"coincidence" poems
There's a reason there's a path outside your door
that leads to a road
that leads to an interstate,
that leads to an airport.
And there's a reason that planes fly from that airport
to one near here.
Same reason that airport has a road
that leads to a highway
a highway that they are repairing as we speak
that leads to my town
to a path that leads to my door
And its not just coincidence.
Any more than its coincidence that you are reading this.
Aug 20, 2010
Aug 20, 2010 at 8:06 PM UTC
It's the color of her eyes; the color of the sea. In both you could drown, or find God himself. It's the space between cities. Road signs & right turns, and the quiet determination to unravel in her arms. The sheets on her bed at 3am, where she whispers "I love you" and you've never been so sure of anything. The breath you exhale after you kiss her; it's the color of the blood pumping through your heart. The heart that she keeps beating. The heart that has her name written all over it. It's the heaviness in anticipation. The insatiable desire for a minute, just one minute. It is not the opposite of passion, like once suggested. It is passion itself. It is the sound of whispers. Her breath on your neck, and shivers down your spine. The color that fills in the weeks until you see her again. But most importantly, it will always be the color of her eyes. And it is no coincidence they are the color of the sea.
Aug 18, 2014
Aug 18, 2014 at 2:44 PM UTC
I'm used to being abandoned by the men in my life
But that never makes it any easier
I was always a dreamer
And a part of me still is
I let my hopes grow too big
Filled with hot air
Only for them to float away from me
Disappearing
Like everything else
Naturally I've built up a wall
But people always find a way to sneak in
And usually walk right out
Once I've opened the doors
You could say I have trust issues
But there's always a moment
When I open myself up
Completely
It scares the hell out of me
But I do it anyways
For the chance at something bigger than myself
The only problem
Is that I don't do well with vulnerability
I worry, I doubt
But only because
Having another man walk out of my life
-- Especially you --
Would be too much to bear.
Dec 30, 2013
Dec 30, 2013 at 1:41 AM UTC
do you think it's a coincidence
that falling asleep
and falling in love
both start with falling
and end with you?
Dec 28, 2014
Dec 28, 2014 at 1:12 AM UTC
i love you this morning
it's a come home safe morning
fog on the road
& no seatbelt kind of morning
the sun is over easy
& nothing's on fire
there's punctuation
where i don't want it
and extra love
in the glovebox of my car
been thinking about being honest
how these poems are all me
but they tell the story
how someone else
might believe it happened
within reasonable doubt
no copy & pasted love letters
no 'who ever says hello first gets my attention for the day'
try a little tenderness
in my ears and today
there are instruments
in the back of my head
i think you love me
because i'm sunburned
felt it in a 'come hell or high water' kinda way, that 'touched from far away' kinda way that 'if i touch this piano one more time one of us is going to break' kinda way
and i drove over 17 bridges yesterday and today i'll do it again
and i think nobody gets
what that means except maybe you
i just tell them i love the scenery
that somebody must've made
these trees blush just for me
you know how i love
to change the subject
i bet they'd love the view
i bet you would too
and all these metaphors
for other things are beside the point
this is a metaphor
for why i don't wear my seatbelt
a metaphor for why whiskey
knows me better than you
could ever try to
all the buildings seemed to sag yesterday and all the stars
are doing that cliche thing
where they talk
quiet jet noise
& some lumbering giant
made everything shake
not those hand metaphors
not another one of those
& keep the sea to yourself
i think it was a train
it's sound hugged the embankment
for a moment
and then trailed off into nowhere
and that's kind of like me
how there's a town called 'rescue'
close to my home &
it's no coincidence
that i've never been there
Sep 28, 2014
Sep 28, 2014 at 5:53 PM UTC
I am a man
Who screams by night
And smiles by day.
I look at myself, I don't see me anymore
Just a shell from before, empty and haggard.
My eyes have lost their shine.
The path ahead forgotten
Trudging through mud, looking to the sky.
Now I know for certain, soon I will die.
Not from coincidence or neglect;
From these hands of mine.
Jun 20, 2016
Jun 20, 2016 at 9:24 PM UTC
do you ever wonder
about the difference between
looking at something
and the hallucination created
when looking past it?
if you look at your hand
it's all you can see
but if you look past your hand
there are now two of them
sometimes it's hard for me
to remember which is real
it gets me thinking
about how my father
used to wake me up
in the morning by rubbing
his stubble across my face
i spent my 11th birthday
under the assumption
that he might come back
if i drank his aftershave
like maybe if i could turn blue
if i could be his favorite color
on our bathroom floor
he would forget why he left
the paramedics were all sobing
as they pumped memories
out of my stomach
i coughed up the day the post-it note with your new address on it
burned a hole in our refrigerator
coughed up the day
the divorce papers came
and my mother
took a baseball bat to the mailbox
i've been choking on the splinters
for 17 years
it's been 17 years
since the last dinner plate
exploded on our dining room wall
17 years since my mother
started accidentally setting your place at the dinner table
17 years since italian night
at the restaurant on the corner
where the juke box
spat tired music
and like so many other things
it stopped working when you left
i guess it's no coincidence
since the juke box went quiet
that the cds in my car
only skip on "i miss you"
i've been hemorrhaging memories
for so long
and now that i'm looking back
i can no longer tell
the mirage from the truth
sometimes i swear
you showed up to my graduation
and last time
i was at your apartment
i can't remember
if the imprints of my hands
are in clay hanging on your wall
or if they were left in the mud
the day god had the audacity
to let it rain
or maybe it's like the time
i saw someone crying on a bridge
now that i think about it
i can't remember if it was me
Jun 20, 2014
Jun 20, 2014 at 12:53 AM UTC
People change.
I realized that in the last couple of years.
I watch some of the best people in my life I once loved grow into something else.
Or someone else.
It's weird watching the people you knew before you was even able to walk grow into someone else.
I know everyone goes through it.
Maturity.
And not everyone turns out what you thought. Maybe my problem was that I wanted everything to stay the same. A safe zone I guess you could call it.
I realized there are two different things you can change into. Or two different roads you could say. Or the simple good vs bad. Maybe it's the coincidence that everyone I grew up with took the opposite direction I thought they would of never went. I talked to my Dad once about change. How I told him that seeing people change hurts. He told me seeing people change isn't what hurts, it remembering what they use to be. And I have to be honest that was one of the few times I didn't argue back. I realized he was right. I hated what the people I once called my life turn into something I hate. So pretty much the people I know became people I knew. It's really funny too when they told you many times that they aren't going to be something, surprise us both, and do what they said they wouldn't do.
But there's one thing I'm afraid of. What if the person I was so sure I knew, the person I knew before I was even born wasn't even the person I thought I knew, but instead they took off a mask. That they didn't change, they just revealed who they really are. I think I would rather think they changed then they revealed.
Or maybe people don't change, but their priorities do.
In the end though, it's hard to watch people change, and it's harder remembering.
But recently I learned that people also change to better themselves. I learned that life is about changing for the better. If you had to let go of some people along the way, then go ahead. Incredible change happens in your life when you decide to take control in what you do have power over. I always known that I couldn't change people's decisions. But I could change mines. Even though I'm still figuring out things for myself, I know I'm in control in the road I want to take.
Now the funny part is I just need to take my own advise I'm giving myself instead of being scared.
Apr 8, 2016
Apr 8, 2016 at 8:15 PM UTC
*Before I thought of doing it
My neck cradles itself sidewards
A strange glimpse
Stood out with radiance
And I knew it was different*
*I catch myself looking at you from afar
Your eyes meet mine
Is it just coincidence
Or an accident that happens too often*?
*Our glances hold messages
Of undefined feelings
Words become fathomless
For our eyes manifest*.
*Your eyes wandered through the crowd
And mine roamed around
We both know
This is just an excuse, a distraction
Not to seem obvious...
Until they locked
And I swear I won't let this moment pass*
*Oh, your eyes
Inviting me to see
Bidding me to come closer
Wanting to let me know you deeper*.
*I'd look at them all day of course;
Because of all the eyes staring
I only care for yours*.
Sep 10, 2014
Sep 10, 2014 at 8:38 AM UTC
Meeting you is never a coincidence,we are fated together
It has been ordained that we will met on this day
I thought I lost it all but at the end I gained even more all because I met a special lady "U"
We might be far away
Distance doesn't necessarily ruin a relationship,
because we don't have to see each other everyday to be in love
It Is true that angels are made to be in heaven but some angels are sent on earth to do a special work and am glad you are my angel
I was dark before you came,
i had no love, nor a heart,
as i was lonely, full oh shame,
but now you are here, and our love will never be apart
Your beautiful face light up my world each time I look at your picture
I love to see your beautiful face that makes me say God Almighty you are really great
Your voice so powerful that It brought me into the world
Into the world of laughs and smiles
That walks along with me everyday
To bring me joy for endless miles
Am here writing about u
Singing about you
Dreaming about you
Thinking about you
Playing back all your voices
Looking at your pictures to bright up my day
Remember to say me Hi to your beautiful nieces
All I could say is God thank u for creating that beautiful day I set my eye on you CHIAMAKA
Apr 19, 2018
Apr 19, 2018 at 8:58 AM UTC
He told me,
"You are a
coincidence
that looks like
destiny."
I told him,
"You are a
déjà vu
that looks like a
memory."
They told us,
"You are a
dream
that looked like
reality."
May 23, 2018
May 23, 2018 at 7:47 AM UTC
A funny thing about getting sick.
As near as I can tell,
it always seems to hit us
when we’re not feeling well.
Nov 27, 2011
Nov 27, 2011 at 10:38 AM UTC
You’ll tell yourself it’s a coincidence.
That you stumbled here.
That it’s random, accidental—
just another poem,
just another night.
But you know better.
You always know better.
You feel too much.
You think too hard.
You ask questions
after everyone else
has already stopped listening.
People say you're quiet,
but they don’t know how loud it gets
in the places you never let them see.
You laugh when it hurts.
You love like you’re being timed.
You dream like it’s a crime.
And still—
somehow—
you’re the one carrying everyone else.
You know what I mean.
Of course you do.
That’s why this isn’t for them.
This is for the one
who’s still reading.
For the one who keeps everything burning
behind their eyes.
You.
Don’t pretend it isn’t.
You’ve waited your whole life
for someone to say it this clearly.
I see you.
And I always did.
Jul 31, 2025
Jul 31, 2025 at 2:26 AM UTC
in some sense
life is like
a run on sentence
it's countenance
one of coincidence
things just happen
and they continue to
google or yahoo
won't give to you
a solution to cling to
or conclusion to bring you
a delusion of tranquility
there's a lack of structure
and punctuality
like punctuation
conductor and dj
please pick another station
May 31, 2015
May 31, 2015 at 2:15 PM UTC
I can say I'm sorry
But the truth is that I'm not
When things get dark and starry
You think about what you've got
I've got a lot to love
And a lot left to do
But I've had enough
I just fell out of love with you
When it all got started
I was happy and I was sure
But things fall apart
Things fluctuate and blur
I don't have a reason
And I don't have to explain
I can try to help you
But I don't care about the pain
Have you seen me since?
In a dream or on the street?
And by coincidence
You found someone to meet
I hope it's all good for now
Maybe you'll hate me less and less
And you'll understand somehow
How I avoided a bigger mess
Dec 27, 2015
Dec 27, 2015 at 4:40 PM UTC
You call it coincidence.
I call it a blessing.
It's the gift of life.
It's the splendor of the universe.
The lillies of the valley.
The glory of the sun.
You call it opportunity .
I call it a blessing.
It's the education that is ever so free.
It's the freedom that was fought for the upcoming generation.
You call it chance.
I call it a blessing.
It's a mother's love, that I still have.
It's the wonder of friendship.
The people that hold you up.
The strengh of your bestfriend that sticks closer than a brother.
You call it a big break.
I call it a blessing.
It's the job that is perfect for me.
The material benefits that I enjoy.
You call it luck.
I call it a blessing.
It's a life partner that stands when you want to fall.
The love that is available to us all, if only we ask for it.
It's called a blessing, a blessing that we don't deserve.
Not coincidence, opportunity, chance, a big break or luck.
It's a higher power, bigger than anything of this world...
It's called a blessing.
~Gabbriella with 2 b's~
Apr 29, 2017
Apr 29, 2017 at 7:33 PM UTC
Pale-skinned girl from Indiana,
with freckles,
yes, freckles, on your cheek,
this is who I am. This is my story.
It is only coincidence that I sing it
to you,
but sing, nonetheless, I do. One morning
amidst the restlessness of my top-bunk sheets
I heard a whispering and thought it might be God it was
me. My unconsciousness begging me
for nourishment, silently loudly attacking
my awareness with questions: it asked why
I neglect it. Pale-skinned girl from Indiana,
with freckles,
yes, freckles, on your cheek,
is this, too, why your body vibrates
when your thoughts are feelings? Because you too
have recognized feeling as thought? That that
faculty of wonder you hush about as if a
***** secret of forgotten childhood memory
is something that is as real as
the metaphysical pores of a skin you cannot touch,
but know is not some foreign, distant, effacing
thing, but is thick, is thick, thick as words
creaking like old wood in a library filled
with students who read so much ******** to get into
college but never venture forth for such skin
in the skin of those unconscious voices in the
shelves? Selves: we call them books but they breathe.
The ideas wriggle in your veins like
a worm. They block your blood yet move
your soul. The stillness of your speechlessness
is some movement in itself. So I suspect of you,
pale-skinned girl from Indiana,
with freckles,
yes, freckles, on your cheek.
So I suspect of myself.
I do not understand how else I could have been born
without eyes which we call eyes. I cannot see
why else.
I cannot.
You cannot.
There is light over there in that darkness.
A glimpse of it- a sliver of silver
has shocked you into your paleness. Into my
blackness. It is the same difference. A different
same.
Line break:
A mirror tells me things with my eyeless eyes.
My brownness ***** me into journeys with
tunnels so deep that we call them pupils.
In the distance that I gaze into I find
myself gazing into a distance I gaze into. Fathom
it. Do not. Will not will it will it will not
willed. Touching it will wilt it without touching:
this is the soul you said does not exist.
It is not there. It is.
In Indiana.
Where's that? asks my blood.
In Indiana.
Over there? my finger points out the window.
No. It is.
It is. Not.
Suddenly I smell something and it is myself.
It is not Indiana or freckles or pale-skin.
I ask you where it is.
Suddenly you smell something and it is yourself.
It is not Gaborone or curly-haired or black.
You ask me where I think it is.
What the **** do we know?
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 9:04 PM UTC
All the things I know are gathered on a paper boat drifting through the thick of doubt and coincidence. Patience keeps it floating but time turns the ocean upside down.
The doubt that rippled below is now raining from the sky.
Jul 27, 2013
Jul 27, 2013 at 3:37 PM UTC
By the time you swear you're his,
Shivering and sighing,
And he vows his passion is
Infinite, undying -
Lady, make a note of this:
One of you is lying.
5.5k
MONKEY IN A RED FEZ DANCING TO ABBA
I watch the children play
on a sunny Sunday in Rotterdam
like a stereotypical alien
studying humans.
Their cries rise and fall
like seagulls as they swing
sea-sawing or blurring into one
on a brightly coloured turnstile.
A man looking
like a badly drawn cartoon
turns the handle slowly of
a broken down barrel *****
A monkey in a red fez
dances on the end of a chain.
The barrel ***** spews out
everything from Abba to Franz Lehar.
The decrepit old man
and even more decrepit monkey
appear as if they have
stepped out of another century.
I am far from home.
The day is dying.
I read from my battered book
Hamsun's HUNGER.
It's lurid cover torn
half hanging on/off.
The park deserted now
as night steals its colours.
The last words of
of this the final chapter
are lost to me
swallowed by the dark.
The barrel ***** peersists
the soundtrack to some forgotten film
The monkey red fez
fallen at its feet.
The monkey blissfully
asleep.
The music caught
entangled in branches and leaves.
I watch the yellow lights
blossom one by one
a silhouette of houses
like a stage set.
Houses like cut-out silhouettes
a stage set.
The last lines revealed
under a passing lamp
"...where the windows shone so
brightly in every home..."
I laugh at such
a coincidence.
Leave the book on the bench
for some other me
to discover
when the sun comes up.
And return
to my space ship.
Aug 28, 2018
Aug 28, 2018 at 5:17 PM UTC
I used to know things about people, it was all too easy for me to figure them out.
I used to dread the day when I had found out I've failed, when I couldn't save someone. Strange or depressing as it may seem, I'm glad I haven't had to attend all the funerals I tried to prepare myself for.
I used to know if someone had ever been touched wrongly. Unwillingly. How far past their "no's" were gotten. I can't do that anymore, I don't know how to help anymore.
I used to cry at all the pain, I used to sob myself to sleep. These days I try anything just to feel a single tear on my cheek.
I used to hear things without finding or ever questioning the source. I used to sing out my struggles to the sounds I heard while crying on my backyard's swing set. I still hear it sometimes, but maybe that's just my imagination.
My mom told me I used to see angels. All I can remember was being scared of the footprints on my ceiling. Maybe they were angels, maybe they were demons. Maybe they were just early signs of schizophrenia.
Was all of that just preparation?
Was it all just a coincidence?
Is this real? Is it God's work? Is it fate?
Do I believe in any of that anymore???
Who knew that a conversation over cigarettes with you would leave me so confused.
Is our craziness compatible, like taking a drug together and having the same trip?
Or maybe we're gifted with seeing things for how they really are.
Or maybe its just you.
Maybe I'm lost forever.
I need to walk your path.
I heard sounds in the woods with you
But was it the same music?
Do we share the same insanity?
Tell me if its a blessing or a curse.
Tell me if its worth all the pain.
Tell me if I can handle it... if I won't **** myself first.
Does the light in everything outweigh the darkness?
Tell me what you think about souls now.
Does everything live forever?
Can you still see their light if they're dead?
Tell me what you feel.
Tell me what you know now.
I want your truths.
This has to be real.
My world has been flipped and turned inside out.
But finally, for once, I think everything makes sense.
Oct 18, 2016
Oct 18, 2016 at 3:12 AM UTC
“i live to let you”
my spirit has been broken by the loss of grains
and i feel like the world has become more grey
i have so many regrets for this lifetime
but i really regret every fight with grains
i’d take them all back, every one
i regret my ****** actions when i was younger
and i can’t lie, i regret things i've done since i’m older
i often feel as if i’m not a good person
but i’ve come to realize that i am a good person
just so broken
and it is is my responsibility to heal, because i have power over those around me
i just hardly see the point of preserving my own life
i’ve attempted suicide, and have never stopped self harm
i hope when i’m gone people remember me for the good things
the laughs we shared, and the intelligent conversations
and i hope people remember i love them
despite all my ****
i’ve realized i never let go of love
“love never dies”
and i’ve accepted i will always love you
i never forget you
one day everything will make sense
and things will suddenly become not a coincidence, but fate
lessons that have become invaluable to who we are
i hope to preserve the memories that light up my heart and mind
even when everything has truthfully become so dark
it’s still true i self harm and love pain, or don’t feel it
it’s still true i don’t value my life and am not afraid to **** myself
it’s still true i am a dandelion tuft-a delicate cancer
but i choose to accept what has happened, what i have done, and forgive myself for regrets
and to never forget love
if this existence ends for me, please know i love you and i’m sorry for everything
Nov 17, 2023
Nov 17, 2023 at 4:12 AM UTC
Have you ever dated a butterfly ?
A butterfly who wings been grounded by lies,sin, adultery and broken promises.
A grounded butterfly whose wings ripped apart from a monstrous ant.
The butterfly stayed realizing its wings will never grow but it loved that ant for pleasures that won't fill the soul but just entice the body.
One day that butterfly did try to fly again but no wings and it found itself by mere coincidence in the nest of a growing dragonfly.
The dragon fly too was hurt and found itself wingless doing anything to forget it couldn't fly.
One day the butterfly and dragonfly came to be one together to ease the pain and to give the love the other deserves both too soon not ready but it's great, good and **** right horrible days.
But over time through mistakes and lies.
The dragonfly past vices caught up to it and little did the butterfly know it had baggage too it was fighting though wrong it tried to hide it but made things worse.
More time passed and struggles and misfortunes continued; it became apparent to the butterfly tired of being grounded it saw the dragonfly as species it cant intermix with.
They fought mentally against eachother only while hurting deep inside, the dragonfly too became more devoided and hidden but secretly it wanted to help bring the wings back to the butterfly. But after being dishonest the butterfly came to see it as a no good liar and cheat too.
A simple mistake it made and it hangs over something it never did but the die was cast, a created persona made from pain and hurt.
Truth is till this day that dragonfly only wishes to help and love that butterfly like it should be and dispel that hurt.
It wonders how can you get a butterfly that gave you chances and now won't take you back ?can you make a home, write a poem, or stay home alone wondering can you turn back time.....
It's still got a ways to go before its fully mature and experienced but it wishes to grow along side the butterfly as it too grows it's wings.
Can one day they build into what eachother needs with reckless abandon and learn to love one another the right way.
Just mere thoughts from a dragonfly.
Dec 1, 2019
Dec 1, 2019 at 4:19 AM UTC
What an ironic place of mind
When something I've wanted for awhile
Finally presents itself
And I'm overwhelmed so intensely
By anxiety and sadness
How long have I hoped to meet up?
How many times had I mentioned coffee?
Yet here I am
Three days before I see you
For the first time in a year and a half
And I feel so sad
It's as though
I am finally mourning the loss
Of someone who was my best friend
Finally letting myself feel about you
All of the things I've repressed
It has been a long time
We both must be so different now
What would that mean for this?
Do we meet up once
Play a game of catch up
Then resume the path of strangers?
Or do we try to be friends again
And run the risk of pain and heartache?
Does our intense shared anxiety
At just the sight of each other
Signal a similar message
A similar desire within us both?
Or am I stuck within a fantasy
Lying to myself that this could work
That you could be in my life again
We were not made to be lovers
And I don't believe in happenstance
I do think we came together for a reason
Just as we've become reconnected now
The city may be small
But this has to be more than coincidence
You were my best friend back then
And I know I hurt you deeply
But part of me hasn't stopped believing
That our lives staying connected
Is something that's meant to be
And I know that
When I'm sitting anxiously in my car
Outside the cafe where we're set to meet
Thoughts racing faster than my heart beats
I'll have to fully prepare myself
To find out that you disagree
Feb 7, 2019
Feb 7, 2019 at 12:50 AM UTC
let’s split the seconds in two
break apart the bark of dead trees
and sail away like summer
like echoes
echoes
we’re back here again, no winebottles to hold us
the waves break on our skin
whispering about echoes of
the wind drops like grenade pins
paid for by palestinians
profits into our superpowers pocket
we’re echoes of endless
take one of those moments in a second
crush it up and breathe it in
just how rolled up notes showed you
hold this moment longer than you’re meant to
steal time from the gods
cos i want to look into your eyes one last time til tomorrow
i am a series of echoes of endless meaningless patterns
like pythagoras put a purpose on me
like a madman i’ll scream to anything that’ll hear me
the whole room sways to the beat of your breathes
the knowledge you cradle like life inside will never leave
it’ll warm you in moments of distress
you’ll feed it in moments of perfectness
sometimes the symbols aren’t right,
but you blurred the borders between me and love
letters and poems
dreams and stories
our thought patterns in sync like mushroom trips
i love you.
-
words
are infinite
like
the journey to here
the random chemical concotions
or just
preselected stories.
and pi to seven decimal places sounded with syllables sparks superstitious symbols
electrical impulses brief bits of data
it’s all down to disbelief in coincidence.
believing in confidence
patterns need a purpose
lose yourself in them
easier to avoid the pain that your brain knows to be true
that you’re part to blame
for the begging bin bags
the bombs and the poverty
the lifestyle of monotony
so i’ll keep saying it til i work out how to say it properly...
0.000001/=0
Sep 11, 2013
Sep 11, 2013 at 12:12 PM UTC