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empty seas Oct 2018
i went through
every poem
about her
and made them
disappear

maybe now
it'll be easier
to feel better
to feel free

i have no more poems
about the good times
for the bad times
outweighed them

i feel freer
although i am sad
my most popular poem
is gone

it is for the best
i am freer
if you noticed my number of poems drop down randomly in the past two days, that is because i deleted all my poems about my manipulative ex
i was going to leave them up as a testament to our time together (unsurprisingly, a lot of those poems were actually quite negative). I am usually unafraid of the past but my poems about her made me cringe whenever I saw them. I deleted them to make me feel better.
Susanna Arambula Nov 2018
maybe i should just press delete
to make my words disappear
because i'm not a poet.
Sarah Elaine Oct 2018
eat me through the slippery sheets
there has only been between
something lovely, something sweet
something ****, harrowing

i lost the stitch while you were screaming
sewing up the broken dreams
you were always somehow leaving
never looking into me

swirling faces in the cauldron
searching for their own disease
always scared that i might fall in
watching something i can't see

wishing wells and **** women
somewhere humid and discreet
the old suitcase i was trapped in
when your teeth sank into me
Akhtar ali Oct 2018
I wish it was simple as that. Deleting you out of my app.
Pushing you back into the stack is no longer an option for me. I have to move on their is no love for me here ctrl alt and delete is for me. I start to laugh as I'm about to hit delete I though of a time with you I sat back in my chair closed my eyes and I was their in your arms with you faith was so mean I snapped out of my dream hit ctrl alt and delete crashed back in my seat with a sigh of relief  looked up at the ceiling what  did I see I see you looking down smiling at me.
No mater how much we try we will never forget the one we love
miracle Apr 2
Creations. Delete
Friends. Delete
Toughts. Delete
Feelings. Delete
Life. Delete
Nat Lipstadt Aug 2018
<>
The Instigation:
Edmund  Black, commenting on “weary weighted,”

I agree with Kim; This is poetry at its best :)“

<•>

both of you shush!

there is no “better” in poetry

mine yours theirs, alive or not,

just gasps tears and blood
whimsical smiles and isles
cuts and burns of pained revelations,
hidden in fog,
that words try to delete away,
through the shrouded mists of
human tissues,
unconstrained by the
bounded shape
of the human cell,
our first, our own
self-imposed jail

tissue, too,
baby soft, or,
purple beating majestic bruised blotches
by those weaklings whose
kindness never
fully developed;  
or old man mine whose
skin cells erodes, so poems and light
weary weighted, lightly flake off
for your “betterment”
mostly tho for worse

good humans all await,
in patientce lightly hidden,
residents of dark sunspots
in the glaring existence exposer
of the unlit lighthouse whose time will come

they get it

how we get there unimportant

get there

GET THERE

get there
that is the poetic
mission critical

no path best or style preferred-
no compare just, but,
any path that
lifts and elevates,
to the commonplace


the common place

where all costarred, universal,
where common is the temple mount
of highest praise, holy smoke rising,

a place that
that discloses and closes,
is scribed/described honestly as
a connective,
which is the simplest
successive

call my poems,
blessedly common!

that an honorable,
so gladly accepted
and
so much more meaning-full
than merely best or better



for that,
I’d gladly weep,
for no praise
ever been
bettered





8/2/18 406pm
on the jitney to my isle
the instigation: Edmund black › “weary weighted, I agree with Kim .... This is poetry at its best :)“
lovelywildflower Nov 2018
i don't love you anymore
i know that for sure
i'm in love with someone else now
but why did my heart hurt a little
when i saw you with someone else?
i never want you back
i never even want to look at you again
i haven't looked at you in days
but our eyes met today
and my heart dropped
you were my first real love
maybe i'm glad i didn't have many relationships in school
because after you break up
you see pieces of what you used to be everywhere

the bleachers in the gym where we first met
sitting with friends in the far right corner
where our eyes met for the first time

walking in gym where we first kissed
and i screamed and ran away
because that was the first time i kissed someone

outside the gym at those tables
where you lifted me on top of you and kissed me

the seats all the way in the back of the auditorium
where i touched you for the first time

the bathrooms downstairs where you took advantage of me
and i'm scared to let anyone see that part of me now
your hands in private places
i never want to feel again because of you
and that's why it takes me so long to give that piece of me

the inside of the gym when the lights were off
where you pulled me in
and pushed me up against the wall
and then lowered me to the ground with you on top
that was the first time i was afraid

the courtyard where you would hold me every morning
and we would fall asleep in each other's arms

the cafeteria would we would talk to our friends every morning
and where i would stand against the wall
waiting for you to remember i existed again

the benches by the front office
where we would meet each morning and hold each other

the hallway downstairs where i ran away from you
after running from the bathroom where you hurt me

the library where you stared at that other girl
right in front of me and admitted it
and where we skipped many classes together

outside that one room where i cried
asking you if you were really breaking up with me

the windows at the front of the school
where you broke up with me and i cried
harder than i've ever cried before
and people were staring
but i was too sad to care

the parking lot where you would walk me to my bus
and you wouldn't even kiss me goodbye

the stairwell where you would pull me close
and kiss me, grabbing me until we heard someone coming

the doors that exit the school where you would wait for me
and i would throw your sweatshirt i was wearing at you

so many places, so many memories
sometimes i see a place where we made memories
and i stop and stare
and every time, i feel like crying
i just want to pretend you never existed
how do i delete all the memories?
N Nov 2017
I should hate you.
I should be angry because you like her and not me.
I should be angry because of how you only gave me attention when you wanted something from me.
How I gave you my trust, love, and heart and you broke all three at once.
How you emotionally abused me, manipulated me and had no respect for me.
I should be angry that you gave me hope for a future that you know I most desperately desired.
That you made me think it would happen but you cheated countless times,
and whenever somebody better came along, you left me in a heartbeat, like I never meant anything to you.
You left me heartbroken.

But then I remember the words you said to me,
the way you made me feel when the cold weather and cloudy skies were around,
and all those horrible memories of you fade away.

My god, I wish I didn't have to love you the way I do,
but I find it impossible to stop.
It took everything in me to delete those pictures of you where we both looked so happy.
It took everything inside me to accept that you don't need me,
you never did.
You don't miss me.
You don't care about me the slightest bit.
You don't even want me.
It took me every bone in my ******* body to keep you out of my mind when I wasn't sober.
But I realized that you were all I thought of, sober or not.

Because my heart kicked you out,
so you just moved straight into my mind.
Nat Lipstadt Dec 2013
In my real life,
not a poet,
just an astronomer,
an observer of
universes, bodies,
places, faces,
visited, discovered,
named and oft,
best forgot.

I observe:

Some never find true love.
Some never fly first class.
Some of us
never see the
South of France.

Some of us wear
hand-me-down pants,
white lined creases when “let down,”
mocked, we never forgive ourselves
the shame of it.

Some never experience
reckless abandon.

Yet, some of us are
recklessly abandoned,
and never forget,
and never forgive.

Some of us lose
children, husbands,
avanti nel tempo,
before their time,
and
the anger is
forever, palpable,
costly.

Some of us
were raised by
someone else's parents,
and never rest easy,
the abandoned taste
always nearby,
a cruel living, breathing
teasing wasting

Some we can pass over
with ease,
as new tissue grows,
those cuts marked -
emotionally healed.

But the ones that scar,
the ones that visible scar
permanent reddened,
are the
holocaust deniers
that there is a real
promised land of
peace of mind.

Peace of mind -
not even for a second,
foretold but
unrealized,
a biblical myth,
a promised land,
a capitalist paradisal hoax.


Some never feel
public victory,
adulation, adoration,
always wearing the T-shirt labeled
Property of Someone Else.

Most of us remain
unpublished, undiscovered,
unremarked, blanketed,
cloaked in bills to pay;

Living a triumvirate of
heart ache, loneliness, worry,
our normal table fare
consists
of hand to hand
into the mouth
combat MRE's,
we engage,
to survive,
just stay alive.

We are not digitalized,
nonetheless,
we are
but digits,
our faces hidden, and
in no one's heart book
are we recorded,
friended,
yet our viewing habits,
purchases, secret sites
are enumerated, captured.

Some of us live
exclusively
in the real life,
never to escape to the
province of Wifi,
in the landscape
of the electronic mind,
an option for which
we are
untrained.

Perhaps sanctity of separation,
safety of text, email,
avec the ******* intrusion
of tweets are
the real life today,
games are always won,
and what we don't enjoy,
we just delete away

But In My Real Life
getting up is trying,
IMRL,
the trying is trying,
IMRL,
delete buttons don't exist      
in the keyboard
of our brains,
IMRL,
all we have is a
measly twenty six aleph bets
to find new ways to say
that living is striving and
what we feel is
oh so real,
not digital

IMRL,
when I laugh out loud,
the neighbors
beat the walls,
complainants,
registering their feelings
in my face,
in my book,
so to speak.

IMRL,
I got a friend,
maybe two,
all I need,
voices to help soften
the 400 blows of RL.

Their synthesized silence
of their breathing
on the phone
is precious unto me.

IRL,
limp from Friday
night to
Friday
night,
a bottle of Medoc
my weekend reward,
my bedrock cushion
in order to sleep.

After all these years,
gains and losses,
conversations with God,
I look up,
see the risk,
the slightest breeze
is a
hurricane wind.

The shaft,
of the
the sword
hanging above me
the hilt,
swaying in living color,
is no legend.

But what I have is
the ability
and maybe
the responsibility
to let anyone know
that
in my real life
anyone who touches me
with fine and good intent,
a momentary glancing blow
or a gunshot to the ventricle,
is part and parcel of
my real life.

This makes you real too,
savior, and hereby notified,
that you are not
just an observer, but
a poet of me,
an astronomer of my heart,
and namer of
a secret universe
inside of me.


Sept. 1, 2010

_____________________________
US Army jargon: meals ready to eat
nine  years ago I wrote like this.
Matthew Mar 4
Remember the Poems I gave to you
in the afternoon haze of those Autumn days.
The golden hour was in between us
as the birds sang their nightly Lullabies.
Yet, I know the dark lies
spoken as the sun set her sleepy head.
I put more faith in my tattered lies
than you did.
I've seen your body
move,
slower,
an
d
******>wer.
toward the
cold reflections in the moonlight.
moonlight in the cold reflections.
<Insert Poem Here>

<Insert Silent Sympathies Here>

<Insert Spiraling Tenancies Here>
   (Wait...No. Not that.)
<Delete Line>

<Insert Self Doubt Here>

<Insert Friends Here>
   [File Not Found]
::Comment:: What about me?

<Insert Apology Here>

<Insert Regret Here>

<Insert Pain Here>

<Insert Poem Here>


<RvL>
harlee kae Jul 2014
my poems get ******* and *******
and if i could delete the last few i would. but i guess i dont write for you anyways, i write for me. and sometimes i just need to get the jumbled mess in my head down on paper before i go insane. i'm sorry.
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