"elegantly" 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
You used to tell me how you didn't like the way I lacked a sense of intimacy,
How I wouldn't hold you the way you wanted to be held,
The way she held you,
I wouldn't kiss you much in public,
So you didn't give me a chance to get away,
You would hold me tighter and my escape was found within the lock of our mouths,
I liked it,
But I always wondered what normal really is,
Were you like this with her or was she normal,
Do you crave the touch of women who lack the intimacy you desire, or do you simply like playing our little game,
As of late I've tried to touch you more, say words which feel like rosebuds,
So sweet and elegantly delicate,
And the more I show this foreign concept if an intimate relationship,
The more I fall in love,
The more I fall into your trap of smiles and fingers running through my hair,
The more I crave your kisses, your touch,
What happened to me?
Because darling,
I'm afraid.
Dec 10, 2014
Dec 10, 2014 at 9:28 PM UTC
He soars high, floating in her wake
Inhaling every detail of her flowing grace
Her brushes of touch, causing him to shake
Delicate weaving hearts of leather and lace
Inspiration sails high, with her drifting in his mind
Ripples from deep emotions, she elegantly paints
Closing his eyes, entrusting her, flying blind
Together, one with the other, interlinking chains
Flickering fates of fireflies under stars aligned
Precious moments in time, worlds collide
A rendezvous in the Milky Way, by design
Consummating souls kiss passionately, ignite
Apr 19, 2017
Apr 19, 2017 at 9:40 AM UTC
Do you remember how you stood there ?
When the sun had set and the afterglow started to fade, you stood proud, slightly upon the dusk, brilliantly, majestically yet so tiny,
You looked so lonely and helpless, as light faded into darkness,
Covering the world; a sweet blanket filled with many twinkling stars,
How impossible it seems to turn back, have you realized how you changed so drastically, my little sparkling friend over such little time?
Irrational the things hidden away by the night, no moon comes to rise
If you would realise, how this world really is, or the place you are being led, softly, gently, elegantly to stand would be like, what then ?
Have you changed because, you calmly, without having any knowledge fear the night and it's lingering, loitering darkness ?
The night is stained with illusions, keep your gaze up to the sky and follow another star, then surely you would be able to reach your goal,
When you engage in pure furies, the whereabouts of the heart remain undetermined, you just lose yourself within its wandering fragrance,
Because the world you had taken for granted collapsed into somber,
Collapsed into a dimmer more frightening state of undefined beauty,
Everything is far too late, impossible to return now, it has been decided that it maybe should have been so, a loitering darkness to be,
You are part of this world now, standing where you are don't you think that this sky, slumbering earth is as allure as nothing else ?
If it awakens your wish will become true and you will disappear by the sight of the daybreak, the sun takes over with her golden light,
The world you have forgotten will reappear then everything starts a new and maybe one day you too will understand, my dearest,
That the night is something very beautiful.
~ Umi
May 3, 2018
May 3, 2018 at 6:00 PM UTC
early dawn rises
bluebells elegantly chime
breeze awakes petals
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 10:19 AM UTC
There's a dead tree connecting the earth to my heart,
And yet it's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
One silver root, and four dark leaves.
A branch is at my neck,
whispering me secrets
Gently in my left ear.
My hand arches into a black widow,
Skillfully pulling the bow,
As if it’s spinning a web
Delicately crafting
A soft musical tone.
There are vines strung elegantly from trunk to my teeth
And I'll play them for you.
The rain is the beat,
It's the same as your pulse.
My blood runs cherry with every note.
Sep 9, 2014
Sep 9, 2014 at 12:55 AM UTC
With a body wrapped in a crimson dress, she bears a violent temper.
Shining daylight, raging bewitching, captivating cunning.
You arrive with starry eyes and cheeks flushed like a ******
In her curly hair, autumn curtains hang—roaming rays hot.
She glows in the night like a pictorial wall with hieroglyphics concealing madness.
You step elegantly, but you're a dangerously stealthy predator.
Grassy hills in floating flames burn beneath a voluminous haze.
Her look describes fabulous waterfalls, endlessly flowing and shining in the coming dawn. You associate with robbers and kings, but they do not understand, and no one will save you.
Lovely eyes sprinkle enchanting rays, her lips intertwined like a rose petal.
Her heart enticingly calls with her fruit to be drunk.
You hide in the nightlife, dress up, and do your love magic.
Neck fashioned in autumnal garments, wearing scarlet ruby earrings.
Her pink skin smells of perfume, inviting like a grape on a vine.
You invite visitors with your charm to carelessness, forever forced.
Her lips are flowing bewitching rivers—intersecting strokes of crimson. They bring a dream to taste her deep soils and her artfully carved forms.
You are determined to captivate without marrying— you stay lost in rebellion.
Sep 25, 2023
Sep 25, 2023 at 6:19 AM UTC
An owl so elegantly sits here,
On the branch of any mango tree,
It so silently sits sans any fear,
On the three mango trees we have,
An owl so wisely perches there.
Jun 6, 2016
Jun 6, 2016 at 8:50 PM UTC
You whisper to me so elegantly
As you kiss my forehead
My head on your chest
Falling asleep
To the rhythm of your heartbeat
"Sweet dreams, my darling..."
As our heavy heads hit the pillow
We each drift into our own state
Of unconsciousness
* * *
4,728 miles from each other
Time zones which feel as if
We are light years apart
You are falling asleep,
As I am wide awake;
Daydreaming
The only thing that you can say
Through the electric current is:
"I will see you in my dreams, my darling..."
May 4, 2019
May 4, 2019 at 9:43 PM UTC
The Yorkshire Rose, elegantly perched on the bridge
This was not London, or the palace
nor Manchester, where Mancurians are free
nor Blackpool, where the beach swallows
Glasses, towels, mussels clinging to rocks
The Yorkshire rose, drawn upon the bridge
Bullet trains, leading distances
Almost unfathomable in this very spot
Harrogate, bath water
Spilling onto the street in natural sulphuric geysers
Burning
The Yorkshire Rose, fleeting in memory
In ghosts of the abbey nearby
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 12:26 PM UTC
And a dilemma is? Fixing the cafe while preparing your breakfast shake so elegantly. Hurriedly to turn on the news upon the squashed HD as you settle down on the white roundy, the sound turned down just enough not to wake the neighbors. Where has this life taken me?
Dark dank daily routines...
Apr 19, 2015
Apr 19, 2015 at 10:51 AM UTC
Her wolf was circling.
The ***** didn't even know...
she was being sized up
by an apex predator.
She elegantly contained this
knowledge of future bloodshed
within her own head.
Never letting that *****
out of her sanguine glare.
She remembers only echoes
of noises that accumulated into words.
Annoying,
ENRAGING,
words.
The wolf pounced out of her control,
but not outside of her desire.
The ***** made a beautiful corpse.
That angered her.
She walked away with a villainous
smirk on her face, and a tumor
of darkness growing inside of her.
The wolf trotting along side her.
Jul 3, 2014
Jul 3, 2014 at 11:29 PM UTC
My mother warned me about the monsters underneath my bed
And the ones hiding in my closest
She told me about the monsters in the world too
The ones that would take advantage of me
And possibly **** me
She never warned me about the monsters
With a perfect waterfall of hair
And shimmering magenta lips
She never warned me about the monsters with a perfect smile
And eyes that shine as brilliantly as the moon
Or the monsters with freckles that drape like constellations on their cheek bones
And the monsters that look at you with a piercing gaze it hurts to breathe
She forgot to warn me about monsters with soft skin
and devious minds
The monsters who walk so elegantly and taunt me with the swaying of their hips
The monsters that creep under my skin and speak gentle words into my ear
Mommy why didn't you warn me about the monsters that don't look like monsters at all?
The monsters that lure me in with their beauty and eat me alive
Until they've managed to rip open my sternum and take my heart
Jun 22, 2014
Jun 22, 2014 at 3:04 AM UTC
When I was small
I had a favorite game
A game only girls loved to play
Paper dolls, pretty paper dolls....
My sister Sara dressed the paper dolls nicely
Elegantly dressed, pretty dolls...
and we loved to style them our ways...
We got bored easily and Sara begged me to buy more dolls...
I used my childish charm to get a rupee or two
My grand papa joked about our paper dolls
"no saree wearing dolls"? " no chapati making dolls"?
" No parantha making dolls?
and both of us replied.... " ohhhh.... shut up grandpapa"
When we grew up a little,
My sister and I were sent to a boarding school.
It was all girls school
and we were taught grooming, social etiquette
and how to be a lady...prim and proper
Dressed smartly, talked only when necessary
and sat up neatly, no head turns..
No giggling... only smile delicately
No tantrums or emotional plays...
just be poised... controlled.. poised and controlled...
Of course
We were not allowed to play paper dolls anymore
After awhile I hated the school...
Told my sister..... They were turning us
into paper dolls...
Paper dolls have no say...
They only follow.. They are puppets
Remember paper dolls we used to play?
All pretty in the outside but there is no life
to breathe....
Suffocated i felt here.....all I wanted to do is flee
Sis, cmon this is certainly not us... let's flee
WE SAID GOODBYE TO OUR BED AND WE DID RUN....
We managed to be who we wanted to be in the end
to live in real world, be with real people
given a freedom to choose what we wanted to do
with life...
We enjoy our life not the traditional way anymore
Have career and still we dressed nicely and elegantly
We are real people...
Unlike the paper dolls , who only look poise and beautiful..
but inside they are freezing.... lifeless....paper dolls..
Jun 24, 2013
Jun 24, 2013 at 8:40 AM UTC
#9 | 31 Poems for August 2016
She unapologetically loves each and every crevice of her canvas.
Each part regally resonates to the woman who birthed her.
Each part elegantly exudes the exuberance of its own beauty.
The curves on her body are more than just her dress or jean size.
More than the heads of men which turn as she walks down the street.
Her curves are her heritage – a beautiful sign of where home is.
Through pain she found love and through love she found herself.
We meet in the pages of our story where the ink intimately holds us together.
These words I write become intertwined in the veins of our loving hearts.
In the rain of her presence, my words will always form a rainbow.
I can never get enough of her love; I’m always left yearning for more.
In a world ravaged by cold wars, we both know what we’re fighting for.
She has never spent a day letting the world turn her starry sky into a ceiling.
She wears her crown proudly and embraces the queen that she is.
The curves on her body are more than just her dress or jean size.
More than the whistles which dissipate the silence as she enters the room.
Her curves are her heritage – a beautiful sign of where home is.
The world is my canvas and I hope this African queen will always be my muse.
Aug 9, 2016
Aug 9, 2016 at 8:52 AM UTC
Nina pranced about
the lush green grove.
The pitter patter of her footsteps
like raindrops on the ground,
and her movements,
like a fog rolled through a valley.
A white satin leotard
decorated with flowery lace patterns
A tutu that blossomed
from her slender waist.
Hair elegantly tied back into a bun.
Face, filled with symmetry, lightly made up with powder.
Her cheeks flushed with a pinkish red blush,
but natural like her lips of pomegranate red.
The grove,
short deep green ryegrass that rolls over the lumpy ground like moss.
Trees shade like many arms shielding many eyes.
The pure white light of the sun shone through the canopy in beams.
Nina danced furiously intent and
music box intricately
in and out of the beacons of light
as a ballerina should following a lifetime of training.
Oct 18, 2012
Oct 18, 2012 at 12:44 PM UTC
(1)
There’s one thing I must get off my chest
that’s bothered me now
even 50 years on
with the passage of time –
my English teacher then
she always told me when I grumbled
homework was too difficult,
she’d tell me: “That’s a piece of cake”
And I’d go home discombobulated how
anyone could eat paper
or homework
and she said this not once, but every time:
“It’s a piece of cake”
(2)
And my parents and I looked at it
every which way and from every point of view
and concluded in our Perfect Ancient Native language:
*“This English teacher is a loony. She is wooly-headed.
She is the lamb Mary lost, silly and muddle-headed.
How can homework be a piece of cake?
Anyway, we don’t eat cake – we eat samosas.”*
(3)
And yet the English teacher would put her nose
up in the air
and remonstrate: “It’s a piece of cake!”
Oh yeah, would you like tea with it?
Now, my parents, bless their Ancient Souls,
have gone on into the next world
And I’m left wondering about the secret madness
of that English teacher
who’d ask me to eat cake when I expressed genuine concern…
Well, my parents have passed on, as I said,
and I’ve moved on
as is plain and radiant to see
to master idioms and vocabulary
Punctuation, the catenative verb and Usage;
and, as for that wooly-headed English teacher,
I’m sure she’s moved on into
a comfortable nuthouse
where the staff makes her eat her cake,
and make her think she can have it too -
cos that’s what they do to nuts, and such instances
(4)
And now that I have got that off my chest,
I can comfortably resume memorizing
Volume 3 of theOxford Dictionary
as I perambulate
and copy 100 entries from Fowler’s “Modern English Usage”
as I victulate
which is all part of my nightly ritual
since she told me to do so some 50 years ago
(cos I happened to look at her Union Jack knickers
when she sat high on the table, and I stood up *****
cos that's what they made us do in the cinemas)
- and that helps to put me into a state of dormancy, to hibernate
till the sun ushers in a new day for me –
and a new cake for that wooly-headed English teacher,
she, I can presume with certainty,
elegantly reposed and superannuated
Now, I’m glad I’ve got this off my chest
and mastered my idioms and phrases
and I can go eat my samosas
Jun 28, 2013
Jun 28, 2013 at 8:21 AM UTC
Look at the beauty in her eyes,
a glow that shines like the sunrise.
Her smile opens up the cloudy skies,
her laughter delights butterflies.
The ocean greets her as she passes by.
Her gorgeous toes leave their mark, saying goodbye.
Gentle breeze through her hair,
she walks elegantly while astonished eyes all stare.
Rosy cheeks cover her face.
A flower-child blossoms, kindly accepting embrace.
She is a thorn-less rose without compare.
She is the love my heart will forever endear.
Sep 9, 2019
Sep 9, 2019 at 5:24 AM UTC
Her hair flows like ripples in a lake,
She walks so elegantly,
brown eyes that turn almost to honey in the light,
A smile stretches from ear to ear, pearly whites as they call them.
Womanly curves and lumps that every girl wishes she had.
Lips soft and plump,
Cheeks made of strawberries.
But she is an ugly girl.
She flaunts around with her physical beauty.
From her perfect lips she hisses like a snake ready to attack.
her attitude is one of a rabid dog,
Out of control, and dangerous.
She is: selfish,
self absorbed,
ungrateful,
******
ignorant,
Disrespectful,
and never pleased.
She climbs a mountain of people stepping on everyone's face.
She is an ugly girl, hidden behind a beautiful mask
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 2:32 PM UTC
Oh how she poses perfectly,
Carrying her persona beautifully,
Entice me her looks so elegantly.
Jul 1, 2015
Jul 1, 2015 at 2:11 AM UTC
she would be fluid
completely refreshing
she would be resilient
unable to give in
she would be so unique
one of a kind
she would speak so elegantly
gentle whispers fill the air
her word would be knives
yet so sincere
she would hold you close
yet keep you at a distance
all she wants is to love
make every soul feel adored
she would be bold
but slick in her appearance
she is the most controversial opinion
yet the only thing in this life that makes sense
...
If A Poem Could Be A Person
May 4, 2022
May 4, 2022 at 1:19 AM UTC
Her eyes shine like undisturbed dew drops
hovering at the gentle fingertips of young moss
on the northern bark of a white cedar tree
under a lazy morning sun.
Spear points of obsidian pierce the disc:
banished from the core of a volcano
scorched by a molten heart
and choking on onyx soot.
The dawn warmth filters through,
carried by a serene and wafting breeze.
It illuminates the pleasant, tickling greenery,
bringing to light the depth of her irises.
Fire belches from the mountain's stomach,
and the flame ignites a gleam.
Her gemstone eyes shine
as though the embers have been captured within.
At the base, there is the earth:
firm and dark and cool.
Interlocking underbrush layers fawn with chestnut
overtaken but not undermined by powerful streaking tree trunks.
The rim is built of force and rumbles with strength.
A cast of bronze is seething and glowing.
Her intensity blazes as sun spots
deep within ancient amber.
She is as her eyes are
an indigo inferno:
seldom
and
elegantly alive.
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 3:07 AM UTC
I lay awake tonight,
sleep departs from my weary soul.
It might be the effect of the caffeine i took this afternoon..
Or the moon in it's full bloom.
But i think it's something more.
Something more alive.
A reason with no explanation.
I think...
I think it's her...
The way she walked elegantly towards me, holding the tray of my order.
*I saw flashes of the future;
a bride of mine,walking down an aisle*
the way her scent-a mixture of vanilla and rose-caught inside my lungs when she got so close..
it felt like every breath i have is branded and exclusively for her
the way she smiled and the way her voice sounded when she asked "do you need anything else?"
like the melody of a violin to the tune of Franz Schubert's Ave Maria
So gentle and calm and warm
And the way I was hypnotized or crazy enough to respond...
You .
I need you in my life .
Will you marry me .
Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 9:23 PM UTC