capricious temper,
I shall long for the wintry, rainy comfort of my drowsy affair.*
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 12:35 AM UTC
As your salt stings my chapped lips and my open wounds I come less and less to you
You grit your teeth into dust that carries through your heinous breath that makes my eyes water and my heart ache
And I cannot believe not too long ago I turned to you for care and comfort and compassion but instead I was caught in a tight spot lacking wiggle room
I can feel you burning a hole through my chest as I ***** words and phrases that don't make sense when put together like
"I love when you make me cry"
Jan 15, 2017
Jan 15, 2017 at 11:56 PM UTC
I was hurting, suffering
From a pain so great,
That words, screams and tears
Were not enough.
So I did the only thing
I knew how to:
I danced,
And danced,
And danced some more.
I danced
Until my feet bled,
And my vision was blurry
From the sweat and fatigue;
Until I was breathing so hard
That it burned my lungs;
Until I could no longer feel
My legs aching;
Until my lips were so dry and chapped,
It hurt to smile or move them at all.
I let the music carry me,
And with every note,
With every beat,
I would imagine a string
Attaching to my limbs
Allowing me to lose control,
Allowing me to surrender
Until I was no longer in charge
Of my movements.
It felt good.
That pain felt comforting.
Normal. I understood it.
It let me know I was alive still.
It let me know I could still feel something.
And so I welcomed it.
For it was nothing compared
To the one that I felt inside.
The one that was invisible,
Yet suffocating me with its presence.
The one that left me numb every night.
The one that filled me up with fear
And still drained me of all emotions.
The one I tried to ignore,
But seemed to never leave.
Always stalking me,
Hiding in the shadows
Waiting for its moment.
A moment of weakness,
Of solitude
Or ultimate numbness,
A moment I was terrified
Would soon come.
Nov 7, 2018
Nov 7, 2018 at 11:03 AM UTC
you
had a chapstick tube
stowed away in your bag of things you never put to use
those scarred chapped lips
scratching, tearing
crevice of your mouth craved my heart
bleeding, uncaring
and subsequently my mango chapstick would serve it's purpose
on your lips and never mine.
among other things, you had a pair of white socks.
you never wore them,
too pristine
(you'd ruin them as you teetered on slippery suspended logs)
you reminded me of a cracked open window,
always hoping you would be at the mullioned panes
chapped lips, white socks and all
but the only thing that pushed against the glass was the scent of mango air.
and
mango never smelt so bitter.
when
will you come home
replace the mango air with your feverish cologne.
a swaying of the breeze and your tee shirt wraps a cotton arm
around your waist
the bitter aftertaste
your tongue like grapefruit wedged against my teeth
i missed the smell of burnt bread bottom,
when we were in the kitchen
and the gown of silver hemmed water that danced down the roof,
tapping
again and again and again
but, when you come home next month.
I will be gone.
the mango
around our home
had long since
turned bitter
and that brown picket fence no longer bends around my heart
i am somewhere where the mango still smells sweet
and
boys give my their chapstick for i've long since run out of mine.
Oct 15, 2017
Oct 15, 2017 at 2:30 AM UTC
Independent is the word they all use,
They tack it on me,
Let it hang a crooked ribbon.
Seeing all the things I already knew
Transcripted on the blanks of stacks of white and black,
Reverberating off chapped pink lips,
Takes me aback, shoves me into the corners of myself,
Tastes new like bird meat ****** off the bone tastes new.
I want to cut it up into little squares and abandon it in tupperware.
At least for a few days.
Nov 29, 2011
Nov 29, 2011 at 12:58 AM UTC
And now the future is palpable,
And I can almost just barely taste it
On my lips
Just like the chapstick
I applied 15 minutes ago.
The future is in my range
And I can just barely smell it
Just like the perfume I applied this morning.
I can smell it faintly, when I notice it
But times the smell disappears,
As I get used to it;
only to be reminded of it
When I receive a hug of congratulations
And my friend will say, "You smell nice".
And in that moment I sniff my sleeve to try and smell myself
And get frustrated when my chapped lips feel rough against the texture of my shirt.
So I reach into my pocket, and struggle to find a small skinny tube,
I grasp it in my fingers and apply it to my lips
Afterwards licking them,
Smiling,
Because I can taste the future once again.
Dec 17, 2014
Dec 17, 2014 at 5:38 PM UTC
Barn
A graveyard of empty whiskey bottles,
curled, browned labels coated with dust.
A farmer drank in this dirt basement, alone,
wind chapped face illuminated by a kerosene lantern,
swollen fingers forever clutching the
glass neck of his half drained bottles.
I drink ***** in the renovated kitchen,
lit by dimmed lights, gentle shadows
dancing across the glossy hardwood floor.
I look out at the dark bodies of trees
swaying, uneasy in the night breeze.
Sometime after midnight,
the farmer’s ghost
stumbles up the creaking staircase behind me,
to our bed.
Nov 28, 2014
Nov 28, 2014 at 4:39 PM UTC
You may call me a Snowflake,
But I will not melt.
You may call me a Snowflake,
But we will blanket the ground
You may call me a Snowflake
But my fist will remain
In the air, emboldened
And Inflamed
You may call me a Snowflake,
But my chapped lips will Breathe
Warm Winter air
You may call me a Snowflake,
But remember
you are nothing but an old tin can
Rusting away in the cold of
Our Snowflake sand
for we are everywhere you will stand
You may call me a Snowflake,
Cause I will be back again
And again and again
Waiting here on the ground
For you to come join me
under this blanket
And be a friend.
Feb 5, 2018
Feb 5, 2018 at 2:46 AM UTC
There’s a certain disharmony in the way of things,
and how it turns humans into monsters. I saw a monster turn a girl
into a woman with her clothes on the floor,
and he carved ‘liar’ on her chapped lips. I reached out when
she stood before me, holding a razor in one hand and whiskey
in the other. She had dashed lines on her wrists
and shattered glass at her feet. I feel like screaming, but my gums bleed
from a mouth full of broken metal wire.
I cannot tell you the story that sits on my shoulders like a child,
too young to understand the weight of himself.
Now my eyelids have been peeled from my face and
I cannot look away from the girl when she comes home after school
and asks me for help with her homework
because the least I can do is solve a few math problems.
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 11:59 PM UTC
Green, wandering eyes
Beneath the smooth brown sheet of hair
With lashes so light at the tips
Looking upward at the sky
A sarcastic comment
On her pink, round lips
Still chapped from the cold
Of a brisk winters day
It was the face of someone young
Free of wrinkles and scars
Someone ready to face the world
Someone who looked an awful lot like me
Nov 9, 2012
Nov 9, 2012 at 6:43 PM UTC
My petals were withering,
The butterflies turned into wasps.
An oppressive silence-
Weighing down on my conscience
And the fingertips - used to drawing sunrises
-compelled to write eulogies instead.
Of Chapped lips and vacant eyes.
And how the autumn had caught up to us.
And I remembered,
With an aching guilt-
How I had not even played in the rain,
Not much, not at all.
My words had rusted,
My voice- cracked, and unfamiliar
Even to my own ears.
The summer long poems that I wrote in love
Were set ablaze,
To help me survive a winter
without you.
Oh, when I said our love would keep us warm
This is not exactly how i had it planned.
And you did not get to read even a word.
One always thinks they have time.
But we did not.
Not then, and definitely not now.
As a child, I grew up wanting a lot from myself
-even the world, if I were to be honest.
Somewhere along the line,
All I wanted was for this all to not hurt.
And somehow the polar opposites are more alike
Than I'd have thought.
'Cause you see, people who want a bit of everything
Are very close to wanting nothing in particular, not much.
And I wish I had learnt to differentiate
Of when to sharpen my sword and when to use my pen
Cause now I'm down to my last petal
And all you have is a blue splotch on your shirt.
Jan 13, 2018
Jan 13, 2018 at 8:47 AM UTC
The month of crescent moons and indigo flamed candles.
Of burning sage and twinkling hooded lights flickering in frosted windows.
Of chipped nail varnish and lips chapped with bitter cold.
Of darkened mornings with knitted scarves wrapped beneath pink noses and wet lashes.
Of lonely evergreens and sleigh bells a distant howl in the wind.
Nov 3, 2014
Nov 3, 2014 at 9:30 AM UTC
She was beautiful,
But not in the beautiful ways you like to think so
She did not have hair that dripped gold
Her eyes were not the colours of the cold sea
But her smile was crooked and bent
Her lips were chapped and thin
She did not have a gentle laugh
Nor did she speak humble thoughts
But she was beautiful
In the way the shore kisses my feet
In the way the moon hides itself in the curtain of darkness
She was beautiful
In the way wind dances with hair
In the way shy lovers hold hands
She was beautiful in the way of morning air
And black coffee
And the love poems that live in each broken heart
Spilling red oil into blue lungs,
Suffocating happiness right out of its shell
And she was beautiful
Because she refused to taste sadness
Even though it was the only thing she had left to eat.
Mar 3, 2013
Mar 3, 2013 at 12:49 PM UTC
I left the water boiling sanity into the pores of my skin as my face hovered over the ***
My eyes close to the beat of Brick in the Wall by Pink Floyd.
The countdown.
5
4
3
2
I stopped the timer before 1,
Let the water scorch the tea leaves until their screams fuse to a whisper at the bottom of the mug.
I needed my sanity back,
So I lifted the mug and let the flavor of peppermint wash between the chapped cracks of my lips,
Steaming the melody of sanity onto my tongue,
my tea was cold.
Oct 13, 2014
Oct 13, 2014 at 12:17 AM UTC
It's hard to imagine the sand
at the bottom of the glass hourglass quite yet
It's painful to look at myself as a timer, like I am just being used by the world.
But darling,
every time your chapped thin lips kiss mine,
it seems that my hourglass is shaken up rather brutally,
and i get another chance, just to run out
again
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 2:03 PM UTC
Lift it to your lips
& let what falls adrift in the form of ash
dissolve in the wind
as dried bone thrashing,
bashing against dust & grit.
Pull; take a long hit.
Dregs to be kept until last in the bottom
of your broken lungs,
taken as deep as breaths:
to rattle against your teeth.
"O", takes the lewd shape
of your chapped mouth as you break free
from your caged-in chest,
skeletons left sat, to wallow
as ashen bones & yellow teeth.
Hold your knuckled joints
against tenderest flesh of your upper lip
& sniff, as if a try to void
all signs of violent backslides
to clandestine nicotine meetings.
Flick blanked eyes to lit but
dying embers ground between sole & soil,
& morosely swear never
another, not one more; after
this next one, this last one, never.
Jul 12, 2014
Jul 12, 2014 at 5:35 AM UTC
Push a day off to one side
drink in the citrus street light
lock arms with the night
Forty minutes, fifteen thoughts,
a hundred steps to next time
check off the prayers you've tried--
--on frozen fingers. Through
your wind-chapped lips let one more dangle
off your westbound life.
You've been here too long;
You got nothing to lose left,
quiet, spit it out
into the sky
Turn right.
Lay my 20's down to sleep
slept my way through a decade
now open pint glass eyes.
Pushing thirty, since I'm ten
I've been grasping at something--
something undefined
On frozen feet been walk-
-ing south-by-southwest, hands in pockets
clawing empty space.
Haven't got one dime
to toss into the water
but Northwest winds
frame my North-
east face.
Aug 31, 2013
Aug 31, 2013 at 6:34 PM UTC